Peace, my heart, let the time for the parting be sweet. Let it not be a death but completeness. Let love melt into memory and pain into songs. Let the flight through the sky end in the folding of the wings over the nest. Let the last touch of your hands be gentle like the flower of the night. Stand still, O Beautiful End, for a moment, and say your last words in silence. I bow to you and hold up my lamp to light you on your way.
– Rabindranath Tagore “Peace, My Heart” | The Gardener 61
“Here is the link to donate: https://caringhandsfoundation.org/donate/. Please specify that you are donating for the school in memory of Sakti-da. 100% of your contribution will be sent towards the cause.”
Receiving the Urology Care Foundation™ Humanitarian of the Year Award was exciting as well as a humbling moment. In my life, lessons from my spiritual teachers (gurus) have been: “Do not work for recognition or expectation of return, but do the work that inspires others to service. Don’t wave a flag of your deeds as it diminishes their value.” I am also cognizant that a number of people and associations have guided and helped me in my endeavors in the field of volunteerism. So I would like to dedicate this piece to all of them collectively.
Baltimore, MD, January 27, 2022 — The Urology Care Foundation, the world’s leading nonprofit urological health foundation and official foundation of the American Urological Association, is pleased to announce Sakti Das, MD, FACS, as the recipient of its 2022 Humanitarian Recognition Award. This award is bestowed upon an individual who exemplifies the spirit of philanthropy as evidenced by their humanitarian work.
It’s 11:20 in the morning… waiting for my flight to Amman, Jordan.
Lufthansa just brought me to Frankfurt from San Francisco. The flight concluded with a sumptuous breakfast before arrival.
I will be serving as a physician volunteer with the Syrian American Medical Society (SAMS) at the Al-Zaatari refugee camp – which opened in July 2012 and now hosts almost 80,000 Syrian refugees.
SAMS is a non-profit, non-political organization representing thousands of Syrian American medical professionals in the US that provides humanitarian assistance to Syrian refugees in Syria, Jordan and Turkey.
During our 7-day SAMS medical mission in Jordan, I worked in 3 different clinics exclusively serving Syrian refugees.
There were a lot of beautiful children with urologic problems. I advised their parents about proper treatments. On two occasions I saved them from following through on improper surgical recommendations.
On the final day we celebrated our work and received thanks from the Sister of King Hussein.
Petra
The next day we travelled to explore the architectural site of Petra.
In the evening my Jordanian friend Dr. Hussain Abukhadair, whom I met several years back during my urologic mission in Palestine, came to see me.
We have become good friends and shared interesting experiences in Jerusalem. Hussain had taken me to the famous Al Aqsa mosque, a Holy site for muslim pilgrims, where the prophet Mohammed transcended to Jannah (Paradise).
Back to Amman for Dinner
In Amman on the night before my departure Hussain came to my hotel and drove me to his home for dinner. With his wife, his adult son and daughter we chatted through a sumptuous dinner. His wife specially cooked a delectable fish for me that I enjoyed.
As we were eating, Hussain suddenly exclaimed,
“Where is Sheela?! Call Sheela, introduce her to Dr. Das!”.
I gathered that Sheela has just arrived from Bangladesh as a contract worker for 2 years service as a house maid.
I was delighted to meet Sheela. To the utter amusement of Hussain and his family, Sheela and I started chatting in Bangla. Sheela was also visibly excited to know that I was also born in East Bengal, which later became Bangladesh.
“Where in Bangladesh are you from?” I asked. “From Khulna” “Where in Khulna? I am also from Khulna!” “Khan Jahan Ali Road”
I jumped up!“Oh my God! Our house is also on that road!”
Sheela was 21 years old. Her father married her off to a 51 year old man when she was 16. Her husband has sent her to work in Jordan to make some money for her family. She has a boy and a girl, 2 and 5 years of age, who are being looked after by her sister-in-law. She misses her children a lot and was having problem with clinical depression.
I was emotionally shaken. I told Hussain to consider her as my own daughter and look after her. Mrs. Hussain promised me to take Sheela to the psychiatrist and do whatever is needed until Sheela returns home after two years. Sheela took my name and phone number and we both were in tears as we parted.
After a rewarding time in Jordan, I left for Portugal the next day….
