THE LOCAL PHARMACIST DOES NOT LIKE US ANYMORE !
It was raining heavily. It was early August in 2006 and I was on my first visit to Nigeria. We were in the state of Bauchi . It was quite a long but comfortable drive from Abuja, the Nigerian capital. We were approaching the village of Birnin Ganye. The last stretch of our journey to the village seemed to take much longer because of the rains which had wrecked the mud tracts leading to this small village with a population of about 300. I had joined WaterAid a few months ago and this was my first visit to an African country after joining WaterAid.
“We can’t go any further in this vehicle”, our driver said. He had tried a few manoeuvres earlier and had somehow managed to take us as far as we could. We decided to get out of the vehicle and walk the rest of the distance. We could see Birnin Ganye, but it was across a swelling stream. It was only less than 30 feet wide, but we were asked to be careful because of the swirling and fast currents and the slippery stones that we had to step on. It was quite a spectacle. Most of the villagers had lined up on the other side of the stream, watching the guests arrive. The young men among them had got in to the stream to help us guide through the stream. In a few minutes, that was done and we were all on the other side, and walking towards the village.
It was a very poor village. All the 40 odd houses were in a cluster, built with mud and thatch. Education levels were low. Almost all adults in the village were casual agriculture labourers. The nearest urban centre was about 10 kms. away. Agriculture production was mostly for home consumption. There was very little surplus. But recently, they had something to be proud of and had thus become the envy of the neighbouring villages. And that is what brought us to Birnin Ganye.
Earlier during the year, a water and sanitation programme had been completed. This settlement now had its own borehole fitted with an easy-to-operate hand pump. This meant that people had easy access to safe water, and women in particular no longer needed to walk to the river to fetch watch. The walk to the river would take them an hour for each trip and the water was unsafe for drinking, but till the hand pump was installed, the river was the only source of drinking water, in addition to it being a place where people bathed, washed their clothes and brought their cattle as well. All the houses had a clean toilet, which was preceded by hygiene education, stressing the importance of washing hands at critical points in time. All this may not seem to be a great achievement, but for the poverty stricken people of Birnin Ganye, this was a matter of pride and happiness. They were happy that their village was now a ‘clean’ village with access to safe water, and proud that they played a key role in implementing the project with the support of the local government authorities and WaterAid. They had invested their time and effort, had mobilised the local group, and more importantly, had taken the responsibility of managing the water point and ensure that people actually used their toilets.
As we entered the village, the community gathered under a tree for a conversation. After the normal introductions and welcome speeches, one of the community members took us through the history of the project and their role. It was then time for us to ask any questions. My first question was what they thought the outcome of this project was. For some time, there was silence. People were talking to each other in hushed tones. Not sure if I had articulated my question properly, I asked them (through our local interpreter) if they could tell me how this project had changed their lives.
The answer was on expected lines. The women felt that they could save more time since they did not have to fetch water. Many people felt happy that their village was clean. And then suddenly, one young man got up and said, “The local pharmacist does not like us anymore”. There was quite a bit of amusement at what he said, but the people gathered there seemed to agree, nodding their heads vigorously. “Can you explain that in some detail” ? I pursued.
“Well”, he said, “there was lot of illness in this village. Every month, all throughout the year, we had to rush people to the local hospital because of diarrhoea, cholera and other diseases. It particularly affected the children the most and many of them died. The person who benefited the most was our local pharmacist because it was good for his business. And because we did not have enough money to buy medicines most of the time, he would lend us money and charge a hefty interest. It also meant that we started borrowing money from him for other purposes as well. We thus contributed quite a bit to his income. But the other day, when I saw him in the market, he wondered why people from this village no longer came to him, bought medicines or took credit. And my response to him was that we did not need him anymore. Our people had become quite healthy, because of the water and sanitation project, and the hygiene practices that our people are following” !
It was quite clear from the reaction of those around him that they were all in agreement. I am aware of a number of attempts by researchers and academicians who conduct detailed, rigorous studies to assess the ‘impact’ of external interventions. But to me, this statement of a young man, endorsed by all those who had gathered around him, was enough of an ‘impact assessment’ !
Saturday 31 July 2010
Wednesday 24 March 2010
THE GOODBYE
Twenty five years ago, a quarter of a century ago, we were preparing for a new phase in our lives. We were the fourth batch of students from the Institute of Rural Management, Anand (IRMA). It had been a memorable and fun filled two years. While we learnt about becoming good managers, most of us will remember our time in IRMA even more for the bonding and the fun that we as a batch of nearly 60 students had during our two years. The three stints of assignments outside the campus (one ‘fieldwork’ and two ‘Management Traineeship Segment’ or MTS) got us in smaller groups working on specific projects. After each of those stints which lasted a couple of months each, we all were eager to come back and share our experiences, but also to catch up with our friends who we sorely missed. And in those days without mobiles, emails or Facebook, it was difficult to be in touch.
