From Professor Dr Zalina Ismail
As of March 21, Kelantan recorded the lowest number of registrations with only 11.8% of the state’s population registered for vaccination through the MySejahtera application. This was something that concerned me a great deal and naively, I thought that perhaps, in my own way, I could help to increase the vaccination rate.
On May 31, I volunteered at a vaccine distribution centre (PPV). I read that volunteers had to be below 60 years old but that did not stop me. I’m 65 years old and I’m a volunteer. Too old for MyVac, almost as old as the oldest vaccine recipients, considered as being in the most vulnerable groups to get Covid-19 infection.
No one wanted my skills as a previous medical doctor, with a PhD in Neurophysiology and a master’s degree in medical law. At best, people saw me as a retired makcik. The need to help is innate in me. I’ve been working with vulnerable groups all my life. I wasn’t about to stop now.
How did I end up at a PPV? The only way I could. I literally ran a Call Centre from home. So, while my children work from home, I did the next best thing, I VFH, volunteered from home.
It was a rough ride, but along the way I learned a great deal about humanity and about myself. I also learned that statistics can lie. What did I learn?
1. Many people are convinced they are frontliners and need the vaccine now
As much as there was a reluctance to get vaccinated, there was an equal number of people insisting on being vaccinated in place of their reluctant relatives.
Although the health ministry defines frontliners as being “individuals who have a high risk of contracting and spreading the Covid-19 virus, who are exposed to other individuals who have been infected and who have a high risk of being infected, and who are in an environment that has a high potential to be the cause of an outbreak”, this did not deter the people I talked to on the phone.
By their definition, they were “frontliners” and were not too happy with my definition.
A young man wanted to know why MySejahtera discriminated against him; a young lady argued that she was more vulnerable than her ageing grandma as she had to go out all the time while grandma was bedridden.
It was at times like this that I learned what true patience was all about. It was also during times like this that I developed a strong kinship with people who work at call centres. I promise that the next time I receive an inane and vacuous call from some strange call centre, I shall be nice to them.
2. Despite the low rate of MySejahtera registration, it wasn’t because they didn’t care
Many of the calls that I made remained unanswered; the WhatsApp messages unread, until about 6pm when I started to receive a barrage of calls from as far away as Lahad Datu and an offshore oil platform. People were coming off work.
These were the sons and daughters, brothers and sisters of the older relatives left behind in Kota Bharu. Gone was my perception that everyone comes back during Raya holidays to clog the roads in KB, making it difficult for me to find a parking spot and bringing along Covid-19 with them.
These people cared. There was concern in their voices. I kept hearing these phrases over and over again. “I can’t come back to send Atuk to the PPV.” “I need to find a neighbour to help”, “Atuk is living alone. He doesn’t know how to get to the PPV.”
As I continue to make these 400-per-day calls, I gradually realise the level of care and concern these people have of their elders left alone in Kota Bharu. Who are we to say that the people of Kelantan don’t care about the vaccination, when we provide very little support to those who are the most vulnerable?
3. Just because they refuse to get vaccinated does not make them anti-vaxxers
While I made an average of 400 calls per day, it was interesting to note that in all that time, I never encountered any true blue anti-vaxxers.
There was one incident where a man called from Kuala Lumpur saying there was no one in Kota Bharu to transport his grandmother simply because no one believed in the vaccine and had convinced his grandmother not to go. Other than that, the reason that elderly people registered under MySejahtera refuse to come for vaccination is mainly because there is no one to bring them to the centre.
We did have one very characteristically Kelantanese grandmother who walked no less than 3km in the hot sun to get herself vaccinated. We did send her home after vaccination but nevertheless, such things should not happen in this day and age.
It is heartrending to realise that in Kota Bharu there are so many elderly people living alone, people who are in urgent need of the vaccine, but who are bedridden, paralysed or just unable to make that journey to the PPV. These are the ones who many of us thought were anti-vaxxers but are actually part of a problem in need of a simple solution.
4. The great vaccine non-debate is a non-issue
The question I get asked the most is “demo nok cocok vaksin gapo?” (What vaccine are you going to give me?). You can literally feel the number of people at the other end of the line waiting for me to say what it’s going to be.
At the PPV where I am a volunteer, it happens to be Sinovac.
What and how I reply in the next minute or so can mean the difference between whether or not the person will come eagerly or reluctantly to the PPV, or even not at all (but this is quite rare).
There are those who are relieved to hear it is Sinovac, those who are sad to hear it is Sinovac, those who think I have the power to order Pfizer just for them and those who demand AstraZeneca because they are allergic to Sinovac and Pfizer. I have heard more excuses here than from my children when they forget to feed our goats or chickens. Amazing!
I have become adept at giving them what amounts to Hobson’s Choice when it comes to the vaccine and certainly this has been a learning experience for me.
5. People are caring
After making hundreds of calls per day and sending all those WhatsApp messages, I tend to get very cynical at times. Some people want me to magically make their names appear on some special list so that they can get their vaccine ahead of the vulnerable groups. Others gently and sometimes not so gently hint that they could make my life easier if I put their names on that special list.
Needless to say, I reported that incident.
Yet some others purport to have strange and exotic diseases that require immediate vaccination against Covid-19. Queue jumping seems to be second nature to some. My cynicism doesn’t last though when I see seemingly random acts of kindness at the PPV, where strangers help each other, donate food and drink to the frontliners, and provide fans to cool down the waiting area.
People actually call back or message me later to ask me to extend their thanks to the workers at the PPV. My faith in the essential goodness of humans is restored. When I started out with volunteering, it was with the intention of helping out and easing the burden of the frontliners at the PPV. I wanted to be useful to society, to give back to the community that has given me so much in terms of security and serenity.
So, while Kelantan recorded the lowest number of registrations with only 11.8% registering on MySejahtera, let us not be too quick in condemning those who have not registered, or even registered but did not come. The statistics may not reflect what really is happening at the grassroots.
Nevertheless, I do realise that at the end of the day, I am the one who is thankful that I was given this opportunity to learn more about the vulnerabilities of humanity and in the process to learn more about myself and to be thankful for everything that has been given to me.
Yes, it is tiring work, yes it tested my patience to the extreme, yes it has given me a sore throat that refuses to go away, but will I do it again? In a heartbeat.
Professor Dr Zalina Ismail is an FMT reader.
The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of FMT.