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Where there's almost nothing, we do everything we can!
👋 It's me, Alex. I'm writing these lines with a light heart and a bit of road travel under my belt. I hope you're well, wherever you are.
Once again, I'm writing to you. You may have noticed that I like to write; it relaxes me, allows me to take stock, and, in the last few days, helps me take my mind off my toothache. It also provides a break from everything we're doing here, in this corner of the world where almost nothing exists. Because that's exactly what I wanted to share with you today.
We work with almost nothing. And yet, it's already so much more than nothing at all.
Here, my friends, there are no roads, clean water is exceedingly scarce, and toilets are absent. Electricity is a topic we don't even discuss, and internet access is a desperately distant luxury. But we're here, present, active, and whole—and we're taking action with what we have, which is already enormous. Thank you all.
We are a small Swiss NGO with no huge budgets, no major infrastructure, and very little support from Switzerland despite our numerous requests. I've invited embassy representatives several times, but no one has ever come to see us on the ground. It's a shame because they would see how much of a difference their presence could make.
Fortunately, on the Indonesian side, things are different. We have signed several memoranda of understanding and collaboration with the local authorities. This official support allows us to work legally, effectively, and with gratitude where no one else is doing anything.
Despite all this, we are often the only ones in the villages we visit. The only ones who come, the only ones who stay, the only ones who take action, and who provide real, concrete solutions rather than promises.
The other day, I was thinking about the school we built in Mbinudita, which I told you about in my last story. It was in the middle of COVID, with no roads, materials on site, or water. We erected tens of thousands of bricks, laid the roofs, and placed the foundations—then we dug them—by hand, with the villagers. We did it.
Today, this school has clean water and electricity, and the people there have access to medical care because we didn't wait for someone to give us the means; we created them and continue to do so.
Working with limited resources requires looking beyond just materials.
 Explaining malaria without rapid tests, slides, microscopes, and often without medications inspires us to innovate in education and prevention. It's about helping communities understand how to avoid the disease when there is no cure. Education, practical demonstrations, and knowledge-sharing are at the heart of our mission to achieve a lasting impact with minimal resources. This knowledge-sharing allows residents to participate actively in their health, thus strengthening their resilience to disease.
We discuss malaria, dengue fever, tuberculosis, and polio without having the tools to diagnose them systematically. Therefore, we rely on our skills, clinical experience, and the transmission of knowledge between mothers and our Kawan Sehat health workers. We observe, listen, and question.
We treat with little, but we treat well. Where modern medicine fails, the human element takes centre stage.
Thanks to all of you, my friends, we purchase hundreds of medicines individually. These include bandages, pain relievers, fever reducers, antihistamines, eye drops, ointments for treating skin infections, antibiotics, and sometimes malaria treatments when we're lucky enough to find them. While it's rare, we make do. Additionally, we distribute many dietary supplements, often vitamins, to help correct the effects of chronic malnutrition here.
Of course, we distribute insecticide-treated mosquito nets in isolated villages, along with a bar of soap, a glove, a word, and the incredible strength of our Kawan Sehat health workers, without whom none of this would be possible.
They walk miles daily to meet those who have never seen a doctor. They treat, explain, and reassure. They note symptoms, share information, and call when the network allows. They are pillars of strength: mothers, sisters, protectors. And they are wonderful.
And what we receive in return... are smiles, glances we never forget, coffees that are too sweet but always offered from the heart. It's that discreet warmth, that silent but strong bond that forms when you simply belong. Here, on these hills, in this dust, we are exactly where we belong.
I thank you, those with us: the supporters, the sharers, and those who read these lines. Without you, we would be alone.
And alone, we can't do all this.
So, thank you for your trust, generosity, and presence in your way.
And we continue here, with almost nothing but everything we need. Alex Wettstein.
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