Our convocation was on March 15th 1985, before which we all were going through our campus recruitments. From the first week of March itself, some of us were successful in getting jobs that we wanted. Some of us had planned for a short holiday before we commenced our working careers. But after March 15th, most of us had plans to start leaving the very next day – except myself. I was waiting for an opening with the Sikkim Milk Federation and they were meant to come only on March 18th for the recruitment. There were a couple of others who were to be around on March 17th, but most of the batch would have left by March 16th.
It was quite an emotional period for us. The mood was somber and it certainly overtook the excitement of getting our diplomas and launching ourselves into our careers. Packing our bags and disposing off unwanted stuff had started in right earnest. Since many of us were expecting our parents, siblings and friends to come for the convocation by March 13 or 14, we wanted to scrub our rooms clean, keep it tidy and get ready to leave from the evening of March 15th.
I had to travel only a short distance, of 70 kms to Ahmedabad and hence, I did not need much time to prepare for my departure. My parents, sister and two of my friends were coming for the convocation on March 14th and they were to leave soon after the convocation. And since I had to stay on till March 18th, I had plenty of time to pack. Hence, I instead spent time in helping many of my friends to pack and clear their rooms. In many cases, I borrowed the bicycle from Sagar, the manager of our canteen, cycled down to Jagnath which was a couple of kilometers away to get an auto rickshaw, helped people get their belongings loaded into the auto rickshaws, and together with other friends, made our way to the railway station to see off our friends. Those last few moments on the campus were precious and we wanted to make use of each one of those as we knew we could never ever get back to that setting in our entire lives – certainly not with this group !
The last of my friends left by the evening of March 16th. It was quite a long and forlorn journey back from the railway station that I made to IRMA. The hostel was quiet. Though our junior batch was around, most of them were in separate hostel blocks. The silence was killing. I was missing my friends terribly. Shankar, Naushad, Vikram, Ashu and Sudhir had planned a trip to Goa. I had to miss the trip since I was waiting for the Sikkim Federation recruitment. But then at least I did look forward to meeting them a few days later in Bangalore – so there was something to look forward to. But even that was not enough to cheer me as I spent some long, lonely hours on the campus. And to make matters worse, I was informed, on March 17th, that the Sikkim Federation had pulled out of the recruitment and that they were not coming ! That was quite a blow.
So, on March 17th, I decided to pack my bags and leave early morning on March 18th. After having helped many of my friends with their packing, I was quite dejected that I had to do it all myself. After having gone and fetched an auto rickshaw for many of my friends and having seen them off at the railway station, I dreaded at the prospect of having to do it all myself. I was slipping into a state of self pity – there will be no one to see me off, at the campus or at the railway station. All my friends had left. And even though I had a few friends from the junior batch, 6.30 a.m. was too early a time for anyone to bother waking us just to say good bye to me !
In the evening, I made a round to the boys’ hostel to meet some of my friends from the junior batch and wish them good bye. A little later, I went to the girls’ block (the A Block) to meet a few girls and say good bye to them as well – there were 3-4 girls who were good friends and I wanted to meet them before I left.
I went to her room last. As I knocked, she opened the door. “I just came to say good bye. I am leaving tomorrow morning”, I said. “But then why are you saying good bye now if you leaving only tomorrow” ? she asked. “Well, I will be leaving early”. “How early” ? “ 6.30 in the morning”, I replied. “Oh, then there is plenty of time. See you at dinner”, she said with a smile and that trademark twinkle. “Well, that’s it”, I thought. I had said good byes to all that I need to say and it was now time to go for dinner and then get back to packing. I needed to be up early in the morning.
I woke up at 5 in the morning. After a quick bath and change, I went to the canteen to collect the bicycle keys from Sagar and made by way to Jagnath. It was a crisp spring morning with the sun shining radiantly. The campus looked even more beautiful. The lawns even more green. I just did not want to leave the place. But the sense of loneliness after all my friends had departed was too strong and I just could not bear to be there on my own any longer. I had to leave. I could have taken a later train, but that was enough. I had to leave and wanted to leave. At Jagnath, I hailed an auto rickshaw and asked the driver to follow me to the hostel blocks while I rode ahead of him.
