Chechnya's forgotten victims

Chechnya was a winning issue for Russia's president-elect

By Orla Guerin

I was sitting in my office in Rome when I heard the news. It was a warm afternoon, full of sunlight and promise - the kind of day when you cannot help but think how good life can be. Phones were ringing, colleagues coming and going. And there were plans to make - for another story and another foreign trip.

These days the casualties of Chechnya hardly get a mention

Then my mobile rang - on the other end a familiar voice full of tears.

"I have bad news," she said. "It's Zarema. She died on Saturday. And she has already been buried."

It was Coreena, a colleague working for the Reuters news agency in Moscow. She could hardly speak.

"I feel like my own child has died," she said.

She was the one who had first seen Zarema, and she had fought since then to try to save her life.

The world moves so fast these days that we live in the moment - today's disaster is what matters, today's conflict, and today's suffering, not yesterday's. Our attention span is short. And our compassion can be shorter still.

Headline writers are moving away from Chechnya

As far as most people are concerned the war in Chechnya is over, though refugees are still fleeing at the rate of about 1,000 a week. But Russia is looking forward now - ready for a new beginning with new President-elect Vladimir Putin.

These days the casualties of Chechnya hardly get a mention. Certainly Moscow has never wanted to recognise or count them. Zarema's life and needless death will pass unnoticed - except by a few.

Slow death

Her story begins in a cellar in Grozny. She and countless others had been driven below ground - like rats - when Russian forces began their assault on the city. For week after week, bombs rained down.

All the flesh had fallen away from her arms and legs

Zarema and her family were trapped. They were cold and hungry and desperate.

In the darkness this young girl of 16 watched her mother die of TB. She herself became ill, but the Russians would not allow her to be moved. By the time they eventually let her leave the tormented city she was barely alive.

"I couldn't even lift my head up," she told me the first time we met.

Stranger in need

By then she was in hospital across the border in Ingushetia, where the local staff were doing what they could to try to save her. But Zarema was suffering terribly. It was painful for her even to speak. Every breath was an effort. All the flesh had fallen away from her arms and legs.

Her eyes were heavy and she hung her head. When we spoke, her aunt was by her bedside, stroking her hair.

"Before all this she was beautiful," she said with pride.

When we told Zarema's story in a television news report, a concerned viewer from Wales rang in. Gerard Kiley was ready to move heaven and earth for a girl he had never met. He contacted a Cardiff chest specialist, Dr Ian Campbell, who had seen the story and also wanted to help.

From Cardiff to Ingushetia, messages went back and forth, by phone, e-mail and satellite transmission. We sent Zarema's x-rays and copies of her medical notes. Dr Campbell responded with advice, and additional drugs. A chain had been established and the contacts continued for weeks.

Money and assistance were offered in the UK, but Zarema was too ill to be moved. The kind and caring chief doctor back in Ingushetia told us there was a risk she would die on the way.

We told Zarema about the efforts to help. I remember her look of surprise, and her smile.

"Please say thanks," she said.

Moments of joy

I asked Zarema about her life before the war. I wanted to know more about her interests and how she had spent her time. As soon as I asked the question I realised my own stupidity. Her life had not been about choice.

"I never had much time to myself," she said. "Then, after my mother died I had to do all the work, and look after my brother's two children."

She had never had the chance to be a normal teenage girl.

Chechen children cannot have ordinary lives

The weeks passed. Dr Campell continued to monitor Zarema's condition. At times Zarema seemed a little better, at times a little worse. When we bought her a new cardigan it wrapped around her twice.

My colleagues from the BBC's Moscow bureau saw her recently. They asked what if there was anything they could get for her. She asked for just one thing - a teddy bear. They found one almost as big as she was, which brought her great joy.

As Vladimir Putin was celebrating his victory at the polls I got word from our translator in Ingushetia, herself a Chechen refugee, that she had seen Zarema again. She said she was feeling well.

Then within days the call came to say that her struggle had ended and she had slipped away. I am haunted by the idea of this quiet gentle girl dying alone, in the lonely silence of a hospital bed.

Zarema will not be mourned in the Kremlin. Moscow is already busy sweeping the horror of its campaign in Chechnya under the carpet. It was on the back of this war that Vladimir Putin rode to victory in the presidential election. The suffering and death of one young girl counts for nothing compared to that.

But those who tried to help, in Cardiff and Moscow, have marked her passing with sorrow and tears.