August 6, 1996 is today recognized in the history books as the beginning of the end of the First Chechen War. To Vakha Duduev, however, a trauma surgeon at Grozny’s Clinical Hospital #9, it was simply another workday. He woke early, made his way to the hospital, and reported for duty. Just how different this day was, in fact, would not become clear to him until the wounded began to flood the hospital, and until, three weeks later, this particular work day finally came to an end.
Grozny—once known by the moniker “Pearl of the Caucasus”—had already suffered tremendously during the war. Its first weeks saw air raids and artillery bombardment that many observers reported as the heaviest bombing campaign in Europe since the destruction of Dresden in World War II. Tens of thousands of civilians died during the ensuing months, and the city itself, with its beautiful plazas and parks and renowned theaters and museums, was shelled virtually beyond recognition.
As a trauma surgeon, Vakha had treated hundreds of victims of the conflict already. The fighting was so intense and widespread on August 6th, however, that the severely wounded were being brought in to the hospital almost without pause. There was no electricity and no clean water. Operating rooms were at full capacity, and Vakha and the other surgeons worked non-stop, by the light of oil lamps, lanterns, and candles, to save those they could.
After the first few hours, even the hospital’s stores of medications and supplies were depleted. Victims’ families took it upon themselves to help, and set out in the midst of the fighting to search the city’s bombed-out drug stores for medicine, bandages, cotton wool, iodine—whatever was salvageable and could be of use to the hospital’s doctors and nurses.
Over the course of the following few days, it became clear to Vakha that the fighting was preventing other hospital staff—replacements—from traveling to work. He and his colleagues were desperately in need of rest, and working under unimaginably difficult conditions. Many had been wounded themselves–one nurse, in fact, mortally. The neighboring hospital was shelled early on, and seven doctors and nurses died while trying to save lives in the operating room. Eventually, when their own building had been all but destroyed above ground, Vakha and his colleagues moved the most critical patients and what little equipment and supplies they had left to the basement.
Even under such conditions, the entire medical staff, regardless of their specialties, worked selflessly in whatever capacity was needed to treat the wounded, whether civilians, rebels, or soldiers.
After three long weeks, when the fighting had slowed somewhat and replacements began to trickle in, Vakha made arrangements to return home. He checked on his patients one last time. He gathered his belongings. He walked out into the scarred streets of Grozny, his name and address written in large letters on the back of his medical gown. His biggest fear, Vakha recalls now, was that he might die en route, that he would be unidentified and buried somewhere without his family’s consent or knowledge. His relatives would never know what became of him.
Dodging Bullets to Help a Neighbor
Zina Batalova, a Grozny obstetrician and gynecologist, remembers the feeling of being surrounded by “a swarm of bees” as she rushed with a neighbor along a corpse-strewn street to tend to the man’s pregnant wife. While she had not believed initially that the conflict would last, as the days passed she was forced to admit her mistake. Zina, her husband, and their five small children had taken shelter from the increasingly bitter fighting in their basement, and did not venture outside until the afternoon she was summoned by her desperate neighbor. Although frightened, she considered it her duty to help, so she found herself stepping over bodies while being shot at, her neighbor close behind, as they ran down the street. She examined his wife, did what little she could to ease her distress, and went back home.
In the evening, the neighbor returned. His wife needed to get to a hospital, immediately. So Zina and her husband fashioned a white flag out of their bed sheet, tied it to the car, and drove the couple to the nearest medical facility. Their courage and selflessness astonished rebels and soldiers alike, who let them pass through checkpoints unharmed. The journey was not without danger, however: the white flag was heavily marked by bullets and shells by the time they finally reached their destination.
Taking Refuge in Ingushetia
Like others before them, Vakha and Zina soon fled the conflict in Chechnya for the relative safety of neighboring Ingushetia. Zina and her family made the journey on foot. They joined thousands of other displaced persons in makeshift tent camps near the border, where they faced an uncertain future.
International Medical Corps first began working in Ingushetia in spring 2000 to help the already overburdened health system cope with this inflow of internally displaced persons from the Chechen war. We now provide emergency medical assistance, immunizations, child wellness services, maternal/child health care, primary health care, reproductive health, and prenatal care to more than 272,000 displaced Chechens in dozens of remote villages and spontaneous settlements in Chechnya and Ingushetia.
Vakha and Zina are now part of the International Medical Corps team, serving as medical programs manager in Chechnya, and medical brigade doctor, respectively. One of our trademarks is our emphasis on hiring locals wherever we work. Our goal: to build each country’s capacity to handle health care crises. We teach community members a variety of basic medical skills to help close the health human resources gap that plagues so many conflict-prone areas.
Vakha and Zina’s work with International Medical Corps certainly enables them to provide shelter, food, water, and education for their families. But it has also afforded them the opportunity to develop professionally. Zina has trained in family medicine with the Moscow Medical Academy and received a general practice certificate to become one of the first specialists in this field in Ingushetia. Vakha has thrived with us, first rising to the position of mobile medical teams manager, then to International Medical Corps programs manager.
The war brought with it no small amount of loss for these two doctors—friends, family members, homes and livelihoods—but it did not keep them from rebuilding their lives. Vakha is now married and has three small children. Zina lost her husband after they fled Chechnya, but is raising her five children on her own and making sure that they receive their education. Their perseverance is testament to their strength as individuals. Vakha, Zina, and all the other local staff who are part of our team in the Caucasus are the reasons why we are able to provide help and hope to so many who have been displaced and traumatized by war.