Zhejiang, China
In China at that very moment, Cheung Lak had the same knotty feeling in the pit of his gut as many others across the Pacific. However, his was from another cause. After sleeping through the night, he had gone back to work cleaning the worms. He even helped two of his neighbors clean their gardens. The worms were a filth to touch and a problem to dispose of. In the end, Cheung and his neighbors decided to bury them in the ground, where they had come from. What puzzled Cheung at the time was that all the dead worms had been found on the surface. What about the rest underground? Were they dead too? was something he wondered while working.
That worry was quickly replaced by something far more troubling when he got home. He started feeling even more tired than he was yesterday. His wife simply told him he was overworking himself cleaning up the critters. Then the fever started.
Cheung went to bed and hoped that the fever would be over soon. He needed to be in good health to tend to his farm, for if he couldn't, who would? But it persisted until the next day. Then he started having the urge to vomit, which eventually he did. A stomachache, a fever, were all symptoms that Cheung could not afford to have. It meant that he would need a doctor. His wife called a doctor over to check on him. The doctor diagnosed it as a fever and gave him several aspirins and other pills, which were rather expensive- but unfortunately necessary.
Now, Cheung feels as if the world really is coming to an end. No more energy to move out of bed, no more energy for anything. Cannot eat, barely can drink. The pills were the last solution, and it seems they have failed. Even his wife seems to be strangely ill lately, and hasn't been attending to him much lately. So Cheung lies alone in his small countryside home, burning from the inside out. Burning. . . .
Dhaka, Bangladesh
Disembarking at Dhaka's Shah Jahal International Airport, the first thing that becomes immediately obvious to the newcomer is the intense humidity. In the beginning of October, when the summer monsoon season is subsiding and a mild winter is moving in, the country's tropical humidity never ceases. Even in the terminal, the air is saturated with a thick moisture that clings to a traveler's clothes like an unwanted coat of dew, soaking into shirts, blouses, and suits alike. Most Bangladeshis are used to the tropical climate of the rainy and generally wet nation, but visitors are often distraught during their first visit by the often tempestuous weather.
Today is a typical day at the start of the fall season in Bangladesh, as Manjak notes outside the airport it is raining mildy. With the monsoon season coming to an end, the intensity of the daily rainfall also tends to decrease, and more sun generally appears in the sky. Being a nation straddled by the Tropic of Cancer, Bangladesh is in a position to receive intense sunlight during the Summer season, much of which is blocked by heavy cloud cover. The average October temperatures in the region never fall below 25 Celsius or go above 30, leaving the residents with a mildly hot fall that is still difficult to bear due to the constant humidity.
Manjak puts on a pair of aviator sunglasses as he leaves the terminal. The cloud cover is starting to drift away as the rain slowly dies away. He hails a taxi and tells the driver to take him to the FAO building in downtown Dhaka.
Along the way the roadside scenery quickly changes from airport to a developing urban metropolis very quickly. Dhaka, located in the geographic center of Bangladesh, is the most developed part of the country, which is plagued by numerous environmental, population, and infrastructural problems. Traffic is much different here than in Rome- most traffic is not comprised of regular cars but rather of rickshaws, in both manual-driven and powered variants. Scooters are also increasingly common components in Dhaka's traffic, along with a number of private automobiles. A large number of public buses help add to the traffic, causing considerable congestion along roads that were obviously not designed for the traffic capacity they are pressured to serve.
The FAO national office in Bangladesh is in the downtown of the city, in the Dhanmondi Residential Area. Due to the Banladeshi's Muslim traditions, working hours are Sundays through Thursdays, with Fridays and Saturdays off. After getting into a small traffic jam that takes nearly half an hour to get out of, Manjak finally arrives at the house. After paying the driver a generous tip and collecting his briefcase and rolling suitcase, Manjak enters the office and identifies himself to the man at the desk. After recognizing him, the man speaks into a phone, calling the national director. Zafir Mohammed appears a few moments later front one of the back rooms, stepping forward to greet Manjak.
"How are you, sir? Welcome to Bangladesh!", he smiles cordially, shaking Manjak's hand. As English is the official language of the FAO in nearly all its constituencies and offices around the world, communication is made simple between Manjak and all his co-workers in Bangladesh. "Its great to have your here, Dr. Manjak. We are grateful that Rome can give us some attention". "It's good to be here, Zafir. I'm really interested in working more with you, as you know headquarters should be devoting more attention to Bangladesh than it is.", replies Manjak tightly. They move off to the side, Manjak hushing down his tone. "Director Maurice hasn't been giving attention to any operations in Southeast Asia-This is my perspective and I told you this. It'll take a little more time before anything substantial can be done." "I understood that, Trip", replies Mohammed, "Its simply that- time is a resource not afforded by everyone". He pauses, giving Manjak a chance to reply. "And trust me, I understand that, "answers Manjak tersely, "but for now, you've got me here. Now, what is the situation here?" "The situation has been deteriorating, to say the least", states Mohammed, "the government is too mired in internal squabbles to actually help. We're left to implementing many of our reforms through corporations, and private donors. Not only is the corruption in the government hampering our efforts, but the sheer size of the effort is also a major obstacle. We have 160 million people in 147,000 square kilometers, an area approximately the size of your New York State. I've been to the States; I know. There is a growing gap between the less developed western sections of the country, and the improving and slowly advancing eastern areas. In addition, a small but non-negligible threat remains from militant groups that will tend to target foreign offices and NGOs."
