The Gift Of A Hand

Editor's Note: This is the fifth and last installment about the work of Clear Path International. Imbert Matthee is one of the organization's co-founders. Its mission is to offer medical and socio-economic aid to survivors of land mine accidents. T he twenty men at the Care Villa may no longer be able to walk, see or eat their food without help. But they still have their voices and they are always eager to sing for any visitors to the Mae La refugee camp on the border between Thailand and Burma.

I visited the Care Villa several times during the years I was with Clear Path International, and every time, I was deeply moved by these land mine survivors' harmonies, weaving heartfelt tales of their ethnic home states in a deeply troubled country.

Since Burma, or Myanmar, became independent from Britain in the years following the Japanese occupation during World War II, its government has tried to keep together a nation state made up of widely diverse ethnic tribes, many of which have been fighting for their own independence.

The fighting ebbs and flows, but during the past decade and a half, more than 2 million ethnic refugees have fled their villages in the Karen, Karenni and Shan states that line Burma's eastern border with Thailand.

During the fighting, or during their escape in the mountainous jungles between the two countries, hundreds, if not thousands, of refugees are injured by land mines accidents. Some of them, like the severely disabled men at the Care Villa whom Clear Path has supported for about eight years, live the one of seven border camps built up in the emerald foothills within eye sight of the border.

The aid project is part of Clear Path's well-established medical and socio-economic assistance program that focuses largely on the fabrication of prostheses for disabled Burmese refugees in Thailand and just inside Burma.

Since Clear Path began its work on the Thai-Burma border, it has assisted hundreds of land mine victims regain their physical mobility, acquire vocations and develop income from homegrown animal breeding.

All the men at the Care Villa have lost limbs, and most have lost their eye sight. When we began to fund this facility's year-round food, maintenance and full-time care budget, most of them could not hold a cup to their mouths, let alone prepare their own food because they had no hands. They simply needed 24-hour care.

We wanted to offer them upper limb prostheses, but our fabrication shops were only set up to produce artifi- cial limbs for the lower body, since that was the most common type of injury among land mine accident survivors.

A few years ago, we finally came up with the solution. We stumbled upon a nonprofit based in the San Francisco Bay area that makes an affordable artificial hand called the LN-4.

Two young American volunteers, Missy Malkush and Rachel Clagett, brought the device to our attention and then offered to take a number of them to the Care Villa to fit on our beneficiaries and train them in their use.

The one-size-fits-all prosthetic is wrapped around the residual limb and secured tightly over the bones of the elbow joint with a Velcro cuff. A combination of stationary and adjustable prongs provides multiple gripping patterns to fit the amputee's needs.

For the men at the Care Villa, it meant they could now grip a cup, a fork or a plate. They could go outside to garden, holding tools to weed or tend to plants. A few of them even rediscovered the joy of writing letters and making things they could sell in the camp.

Of course, it took a little getting used to. But that's why the volunteers were there. Rachel was pursuing a doctorate in physical therapy at the time, while Missy was working on a master's in prosthetics and orthotics. They met at Wake Forest University.

The young women spent several weeks showing the Care Villa patients how to use their new hands and what was possible with them - a lot more than they had imagined.

The hands and care from Missy and Rachel lifted their spirits. And as Clear Path continues to sustain their daily needs, they rely on each other for emotional support and on their songs for inspiration.

Here is one of them, translated from ethnic Karen.

I lost my eyes so I can't look at you

I lost my arms so I can't hold you

I lost my legs so I can't come with you

My heart is broken, but I still have my voice

So I'll sing for you