I am a part of all that I have met.
Yet all experience is an arch wherethru’
gleams that untraveled world, whose margins
fade for ever and ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
to rust unburnished, not to shine in use
– that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will.
This was my fourth trip to Haiti. It seems like I have to wait for disasters and mayhems to happen to rush back to the embrace of my beloved Haiti.
This time it was the Hurricane Matthew that wreaked havoc to Haiti in general and to my school in Leogane in particular. My Haitian daughter, Thamara, wrote:
“Dad, things are bad all around, but we are fine, please do not worry”.
I could not sit idle and had to go assess the damage and plan reconstruction.
My Haitian American friend Jensen joined me. After a red eye flight to Miami, I took the noon flight to Port Au Prince (PAP). Lack of sleep was taking its toll on me, but I was cheered up by the Thammie’s embrace at the gate. Jensen and I checked in the Best Western where another young man, Clarence, joined us.
Thammie came along with Dmitri, whom I met 5 years ago during our medical camp. I listened to Thammie’s chatter about her family, her job and her recent encounter with rogues that robbed her family savings and her laptop. I told Dmitri to find a place in a safer neighborhood for Thammie’s family to move. Thammie insisted on my taking a nap. They all went to Jensen’s room while I showered and rested for about an hour.
We all then went to a nice restaurant. Jensen and I had a Caipirinha. Jensen made me order a Haitian dish with Conch meat, which I didn’t fancy much. The restaurant band played beautiful Caribbean music including my request of Guantanamera.
We were all happy to be together once again in Haiti. I recalled my last blog entry on Haiti…
Haiti envelops me, embraces me, engulfs me in her unconditional love. And so little I can give back in return.
Dmitri drove Thammie back to her home and we returned to our cozy hotel.
Next day, after breakfast Jensen and I with our driver James went to Leogane. After about an hour we started climbing up through the forest towards the mountains. The wreckage from the hurricane was all around us. We came to a shallow river which James drove through slowly.
We were all worried about hitting a boulder under water and getting stuck. I got out and put on my wading boots, we carefully walked through the river to the bank where we found horses waiting for us. I climbed up on one of the horses and started trotting towards the mountain. It was an arduous journey for about two miles until we reached the top.
My feelings were bitter sweet finding the school still standing but half the roof and solar panels had been blown away. The children surrounded me and the 86 year old grandmother was happy with my assurance about repairing the roof of the school. The doors and windows facing the blast of the hurricane were also broken. The community leader and teacher Jonas showed us around and we discussed our plans on repairs to be done.
I was extremely tired, but rejuvenated with coconut water. We came down the mountain again on horseback to our car by the river. The village children waved farewell to us. Jensen said that Thammie called and rebuked him for taking me all the way and I said that if I had known it was going to be so hard I may not have come but I am glad that I did make the journey. We drove back to PAP where Thammie and Dmitri were to join us for dinner, but it started raining and I told Thammie not to come in the rain.
Next day after breakfast I took a stroll in the city on foot. Our car had sustained damage to the brakes, so James took it for repair. I rested in the afternoon watching US election fever on CNN. In the evening Thammie came to visit after work. We had a long chat about her work, finances and her future. She was visibly enchanted by my visit.
We went for dinner at a nearby hotel. Jensen’s Facebook friend Abbey joined us. Jensen made a touching farewell speech thanking me for coming back again and again to stand by and help them. I thanked them for their accommodation and acceptance and giving me the opportunity to serve Haiti.
My flight was early the next morning, I said goodbye to Thammie. Her eyes welled up as she hugged and said,
“Thanks, Dad.”
I know I left my heart in Haiti and I will always have a place in the Haitian heart to come back to.
Now I have to raise awareness and gather funds to repair and expand the school in Leogane.
I shall not give up on those beautiful as well as resilient children of Haiti.
Haiti 101, a brief history of Haiti
As one of the poorest countries of the world Haiti bears the historic scars of economic and political exploitation by the western powers from its inception as the first black sovereign state.
