With four children, no husband, no home and nothing but milk from a borrowed cow for income, Bikisat Eskiev has not a ruble to spare. So to save the equivalent of less than $2 a week, she sent her son, Umar, now 13, to sell the cow’s milk at the ramshackle outdoor market in the center of this bombed-out capital of the breakaway region of Chechnya.
People took pity on the dark-haired boy toting five bottles of milk through the early morning darkness. For three years, his mother recalled, drivers picked him up for free, shoppers readily bought his milk, and he managed to navigate the perils of war-zone life, from collapsing walls to Russian soldiers who detain even preteens as suspected anti-government rebels.
Then on June 9, as he cut through a field to shorten his journey home from the market, Umar noticed what looked like a can of condensed milk in the grass. He gave it a kick, hoping a soldier had dropped it, unopened. The resulting explosion blew away his left leg below the knee.
Few places in the world are as laden with unexploded land mines, grenades and mortar shells as Chechnya. UNICEF estimates that 10,000 people, including 4,000 women and children, have been killed or injured by explosives since the start of Russia’s first war against Chechen rebels in 1994.
Yet Chechnya receives no international aid for mine clearance. Humanitarian groups say Chechnya is simply too difficult a place to work, both because of the continuing conflict between Russian soldiers and Chechen militants, and the long-standing penchant of Chechen gangs to kidnap foreigners and aid workers.
While Afghanistan has 60 rehabilitation centers for victims, Chechnya has none. The single UNICEF clinic is in Vladikavkaz in the Russian republic of North Ossetia, more than an hour’s drive from the Chechen border and a world away for many Chechens who live in remote villages and are often turned back on the roads by Russian soldiers.
So Umar lies on a thin mattress in Grozny’s decaying hospital No. 9, where last month he underwent his third surgery. He paused from munching on a bag of popcorn to greet a visitor as his mother brushed the crumbs off his gown. Reluctantly, he lifted a worn sheet to reveal the raw stump where his leg now ends, just below the knee. The hospital is short on skilled surgeons and supplies, and Umar’s previous amputations did not heal properly. Meanwhile, new mines are sown every week. (LATWP)