tayabullah, barely breathing, ill with pneumonia and malnutrition. his family wants us to see his condition. alone in a corner, his mother nigar realises her son is fading. doctors find a faint heartbeat. already defeated by a lack of resources, they re trying to revive him with the little they have. this man tells us it took eight hours, on rubble roads, to bring his grandson here. a family that can barely afford to eat, scrape together money to pay for the ride, trying to save their little boy. idema is one of two nurses treating 60 children. she makes a final attempt. minutes later, she tells nigar her boy has died. sobbing. they carry their baby home. he should be alive. every disease he had was curable. translation: i am also a mother, and when i saw the baby die, - i felt like i ve lost my own child. when i saw his mother sobbing, it broke my heart. it hurt my conscience. we don t have equipment and trained staff. there is nothing we can do but watch babies dying. barel
Taliban's recent ban on women working for NGOs means it's becoming harder for humanitarian agencies to operate, putting even more children and babies at risk.
translation: if | had - an income, she would have never suffered this way. right now, i don t even have the money to buy a cup of tea. this hospital doesn t have any equipment to cure her. you can barely find an oxygen cylinder. when we came back later, we were told gulbadan had not survived. oxygen had run out. within hours, two children died. another crushing blow for dr ahmad samadi and his colleagues. translation: | feel | exhaustion and agony. every day, we lose one or two beloved children of ghor. we re almost accustomed it now. we need equipment, ventilators and monitors. we need oxygen and medicines. for 20 years, the world put billions of dollars into afghanistan s