"Yes, I read your report. You also mentioned something more urgent."
"China has had some outbreak of a previously-unidentified virus affecting its earthworms. They don't know how to deal with it, and its spreading faster than their government though possible. I suspect that it could be as bad as SARS was, if not worse." Zafir looks slightly worried. "If they can't prevent a virus like that from spreading, who can?"
Manjak is equally shocked at the news. "The worm virus is in China?!! I don't believe it." "Why?", asks Zafir, puzzled at Manjak's suddenly pale face.
"The exact same thing is happening in the Americas, although the entire story isn't out yet- that won't last long.", explains Manjak quickly. "Really? I wasn't paying attention at the international news for some time now. An epidemic that is killing earthworms?" "Epizootic", corrects Manjak, "Exactly that. But, I have all the information the USDA and Mexican government have put together over the past two weeks. We should use it to get prepared, and get the country ready."
"Ready?", asks Zafir.
"How did you get that information? Yeah, ready for its invasion here. And if its spreading at the rate reported to be spreading, it will be here faster than you can imagine. My estimate is about two weeks for it to spread from central China through Tibet and Myanmar over here," Manjak speculates aloud, before continuing, "We have to start working on a comprehensive plan to prevent general population and wildlife exposure to the virus. If we can do this within two, three days and then implement it within the next week, we should be able to prevent major environmental damage from occurring. But first, I need to alert all FAO national offices of this new development."
"I see. Let me get you the phone. And some maps, diagrams, what do we need?" "Hmm, we need to think this through first. Let'
s sit." The two men, finally having tired of talking while standing, walk into Zafir's small, cramped office and huddle in front of his computer. Manjak quickly logs onto his official email and rapid-types a letter to the office in Rome, which will then inform the rest of the FAO's world offices of the situation. After sending the message, along with attachments from the Chinese government's website and news sources despite their reliability, Manjak focuses on the local Bangladeshi prevention. "Let’s see. We would ideally want to rely on natural boundaries to prevent contamination." Manjak studies a detailed map of the region on the screen. "The Himalayas, the Ganges and Brahmaputra rivers- these are all great barriers. Problem is the river is behind Dhaka and half the country."
"We could create artificial barriers. Ditches, dikes, walls, anything necessary. Perhaps relocate the people and livestock that are too close to the borders to behind the barriers." "Yeah. What about scorched-earth? A line of earth with nothing living in it should prevent anything from reaching us. Most viruses don't survive in dead soil." "No one will agree to such a radical measure.", answers Zafir, "Besides, I've heard some avian viruses can." "This isn't an avian virus. A no-life zone will prevent it from spreading. Nothing survives in the burnt zone. But yeah, perhaps we shouldn't resort to that yet. What about a large scale disinfectant treatment?" "Aerosol spraying of disinfectant chemicals? That's equally radical", disagrees Mohammed, "Relocating people is harsh enough, but in some cases it is acceptable; however, as soon as any environmental or property destruction is also wrought; well then the solution becomes the new problem."
"Zafir. . . look. I've read the reports from Mexico, I've seen the pictures from California and my background involved predicting scenarios like this one. A virus will not stop, so long as hosts are continually around; plus this one is special. This is like AIDS for the worms, coupled with the virulence and ease of transmission of Ebola. Now what we need is a large physical, geographical barrier between any infected areas to the east and us. A barrier with nothing living in it, two kilometers wide. Its spreading itself from worm to worm via something, fluid exchange, sexual contact, slime, whatever. If we deny the space to worms, and all the other critters that revolve around the worm, I'm willing to bet we can stop this right here, right now."
