Gome in Imminent Danger; A Career of Service Amidst Conflict

In a small district called Gome, in Puncak Regency, Central Papua province, there was a young woman named Iranti. Her name, which means “memory” in Yoruba, Nigeria, seemed to destine her to carry beautiful stories throughout her life. Iranti worked as a medical professional at the Gome Community Health Care Center. Every day, she and her colleagues served the community with dedication. They didn’t just work inside the building; they also frequently held outreach programs, like health education, childhood immunizations, and medical check-ups in the villages.

Gome was a place of enchanting beauty. The crisp mountain air brushed against Iranti’s cheeks, carrying the earthy scent of freshly tilled soil from the vegetable gardens that stretched in gentle waves across the landscape. As she walked along narrow paths bordered by vibrant green leaves and clusters of ripening produce, her eyes soaked in the patchwork of colours—rich emeralds, deep browns, and occasional bursts of bright blossoms. The distant laughter of villagers mingled with the soft rustle of wind through the crops, creating a symphony of comfort that made her heart feel at home. Every journey to the far-off villages was an immersion in these sensations: the quiet crunch of her footsteps, the sweet aroma of blooming flowers and ripe vegetables, and the reassuring smiles that greeted her at every turn. Nature’s embrace in Gome was palpable, a gentle encouragement to keep serving with warmth and dedication.

Suddenly, everything in Gome shifted in a harrowing way. Armed conflict had erupted, and each day seemed darker than the last. Iranti’s heart pounded whenever the sharp staccato of gunfire shattered the fragile silence—sometimes close enough that her breath caught, sometimes distant yet haunting, echoing through the valley. The low, ominous drone of helicopters circling overhead sent a shiver down her spine, their blades slicing the air like warnings that danger was never far away.

She peered out from behind curtains, her eyes scanning the empty roads that once bustled with neighbours and children. Now, the vibrant vegetable gardens lay abandoned, their colours dulled and leaves trembling in the wind, as if the land itself mourned alongside her. Every sound seemed amplified: the howling wind, the faint crackling of branches, distant cries, and the ever-present threat humming in the background.

Iranti’s mind raced with questions and fears. Would she be safe tomorrow? Would her friends and family return? The scent of earth and the sight of deserted plots pressed upon her memories, making her yearn for the comfort of those peaceful days. The weight of uncertainty bore down on her, but she clung to hope, refusing to let the terror erase her dedication to the people of Gome.

Iranti felt a tremendous sense of loss. It wasn’t just the loss of the beautiful scenery but also the loss of peace. She missed seeing the children of Gome playing happily in the fields, running freely without fear. She missed the warm, reassuring smiles of the residents as she came to visit them. Now, all that was left was fear and a piercing silence.

At night, when she lay down to rest, Iranti often stared at the starry sky, which was usually so clear and full of stars she used to see in Gome. But tonight, the sky felt gloomy, as if it reflected her heart. She longed for the days when she could freely serve the community, when she could enjoy the beautiful nature of Gome without fear.

Suddenly, a sharp, desperate cry pierced the heavy silence of the night, jolting Iranti from her troubled thoughts. The distant echo of gunfire still lingered in her ears, blending with the faint, anxious whimpering of a mother and her feverish child. Iranti clutched her medical bag tightly and hurried to their shelter, her footsteps muffled by the cold, trembling earth.

Inside, the air felt thick with fear. The mother, eyes wide and red-rimmed, cradled her son close as he shivered and burned with fever. Shadows flickered on the walls, cast by the unsteady flame of a single lamp, while the wind rattled the loose windowpane like an omen of danger lurking just beyond.

“Please, can you help him?” the mother’s voice trembled, barely louder than the whistling wind outside.

Iranti knelt beside them, her hands shaking as much from nerves as from the chill. She pressed her palm gently to the boy’s forehead, feeling the heat radiate beneath her touch.

“It’s all right. Let me see,” she whispered, trying to muster calm. “How long has he been like this?”

“Since yesterday,” replied the mother, glancing nervously at the window every time a distant shout or sharp crack broke the night, “He keeps getting worse. I don’t know what to do. I’m so scared.”

Iranti nodded, masking her own terror as the distant thud of helicopter blades began anew, echoing through the valley and vibrating in her chest like a warning drum. She forced herself to focus, pulling out her stethoscope and medicine.

“We’ll take it one step at a time,” she assured, though her own heart thundered with uncertainty. Every sound outside—a sudden bang, the low murmur of frightened voices—tore at her nerves and reminded her how fragile their safety was.

As she worked, Iranti’s mind swirled with worry: Would she make it home tonight? Would the next outburst of violence find them here? Yet in those anxious moments, surrounded by fear and the oppressive darkness, she remembered her purpose. Her oath anchored her, reminding her that even in the midst of chaos, her hands could bring comfort and hope where there was almost none.

Although fear still shrouded her heart, Iranti realized she couldn’t give up. The community still needed her. She might have lost her sense of security and freedom, but she still had the spirit to serve. She was determined to keep working, even if she had to do so with caution and vigilance.

That night, Iranti promised herself that one day, Gome would be peaceful again. She would once again see the smiles of its people, hear the laughter of children, and enjoy the beauty of the vegetable gardens. Until that day came, she would continue to fight, using the beautiful memories of the past as an encouragement to face the loss she felt today. And in the middle of the dark night, Iranti smiled a little. She knew that as long as there was hope, loss would never be the end.

Kreator : Vidya D’CharV