Far Away from the Fallout
The Scotsman, June 19th 2001
Alexei loves few things more than to work on
the vegetable patch where his grandfather grows almost all his family’s
food. As autumn gusts across the flat green landscape of Belarus, he digs
his hands into the dark brown earth to sow the wheat which will provide
bread for his family in months to come.
As the summer sun floats down the River Sozh towards Alexei’s home town of
Gomel, he gathers the strawberries from the beds that he helped to sow.
"I know what people say about our food," says Alexei, recalling his family’s
dacha, the traditional Russian smallholding, as he sits thousands of miles
from home on the sands of Elie beach in the East Neuk of Fife. "That the
soil is radioactive and the river water too. I hear the adults say that our
food is contaminated and it can make the children ill. But if we do not eat
the food we grow we will starve. So what else can we do? It is something we
cannot worry about."
Despite his words, Alexei knows that for an 11-year-old boy he has much to
worry about. A thoughtful and intelligent child, he knows that when, on 26
April 1986, the Chernobyl nuclear reactor in the former Soviet republic of
Ukraine exploded, 70 per cent of its fallout rained down on neighbouring
Belarus.
He knows that 53 per cent of that radioactive outpouring fell on to the soil
of Gomel, where it lives on in the local food chain to this day. It can be
found in vegetables, meat, mothers’ breast milk.
Before Chernobyl, Gomel region experienced just one child thyroid cancer a
year. Now that figure is closer to 100 annually. Alexei suspects, as
scientists do around the globe, that his own, nonspecific thyroid problem
and unrelenting coughs and colds are the part of the Chernobyl legacy that
he must bear.
That is why on a summer’s Sunday Alexei is not working on his beloved
vegetable plot in Belarus but building sandcastles on a Scottish beach. As
he speaks, 43 other Belarusian children with health problems similar to his
own slither about in the sand and sea.
They have been brought to Scotland by Chernobyl Children Life Line, a
charity which takes sick children out of the shadow of Chernobyl to spend a
month in the homes of families across the UK.
Alexei understands his four-week stay in Scotland is more than just a
vacation on the other side of the world. "Coming to Scotland will be good
for my health," he says, his words reflecting the mission of the charity
which was set up by retired British businessman Victor Mizzi in 1990. "This
is the important thing. I think I will lose my cold."
In the experience of Marjorie McFarlane, the chair of Chernobyl Children
Life Line in Scotland, Alexei can look forward to much more than going home
to Gomel minus his cold. "These children will all go home with an extra two
to three years of life expectancy," she predicts, her the confidence gained
from five years’ involvement with the charity. "That is what the Belarusian
doctors told me when the first group came over and, you know, I don’t think
I really thought it was true. I thought we would simply be giving these poor
children a nice time. But I never cease to marvel at their transformation
over four weeks. Look at them now."
McFarlane, a retired home economics teacher, pauses to take in the scene
unfolding on Elie beach. More than 40 Belarusian children are playing It’s a
Knockout with the children of Scottish host families.
At first glance it is hard to distinguish between the two nationalities.
Since flying into Edinburgh airport last Friday night the Belarusians have
swapped their often thread-bare wardrobes for nearly new clothes collected
by their hosts in recent months. But as their silhouettes darken against the
sun that slides into the sea at Elie’s shores, it is easy to tell the
visitors apart. They are the shorter ones, the skinnier ones, the ones whose
faces stay pale against the sky. They are the ones with the lank hair and
lustreless eyes. One little boy with blonde hair bends double, his chest
heaving, to catch his breath after running a few yards. Another boy, aged
ten but looking just seven, raises his hand to his mouth every few seconds
to clear his throat after running through the surf.
"In a month’s time you will not recognise these girls and boys," says
McFarlane. "Their faces will fill out, their hair will shine, they will be
heavier, stronger, livelier. They will be different children when they go
home. Then we will receive letters from their mothers telling us that when
their children stepped off the plane they did not believe their eyes."
If the Belarusian mothers are unable to trust their eyes in assessing the
benefits for their children spending a month in Scotland, they can trust to
statistics instead.