In 1492, with the expedition of Columbus, the island of Hispaniola was colonized by Spain. In quarter of a century the natives were almost completely eliminated and repopulated by slaves from Africa. In 1697 Spain ceded one part of the island to France that became Haiti and kept the part that became the Dominican Republic. Sugar industries and forestry soared but none went for the local population of the slaves. In 1791 the slaves rebelled against the French and in 1804 declared independence driving away the French. The rebellion became the only slave uprising in history with the foundation of a new country of Haiti.
Unfortunately and sadly for reasons inexplicable to many, in 1825 the new Haitian government agreed to pay France 150 million francs to compensate them for their losses from the uprising and even though defeated, France would recognize the independent nation. As bizarre and unfair it may sound, Haiti continued to pay around 80% of its national revenue until the entire amount was paid off in 1947. By then Haiti became an economically fragile nation.
The US as well as other European countries were eyeing Haiti for a potential naval base in the Caribbean since mis-1800. In 1915, the US invaded claiming to be there as a stabilizing force to ease civil unrest as a parental figure. But its actions revealed the underbelly os self interest. One of its first moves was shifting Haiti’s financial reserves to the US and rewriting the constitution to give foreigners land rights on the island. Haitian writer Edwidge Dandicat notes – During the 19 years of the US occupation, 15 thousand Haitians were killed. Any resistance to the US-installed puppet regime was crushed and a gendarmerie modeled after an occupation force was created. Although US troops officially pulled out in 1934, the US exerted control over Haiti’s finances until 1947. Many argue that American intervention in Haiti still has not ended.
This unstable financial mayhem led to political turmoil. From 1957 to 1986 Haiti was ruled by two terrifying corrupt dictators: Francois ‘Papa Doc’ and Jen Claude ‘Baby Doc’ Duvalier. Both the father and the son employed armed militia to silent dissenters and stole millions of dollars from local and foreign sources as country’s loans that amounted to about 40% of the country reserve. About 30 thousand Haitians were killed and all major social institutions were crushed or infiltrated during their regime.
Since then Haiti has been controlled by various military dictatorship and democratically elected governments. Years of brutality and oppression have scarred the political system, and Haiti is still trying to find its way as a democratic nation.
After over a year of my literary ennui in blog writing, I had to resume.
My beloved cousin Professor Somnath Sen, the economist, has been chiding and chastising me for my laziness. I had no idea that someone would enjoy reading about my idle ventures.
Last year was an eventful year for me punctuated by multiple physical ailments that I would rather not discuss and forget about. But now I have slowly regained my strength and my schedule. Because, honestly, I feel that to survive, I must serve.
“The woods are lovely, dark and deep but I have promises to keep and miles to go before I sleep” – Robert Frost
For nearly twenty years I have joined my friends in Liga International to work at our medical clinic in San Blas, Mexico. This unique medical venture involves many pilot–owners of small airplanes who co-ordinate to fly down medical and paramedical personnel from the US to Mexico on the first weekend every month.
I came to know about Liga from a pilot friend who used to take me to Baja where we worked as the Flying Samaritans. In my first trip to San Blas our plane made a noisy landing at a small rough strip adjacent to the clinic in San Blas.
This air strip was closed for a couple of years due to concerns around drug trafficking by small aircraft. Sineloa is notorious as a major center of operations for the Mexican drug cartels, but somehow I had missed such eventful encounters all these years.
I met the nurse co-ordinator Jacki Hansen who established and has been running the clinic, enhancing the infrastructure, fundraising and numerous other chores for 31 years. Lately, Jacki has had her encounter with cancer and chemotherapy. This amazing, and seemingly frail, lady remains undaunted and has been coming to run our clinic even during her bouts of chemotherapy working from 6 am to past midnight through the week end. I feel so fortunate to walk in her shadow.
Last month I returned after a gap of over a year because of my open heart surgery. My pilot friend, Skip, flew down from Ukiah to Concord to pick me up. We then flew to Bracket near Los Angeles where Renee, Whiney and Angelo joined us. After stopping at Obregon for immigration clearance we landed at the El Fuerte air strip at about 3pm. Jacki had arrived a few minutes earlier in another plane. Jacki and I hailed our taxi and headed for San Blas while my other co-travellers headed for their clinic in El Fuerte.
We reached San Blas after an hour and were welcomed with cheers and hugs from the local villager volunteers.
