University of Northern Iowa
Passing the Masonic Home for the AgedAuthor(s): Herbert ScottSource: The North American Review, Vol. 254, No. 1 (Spring, 1969), p. 46Published by: University of Northern IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25116925 .
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Finally Doc decided we had done all we could for
now. The tubes were disconnected. Instructions were
given to the mother and several other natives. We would
be back at dawn to work with her again. Outside the
night air revived us, and I gulped several lungfuls. Chil
dren's whimpering still floated out from the darkened
buildings. We were exhausted. Next morning all of us rolled out at first light, and
headed back to the refugee camp. Most of the refugees
were still asleep, but two fat vultures were out early.
Perched on the worn mud steps outside that school room
door, they told us our worst fears had been realized.
I picked up a handful of dirt and threw it at the ugly
creatures. One of our crew muttered a bitter something
in Dutch, and turned back toward the Land Rover. Doc
was inside less than a minute; outr little girl was dead.
Letting one of the kids, one of the thousands we saw
each day, become a personal thing with us was something
we tried never to do, but it was a trap we fell into all
too often. This kind of tragedy was repeated over and over
again, as we sought to bring medical attention and re
lief foods to the several million Ibo people tottering on
the brinik of mass starvation. As in any civil war, the
fighting in Nigeria/Biafra had been vicious and at times
without quarter from either side; yet, although the war
had been going on for some time, relief action under
the direction of the International Committee of the Red
Cross was not finally allowed until the early spring of
1968. Not quite a year had passed since the Ibos had
declared the Eastern Region of Nigeria an independent
republic and called it Biafra.
Since that time, Federal Military Government Forces
had retaken a great deal of the original secessionist terri
tory. The civilian population of these areas either re
treated with the Biafran army or fled into the deep bush
country. Fear of death, deepened by the original mass
slaughter of at least 20,000 Ibos by Northern tribesmen,
now served to imprison several million men, women and
children. Hiding in deep bush country, they scratched
the earth for whatever food they could find, but these
masses of people soon consumed almost all of the protein
foods available, including wild animals and birds. Now
they found themselves left with only dwindling supplies
of yams and cassava, locally grown foods rich only in
starch. The total lack of protein in the diet began to tell.
First to suffer from kwashiorkor, malnutrition or
acute starvation were the children. Symptoms of kwash
iorkor were easily distinguishable. The hair turns a dull
orange in color, the extremities swell tremendously with
edema, the child loses interest in his surroundings, be
comes weak and eventually dies. Generally the young
sters' stomachs become extremely distended from both
malnutrition and infestations of worms or other parasites.
Boys and girls suffering from marasmus, the classic
picture of wasted bodies, skeleton frames covered by
wrinkled, dehydrated skin, were also a common sight.
It was this tragic situation of human suffering and
misery into which we willingly plunged. I had arriveSd
in Enugu, former Biafran capital, on the second of August, to begin a four month stay. My first job was that of
Relief Specialist, charged with getting things ready for a massive food distribution and medical relief program. But right along with the preparations for much needed
additional medical teams, relief workers, tons of food and fleets of vehicles, I had to provide for the mass distribution of some food at once. The only way to give any understanding of what this experience was like, is to describe the early food distributions and medical clin ics. The same story was repeated day after day, week
after week, throughout the Federal-held and Biafran-held territory.
Several days prior to opening a new food distribution and medical clinic site, we would meet with the local
village chiefs or leaders. They would be advised to send word back as far into the bush as possible, to encourage those in hiding to come out to see the doctor and receive food rations. We did our best to convince them that it would be safe, and that soldiers would not molest them while Red Cross was on the scene.
Arriving at the site shortly after eight a.m., we would be greeted by anywhere from five- to seven-thousand people, many in truly pathetic condition. Our immediate task was to select about twenty helpers from the healthier
men present. Once we had picked these, their first job was to cut switches and literally drive away the several hun
dred others who also wanted to be helpers. Next they
helped us line up the three thousand people (an average number) who wanted medical attention. As soon as the people were in a makeshift line the hardest job of the
HERBERT SCOTT
PASSING THE MASONIC
HOME FOR THE AGED
It is winter at the old folks' home.
The summer chairs on the porch
are facing the wall, bending
in prayer. Snow hangs
like a shawl across their backs.
On the lawn, drifts grow like weeds,
branches of trees snap
at one another, and do not apologise.
The street has gone away to stay.
Under a roof heavy with clouds, screens creak
like old bones. Inside, the faces
of ten thousand winters press the panes.
46 The North American Review
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