On returning to Belarus, levels of the radioactive element Caesium 137,
absorbed into the children’s blood through the contaminated food chain, will
be measured. As with the 18,000 children who have visited the UK in the past
11 years with Life Line, the presence of Cesium 137 in this latest group to
come to Scotland is likely to have fallen by half or more, thanks to clean
air and uncontaminated food.
All are among the 800,000 Belarusian youngsters considered by scientists to
be at increased risk of thyroid cancer as a result of Chernobyl
contamination. Medical professionals believe that the cleansing conditions
of Scotland will boost their immune systems to such a degree that they will
not simply live longer but develop the strength to fight off the cancer from
which every mother fears her child is at risk.
Life Line has given such a chance of life to 18,000 Belarussian children in
the past 11 years. But Marjorie McFarlane wants to help more. Life Line
currently has 13 receiving groups across Scotland, but attempts to expand
the initiative into Edinburgh, the Lothians and Aberdeen have so far failed.
"You give a month of your time and a child gets an extra two or three years
of life," says Mike Christie. He, with his wife Margaret, is one of 24
families in the Perth, Fife, Dundee and Angus areas to play host to 48
Belrussian children in the coming month. "Did you ever get a better return
on an investment than that?"
Christie, 53, admits he was sceptical at first. Margaret persuaded him that
having retired from his job as a British Telecom engineer he might wish to
devote some of his newfound freedom to playing host to children.
"I’d heard all these horror stories about French kids coming on an exchange,
going out and going wild. I can understand why anyone would be reluctant to
open their door to this, but I have to admit I was completely wrong," he
says now.
The Christies decided to host two young girls in 1997 after hearing
McFarlane talk about the charity at the local parish church. "I put myself
in the shoes of a mother who knew that every day she was feeding her child
radioactive food and radioactive water and that it was a choice between that
or starving to death," says Mrs Christie, who has two adult sons . "I
imagined being their mother and thinking that in Scotland there was a woman
with a home and time who could help give them an extra couple of years of
life. I just cried."
Mrs Christie said: "The night before the first two girls arrived was like
the night before having my first baby," she recalls. "Excitement. Fear. Then
when this little troup of waifs walked off the plane, I just wanted to cry.
One of our first girls was Natasha - I hugged her hello. It was like hugging
skin and bone. I knew we had done the right thing."
Last year the Christies played host to Natasha’a ten-year-old sister, Aliena,
and this year to her younger sister, Ina, 7. Along with Ina, the Christies
are also playing host to another eight-year-old, Nina.
All but eight days of the 28-day stay will be filled with organised group
activities, and when the Christies need time for other commitments, the
girls will be cared for by either of two support families assigned to host
families. Three interpreters have joined the trip, and are always available
by telephone to deal with the occasional language problem. A fleet of
drivers ferry children to and fro if their host families’ working
commitments necessitate extra help."
Much of their time is taken up raising funds towards the cost of the £375
air fare to bring each child to Scotland. The only other cost is for food
and maintenance while the children are here.
As the girls hug the Christies and drag them laughing along the shoreline on
Elie beach, splashing the surf in their new pink wellington boots, it is
impossible to believe the girls met their hosts for the first time 48 hours
earlier.
What do they like most about Scotland, I ask. "My family," they cry in
unison, pressing their boney cheeks against Mrs Christie’s grinning face.
"We are old hands, but it has always been the same," she responds. "All
these children are so trusting, so well mannered, so loving - maybe that is
the background from which they come.
"Never a day goes by but we talk of the girls who have been to stay. We
write to their families. We even went to Belarus for a week and stayed at
Natasha’s home. The gratitude of their mothers moves you to tears.
"They feel we have done so much. But we have gained so much. We have a
different perspective on the world, a sense of our own good fortune. I don’t
throw food out the way I used to - it has affected my whole outlook on
life."
Sergei, 12, whose father fought the Chernobyl fire in 1986, stares out at
the sea he has seen for just the second time in his life. He believes
Scotland is the place he will find a more natural cure for his ongoing
health problems. "All the kids back home are envious of me," he says. "They
come back and talk about Scotland like a fairyland. You have shops, so big,
so much choice, I never knew the world could be like this.
"But I am here for my health. When I go home to Belarus, I think I will
leave my cold behind in Scotland."
For further information on the Chernobyl Children Life Line contact Marjorie
McFarlane on 01738 828637.
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