Once back in the hostel, I quickly parked the bicycle in front on the canteen, handed over the keys to the cook, ran up the steps to my room on the second floor of the C block and starting bringing my bags down – 3 in all, 1 big suitcase, which I brought down first and loaded into the auto rickshaw and went running back to get the 2 small bags. Taking the bags out and one final look into the room that had been my home for 2 lovely years and one final glance down the corridors of C Top (as we fondly referred it as), I made my way down the stairs, looked towards what had been Naushad’s room, and then came down and paused a bit in front of Shankar’s room, the hub of C Block, now eerily quiet and came out of the block, not turning back, but with my head down, walking straight towards the auto rickshaw. “That’s it”, I told myself. “This is now really the end of my life in IRMA”.
As I turned around the C & D block to where the auto rickshaw was waiting, to my utter surprise and delight, I saw her, standing by the auto rickshaw, looking radiant in her bright red dress, her dupatta casually around her neck, hands folded, looking towards me with the same twinkle in her eye and the smile ! “Look, I told you last evening that it was too early to say good bye”. I was overwhelmed. A range of emotions crossed my mind. “Why did you take the trouble”? I asked her. “Trouble ? What trouble ? I just wanted to. And I knew that there wouldn’t be anyone to say good bye to you. Good bye and good luck ! Let’s be in touch” ! she said. All that I managed was a rather inaudible “Thank you”, a nod, a smile and a wave. I got into the auto rickshaw, looked out and waved out to her. The auto rickshaw made a noisy start, spewing out fumes that seemed to jerk me back to reality of what was an unusual morning. As the auto rickshaw turned away from the block, I looked back towards the hostel blocks through the opening at the back of the vehicle. With a final wave, she had turned back, walking back to her room.
Words cannot explain what I felt at that time. It was a feeling of immense gratitude, of being overwhelmed and being completely humbled by her gesture. And that is why, 25 years later, it is still so vivid in my mind. Today, she leads a contented life in Delhi with her husband and son. After a stint of working with NGOs, she has turned a writer. She has already published a book and her second book is soon to be published. She remains as warm and humane as she always was. And innumerable friends of her, like myself, remember her for what she was and is. She is Daman.
Twenty five years ago, a quarter of a century ago, we were preparing for a new phase in our lives. We were the fourth batch of students from the Institute of Rural Management, Anand (IRMA). It had been a memorable and fun filled two years. While we learnt about becoming good managers, most of us will remember our time in IRMA even more for the bonding and the fun that we as a batch of nearly 60 students had during our two years. The three stints of assignments outside the campus (one ‘fieldwork’ and two ‘Management Traineeship Segment’ or MTS) got us in smaller groups working on specific projects. After each of those stints which lasted a couple of months each, we all were eager to come back and share our experiences, but also to catch up with our friends who we sorely missed. And in those days without mobiles, emails or Facebook, it was difficult to be in touch.
Our convocation was on March 15th 1985, before which we all were going through our campus recruitments. From the first week of March itself, some of us were successful in getting jobs that we wanted. Some of us had planned for a short holiday before we commenced our working careers. But after March 15th, most of us had plans to start leaving the very next day – except myself. I was waiting for an opening with the Sikkim Milk Federation and they were meant to come only on March 18th for the recruitment. There were a couple of others who were to be around on March 17th, but most of the batch would have left by March 16th.
It was quite an emotional period for us. The mood was somber and it certainly overtook the excitement of getting our diplomas and launching ourselves into our careers. Packing our bags and disposing off unwanted stuff had started in right earnest. Since many of us were expecting our parents, siblings and friends to come for the convocation by March 13 or 14, we wanted to scrub our rooms clean, keep it tidy and get ready to leave from the evening of March 15th.
I had to travel only a short distance, of 70 kms to Ahmedabad and hence, I did not need much time to prepare for my departure. My parents, sister and two of my friends were coming for the convocation on March 14th and they were to leave soon after the convocation. And since I had to stay on till March 18th, I had plenty of time to pack. Hence, I instead spent time in helping many of my friends to pack and clear their rooms. In many cases, I borrowed the bicycle from Sagar, the manager of our canteen, cycled down to Jagnath which was a couple of kilometers away to get an auto rickshaw, helped people get their belongings loaded into the auto rickshaws, and together with other friends, made our way to the railway station to see off our friends. Those last few moments on the campus were precious and we wanted to make use of each one of those as we knew we could never ever get back to that setting in our entire lives – certainly not with this group !