There were about 9-10 patients already waiting for us in a side room. The clinic has a large central waiting hall for the patients, surrounded by exam rooms and one wing for surgeries. Upstairs we have two halls with cots for sleeping and a cooking area with an adjacent long dining table and benches.
Over the years the village ladies have developed a warm relationship, cooking and feeding us. They even know our tastes and our idiosyncrasies. My friend Eduarda made me sit down and fed me fried fish, rice alongside a salad with avocado.
I then hurried down to see my waiting patients. Most of them brought their folders with X-rays and lab reports that I perused with the help of a local interpreter. I tried to practice my Spanish but it was grossly inadequate. On this trip we were handicapped by the absence of anesthesiologists. I saw a 15 year old boy with an inguinal hernia.
There was another middle aged gentleman who was miserable with his pain in the bladder area. His CT scan showed an avocado size large bladder stone. But more worrisome was the fact that he also had a large tumor in his right kidney which was certainly a malignancy. I told him that we are not equipped to deal with the kidney tumor and he will need to go to the local city hospital and probably will have to pay for his treatment. He said that he has been aware of the tumor for four years and was not concerned about it. It is the bladder stone that is making him miserable. I could imagine his anguish. I said that unfortunately we didn’t have an anesthesiologist this time, so he could come back next month or I could do the surgery under local anesthesia though there may be some amount of pain involved. Both the gentleman and the boy with the hernia insisted on having their surgery. I told them to come next morning with an empty stomach for their surgery.
I saw the other patients that evening, advised them and went upstairs for a shower and prepared for bed. As I was rubbing myself with Deet to avoid painful mosquito bites, I told my friend in the next bed that because there is no malaria in Mexico, I don’t feel as worried as I was in Africa, Haiti, Bangladesh or India. He said recently there had been cases of the Chikungunya virus in Mexico and central America. Now I was really worried because that virus causes bone breaking pain and fever and has limited treatment available. So I vigorously doused myself with Deet, and kept wishing that I believed in prayers, or had someone to pray to. It must have worked, as I slept well amongst the 10 other volunteers in our hall.
Next morning, after a sumptuous breakfast of papaya, huevos fritos, tortillas and coffee I went down to the operating room. I found Jake, a paramedic who agreed to watch my patient with some sedation and his wife, Ashley, a pathology tech to assist me with another local nurse. Shawn the dialysis technician acted as the circulating nurse. We started our surgery with the hernia repair for the young boy. It went surprisingly well.
Our next patient was the one with the large bladder stone. I gave him a lot of local anesthetic in the wound and Jake gave him sedatives, but we were limited by the available narcotics. I slowly proceeded with my incision to the skin and underlying fascia, liberally injecting lidocaine in each layer. But, as I approached the bladder, my patient started thrashing about as the stone rubbed inside his bladder causing a lot of pain. Jake was looking for Morphine and Versed, but neither were available. I felt something wet and warm on my left foot and noticed that the patient has pulled out his IV needle and had been dripping blood on my shoe for a while.
Jake gave him more Propofol, which calmed him down a bit. I used more lidocaine on the bladder wall, made a quick opening in the bladder and removed the huge stone with some difficulty. The patient became much comfortable after that. I inserted a catheter in his bladder, which would remain for a week, and closed up the bladder and other tissue layers. With a great sigh of relief our whole team went for lunch.
Afterwards, in between seeing other patients I came to check on my signature patient, with the bladder stone. He was all smiles, drinking Coca Cola while his wife thanked me profusely. I advised them about post-operative care and they will contact me through the local physician in case of need.
It was time for us to return to El Fuerte where we would spent the night with my co-travellers before our flight early next morning. I said goodbye to the locals, gave my parting hug to Jacki – promising to return – and took a taxi ride to the motel La Chosa.
I sat at the dining area sipping my well deserved Margarita grande en las rocas. Soon Jake, Ashley and Shawn joined me for dinner. We exchanged stories of our interesting encounters in the past and wrote down our contact numbers and emails.
It was a wonderful feeling making new friends with similar passions and missions in life.
I knew their journies had just began, as mine had started two decades earlier… a joyous–blissful journey that I would cherish to continue.
As Rabindranath Tagore said:
“I have been invited to the world’s festival of joy. Blessed, Oh blessed is my human life.”