"Where would you build this strip? We'll have to move many people, regardless of where it is built. And then, we are still just the FAO. The government will have to mandate it, and that will be nearly impossible to get them to do as they listen to us at their discretion." "I'll do it myself if I have to." Mohammed laughs, despite the seriousness of the situation. "Fine", Mohammed's smile disappears again, "In the meantime, I will be trying to implement a more feasible plan." "It is feasible. Can't you see?" Mohammed signs deeply, thinking it through. Finally, after a minute he asks, "Two kilometer swath?" "Two kilometer swath", is Manjak's answer. "Perhaps it is do-able", consents Mohammed, "At least more do-able than your proposition to aero-spray the entire area. No Aerosol is worth it- not even anti-bacterial agents. Every herbicide used in history, even for supposedly beneficial purposes- always resulted problems. Most infamously being the case of Dichlorodiphenyl-trichloroethane, or DDT, in the States." "Decontaminating the rivers would mean putting huge quantities of antibacterial agents. Plus, I think it is an impossible task to do in the time we have. Ditches, dikes, and walls by themselves won't do squat against a plague. But if there is no living material there, it should be exactly that-an impassable wall. We need to talk to the government. In person. Now.", Manjak states firmly, standing up as the plan quickly forming in his head. "Now? We should outline the plan first", protests Mohammed. Manjak catches himself in his hurry, sitting himself back down. "Right. Let's see. . . . "
Four hours of screen time later, Manjak, Mohammed, and the rest of the FAO personnel had put together a preliminary plan. Mohammed had to call several personal acquaintances of his to the office in order to better plan the route of the proposed dead zone. Zafir had managed to snag an environmental engineer, a geologist, and an ecologist from other work and rushed in to cooperate. Now, even though all five agreed that the plan was simply preliminary, nonetheless it was imperative that it be presented to the government as fast as possible. The route would cut through the eastern section of the main part of the country, encompassing the cities of Lakshan and Comila as it cut northwards through dense alluvial jungle towards the Himalaya mountain range. The drafted burn line would turn into the Brahputra river where it would be left at the Indian border. Again, it would be part of Manjak's responsibility to try to convince the Indian government to go along with his plan as well.
After packing his laptop Manjak along with Mohammed leaves the FAO building and enters an older grey Toyota, which Mohammed quickly explains is his personal vehicle. No government subsidized transit this day. Mohammed starts the engine and they speed down the road, slowing down to avoid intersecting traffic consisting of a mix of the usual mopeds, automobiles, motorized rickshaws and buses. Multitudes of pedestrians dressed in Bangladeshi dress, which in Dhaka is a mix from traditional sarongs to western street fashion, crowd the sidewalks and crosswalks. The dense patterns of commotion limits Mohammed's movement through the traffic. Eventually he manages to steer the car through the steel and concrete jungle onto Kamruzzaman Road, a larger two-lane avenue that runs east-west through the city. Once out of the smaller dense side streets, the vista expands to the center of old Dhaka- complete with lush gardens and British Raj era administrative and ceremonial buildings, which are now used by the Bangladeshi government for the same purpose. "Over there to the west you can see the Bangabhaban- our presidential palace", explains Mohammed as he weaves through the moderate traffic. Manjak nods as he silently observes the grey-yellow Victorian building in the hazy distance. Mohammed guns the engine and manages to fly the car between two city buses , making a sharp turn before squeezing the car into a makeshift parking space between several other mopeds and nearby fruit stands. "Its a short walk,” reassures Mohammed, "-to the Ministry of Health and Agriculture." The hot, humid, and mildly suffocating air engulfs Manjak as he steps out of the air -conditioned comfort of car and onto the sidewalk. As they walk along, Manjak, being quite obviously a foreigner, receives many curious yet strong stares from passerby - which justas quickly die out as people take notice of his suit, briefcase, and Zafir walking alongside him.
The ten minute walk through crowds, street venders, and Army guards eventually lands the FAO officials in the Ministry, housed in a old Raj-era building similar to the Bangabhaban Presidential Palace. It becomes quickly apparent to Manjak that Mohammed is well-known amongst the officials and employees in the Ministry, as many greet him- most with a surprising degree of cordiality. He must be well liked here. . . Manjak jokes to himself. There is no doubt, however, that the requirements of his post, as outlined by Manjak himself, makes it Mohammed's job to have good relations with the Ministries in his country. The Minister himself soon appears, and the men sit down at a polished glass table in the Ministry hall to talk. Manjak is quickly left out of the conversation as Mohammed rapid-fires in Bengali, whether because the Minister doesn't speak English or because they are more used to Bengali doesn't matter to Manjak. He listens to the words between the two for ten minutes, the Minister seemingly getting a negative image of the plan as he reacts icily to some of Mohammed's words. The Minister then leaves.
Manjak is left with Mohammed in the ornately designed, yet spartan meeting room. "Where did he go?" "He's agreed at least that the President will have to approve the plan. I've explained that we have no choice in the matter. Especially as you predicted that we will get afflicted in two weeks with the virus EWK." "Will this be a presidential cabinet meeting or just the President?" "Most likely the entire cabinet" replies Mohammed.
However, it turned out that the President cancelled several other functions to arrive just two hours later at the Ministry. Now late evening, Mohammed, the Minister, and the President turn into a midnight haggle over the intricacies
and simplicity of the proposed plan. Manjak is forced to butt in on two occasions, when asked by Mohammed, to voice his opinions. He also learns that both government officials are very understanding of English, but his hopes of using it for the remainder of the conversation are quickly dashed as they revert to Bengali. After another hour, the President, flanked by two guards, shakes hands with everyone and leaves. Mohammed leans over to Manjak and states in English, "Your small victory, Trip. They've agreed to try it. Mostly because of the timetable concerns." Manjak smiles grimly at the statement. "Then it will be up to us to see to it done right", he surmises prophetically.
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