The last of my friends left by the evening of March 16th. It was quite a long and forlorn journey back from the railway station that I made to IRMA. The hostel was quiet. Though our junior batch was around, most of them were in separate hostel blocks. The silence was killing. I was missing my friends terribly. Shankar, Naushad, Vikram, Ashu and Sudhir had planned a trip to Goa. I had to miss the trip since I was waiting for the Sikkim Federation recruitment. But then at least I did look forward to meeting them a few days later in Bangalore – so there was something to look forward to. But even that was not enough to cheer me as I spent some long, lonely hours on the campus. And to make matters worse, I was informed, on March 17th, that the Sikkim Federation had pulled out of the recruitment and that they were not coming ! That was quite a blow.
So, on March 17th, I decided to pack my bags and leave early morning on March 18th. After having helped many of my friends with their packing, I was quite dejected that I had to do it all myself. After having gone and fetched an auto rickshaw for many of my friends and having seen them off at the railway station, I dreaded at the prospect of having to do it all myself. I was slipping into a state of self pity – there will be no one to see me off, at the campus or at the railway station. All my friends had left. And even though I had a few friends from the junior batch, 6.30 a.m. was too early a time for anyone to bother waking us just to say good bye to me !
In the evening, I made a round to the boys’ hostel to meet some of my friends from the junior batch and wish them good bye. A little later, I went to the girls’ block (the A Block) to meet a few girls and say good bye to them as well – there were 3-4 girls who were good friends and I wanted to meet them before I left.
I went to her room last. As I knocked, she opened the door. “I just came to say good bye. I am leaving tomorrow morning”, I said. “But then why are you saying good bye now if you leaving only tomorrow” ? she asked. “Well, I will be leaving early”. “How early” ? “ 6.30 in the morning”, I replied. “Oh, then there is plenty of time. See you at dinner”, she said with a smile and that trademark twinkle. “Well, that’s it”, I thought. I had said good byes to all that I need to say and it was now time to go for dinner and then get back to packing. I needed to be up early in the morning.
I woke up at 5 in the morning. After a quick bath and change, I went to the canteen to collect the bicycle keys from Sagar and made by way to Jagnath. It was a crisp spring morning with the sun shining radiantly. The campus looked even more beautiful. The lawns even more green. I just did not want to leave the place. But the sense of loneliness after all my friends had departed was too strong and I just could not bear to be there on my own any longer. I had to leave. I could have taken a later train, but that was enough. I had to leave and wanted to leave. At Jagnath, I hailed an auto rickshaw and asked the driver to follow me to the hostel blocks while I rode ahead of him.
Once back in the hostel, I quickly parked the bicycle in front on the canteen, handed over the keys to the cook, ran up the steps to my room on the second floor of the C block and starting bringing my bags down – 3 in all, 1 big suitcase, which I brought down first and loaded into the auto rickshaw and went running back to get the 2 small bags. Taking the bags out and one final look into the room that had been my home for 2 lovely years and one final glance down the corridors of C Top (as we fondly referred it as), I made my way down the stairs, looked towards what had been Naushad’s room, and then came down and paused a bit in front of Shankar’s room, the hub of C Block, now eerily quiet and came out of the block, not turning back, but with my head down, walking straight towards the auto rickshaw. “That’s it”, I told myself. “This is now really the end of my life in IRMA”.
As I turned around the C & D block to where the auto rickshaw was waiting, to my utter surprise and delight, I saw her, standing by the auto rickshaw, looking radiant in her bright red dress, her dupatta casually around her neck, hands folded, looking towards me with the same twinkle in her eye and the smile ! “Look, I told you last evening that it was too early to say good bye”. I was overwhelmed. A range of emotions crossed my mind. “Why did you take the trouble”? I asked her. “Trouble ? What trouble ? I just wanted to. And I knew that there wouldn’t be anyone to say good bye to you. Good bye and good luck ! Let’s be in touch” ! she said. All that I managed was a rather inaudible “Thank you”, a nod, a smile and a wave. I got into the auto rickshaw, looked out and waved out to her. The auto rickshaw made a noisy start, spewing out fumes that seemed to jerk me back to reality of what was an unusual morning. As the auto rickshaw turned away from the block, I looked back towards the hostel blocks through the opening at the back of the vehicle. With a final wave, she had turned back, walking back to her room.
Words cannot explain what I felt at that time. It was a feeling of immense gratitude, of being overwhelmed and being completely humbled by her gesture. And that is why, 25 years later, it is still so vivid in my mind. Today, she leads a contented life in Delhi with her husband and son. After a stint of working with NGOs, she has turned a writer. She has already published a book and her second book is soon to be published. She remains as warm and humane as she always was. And innumerable friends of her, like myself, remember her for what she was and is. She is Daman.
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