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Thursday, March 15th
I decided to spend today finding a place to set up a camp, where we could have a camp, where we could have limbs made and fitted. There is little rehabilitation going on - the priority is still treating people's injuries. But in a few weeks the residual limbs will have healed enough for artificial limbs to be fitted.
This morning Ken and I located a Lions Club charitable organisation in Bhuj, who said they would be ha ppy to help pay for limbs with the little money they had and offered their club as a fitting centre. They've worked in the past with the Jaipur Limb clinic, co-ordinating the fitting and distribution of limbs.
I had visited the Jaipur clinic back in January and I met the doctors there. The Jaipur limb is a really good working limb that only costs £20.00 to make including labour. In India a different type of artificial limb is needed because the life style is so different to the western one. It's important that people can kneel down, pray, cross their legs and squat to eat, where as being able to sit comfortably in cars or on sofas isn't so relevant.
This afternoon I rang the Jaipur Limb Clinic and was thrilled when they said they wanted to help. Their people have agreed to come to Bhuj on May 3, then most people will be three months post-amputation, so they'll have sufficient healing to fit an artificial limb.
The aim is to spend the whole day fitting people from the earthquake area with artif icial limbs. They've promised to get a large team together ready for the big day. To fit a limb from start to finish takes 40 minutes with their system, and they reckon on May 3 they'll be able to fit up to 8,000 people, 1500 of whom will be earthquake amputees. I'm not sure we have the money to pay for 8,000 limbs but we'll get it somehow. Things are really starting to come together.
We drove with an interpreter to Ratinal, a village that has been virtually destroyed by the earthquake. Of the 7,000 people who lived there, 170 were killed and 1,200 injured. All you can see is rubble.
Ken and I were looking at this desolation when the most amazing thing happened. In the midst of all this grey drabness a beautiful little girl appeared out of nowhere in a very bright colourful costume. She told me her name was Gita Damji and she was nine years old. Then she took me by the hand and led me through the rubble. She wanted to show me where her house had been. There was nothing left of it.
As we stood there, a little boy appeared and Gita got all giggly and shy and ran off. I walked with this boy, who turned out to be Gita's cousin, across the rubble and he led me to the only building that had been left standing - the village mosque.
Ken took a photograph of me outside the mosque with a group of old men who'd been praying there. They told me they needed help to rebuild their village. Although their lives have been devastated, they've started to look forward again. They want to get on with rebuilding, but without help they haven't a hope. All the men still seemed to be struggling to come to terms with what had happened. The weird thing is that a mile and a half down the road there's a village that was hardly touched by the earthquake. Another mile or so on and there's another one totally razed to the ground. How do you explain it? If you live in Ratinal it must be hard not to wonder what you've done for God to pick you out.
Afterwards we drove to another village, Ghandidan, and yet another tented hospital with more amputees. One Hali ma Magdi, a mother of four children, made a big impression on me. She had been ill in bed when the earthquake came and her house collapsed on top of her. Her three-year old daughter, Zubeda, was trapped with her but wasn't badly hurt.
Doctors had struggled for six weeks to save Halima's legs but two days before we arrived they'd had to remove them below the knee.
She is only 26, but looks 46 after all she's been through. But she has great spirit. Often, in India, women who have lose their limbs are looked down on, but luckily Halima' husband is standing by her. I told them where to go on May 3 in Bhuj to have an artificial leg fitted and from their response I knew they would.
We travelled another 40 miles to Bhachau, a town near the epicentre, where we found a tented RSS hospital. Here I found a little boy in a bed next to his mum. His name was Vikas and he was five years old. He had lost both his legs and his mum had lost one of hers below the knee when they were both hit by a falling roof.
I pulled my leg off. I tickled him. Nothing worked. He had these big, beautiful, sad eyes and he was giving me really dubious looks. It was only when I picked him up and carried him outside that his expression changed and he started giggling. He was so happy. No one had had time to take him outside before.
Afterwards I met the doctors. It was strange to be treated as an expert on artificial limbs. They don't seem to have any real prosthetic specialists working with them. Their priority is to heal the wounds. No one has had time to consider rehabilitation yet.
Once again we're sleeping in the open tonight and I'm writing my diary looking up at the stars. It's a long time since I've slept outdoors - not since I was living rough under the Waterloo arches at the age of 14.
It's just struck me that I'd far rather be homeless in India than London. People here have nothing, but they'd give you their last r upee. Everywhere we've been, people have shared their scarce food with us, and potatoes, rice and dhal have never tasted so good.
