In his classic epic Muna Madan, the great poet Laxmi Prasad Devkota had dwelled extensively on the lives of migrant workers. Madan, the story’s hero, had left for Tibet in search of work, so as to earn enough money to buy gold for his beloved Muna. But whilst there, he’d become seriously ill, and couldn’t get in touch with Muna. The pain of the separation had ended her life, and when Madan finally got home, earnings in hand, she was no longer around. It’s a tale that resonates particularly in a day and age when so many of our brothers and sisters, like Madan, have gone overseas in pursuit of better prospects, leaving behind their families and friends.

 

Every year, thousands of Nepali labourers cross the border to take up various odd jobs in our neighbouring countries. People from the Far West, for instance, are found entering the northern states of India and looking for menial jobs. Many such Nepalis are found working as porters at religious pilgrimage sites. In fact, 10 years ago, when I’d visited Badrinath and Kedarnath, I’d come across many of these Nepali porters, and was horrified at their sorry state. They were practically crawling over one another to be the first to lift a tourist’s luggage, and working themselves to the bone, carrying not just bags, but also people, to the shrine. One of the men we met was running a high fever, but he said he couldn’t stop working because he needed to earn as much as possible before the end of the season when he would return home. Others admitted they were HIV-infected. Still others had met with accidents during the course of their work and knew they would never make it home.

 

Has our country ever tried, in earnest, to find out the whereabouts of these labourers? We all no doubt remember the horrifying natural calamity that swept away thousands of lives in Kedarnath last year. But we still don’t have an official record of how many Nepali workers died in that catastrophe. It would appear, then, that these lives mean very little to any of us.

 

A few days ago, a man in his 40s came to my clinic, complaining of an acute shortness of breath. He was all blue and panicking as he had trouble breathing and had coughed up some blood. On delving into his detailed history, we found that he did not seem to have any infections, but was rather suffering from a condition called pneumoconiosis. Pneumoconiosis is a disease of the lungs caused by occupational exposure to inorganic dust. This includes fine bits of granite and silica, asbestos fibre, and coal, among others. When a worker is exposed to such particles, these get deposited in the lungs, exciting an allergic reaction and provoking damage to the lung parenchyma in the form of fibrosis. This fibrosis then decreases the process of oxygen absorption in the lungs and leads to hypoxia and hence, shortness of breath.

 

This man had experienced such an exposure and had a tragic story to share behind how it had come about. He’d come from the Far West and, along with many others from his village, had travelled to Jammu and Kashmir in India in the hopes of finding employment. They’d all gotten jobs as labourers in a project assigned to build a tunnel in Jammu. He’d worked therein for five years. Although there is certainly a law designed to protect workers from occupational hazards, it didn’t seem to apply to these Nepali men working on a daily wage basis, who were not aware of hazards or the need to wear protective gear. The man’s son had followed in his footsteps, but had worked himself to the point of exhaustion, becoming sick with severe breathing difficulties due to acute silicosis—caused by heavy exposure to dust—and eventually dying. The same fate was in store for four others from his village, who’d become chronically ill from the work.

 

The construction of underground tunnels, shafts, chambers and passageways are no doubt essential activities in developing infrastructure in a given country. But for the workers who do the actual digging and building, these projects pose many risks. Working under reduced light conditions, difficult or limited access, with the potential for exposure to air contaminants and the hazards of fire and explosion, underground construction workers face many dangers, and should really be protected under an international occupational hazard act, which should not just be implemented but also monitored for its efficiency. Without such safeguards in place, the human rights of these poor labourers are in serious and fatal jeopardy.

 

It’s an ordeal we’ve witnessed time and again in the case of migrant workers going to the Gulf countries. In the treacherous heat of the desert, many have died of severe dehydration and heart attacked. Others have come home chronically ill, with conditions like kidney failure from lack of timely treatment. These workers are exploited, abused and sent back to us, many in coffins.

 

With migration set to keep rising in the future, it’s hard to say how many Nepalis will die and be forgotten. Unless the state is willing to take the problem under proper consideration, and try to create work here, there will be no end to this. Although the great poet Devkota had tried to sensitise us to the issue many, many years ago, we’ve only watched as the problem has gotten out of hand over time. It’s imperative that we don’t wait passively any longer and take action right away.

 

Dr Neopane is Professor of Medicine at the Kathmandu Medical College and Senior Consultant Physician at Norvic International Hospital