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In a soul-stirring display of humanitarian effort, the Turkish Cooperation and Coordination Agency (TIKA) has taken a bold step to renovate the sole rehabilitation department of Moldova’s Experimental Prosthetics, Orthopedics, and Rehabilitation Center (CREPOR)—because when you think of urgent healthcare needs, why not start with a facelift for a facility that hasn’t seen a makeover since Y2K?
TIKA, a delightful blend of altruism and bureaucratic charm, proudly announced that this collaboration would ensure at least 40 patients can recuperate in style. Remember, this is the same country where a surgeon has to wear their best suit for a good show because aesthetics are everything, even in rehabilitation. “Concrete results,” proclaimed Türkiye’s ambassador to Chișinău, Uygar Mustafa Sertel, as if health improvements came served on a silver platter.
Muhammed Ünal, head honcho of TIKA’s Balkans and Eastern Europe Department, regaled audiences with tales of nearly 500 projects since their Chișinău office opened in 1994—51 of which were in health care. It’s reassuring to know that TIKA’s idea of a ‘health project’ is renovating a place that treats veterans, many of whom are long-term guests due to military adventures that could only be described as illogical.
Veronika Lebedinskiy, CREPOR’s director, showered gratitude upon TIKA for finally shaking off the cobwebs from the past 22 years. It’s as if she discovered a cheap beauty filter for a dilapidated department. “We’ll finally serve veterans in better conditions!” she exclaims, as if the same veterans who’ve endured relentless struggles with trauma and disability care about whether their rehabilitation room sports a new shade of beige.
At the ceremony, attended by local politicians who clearly have a knack for appearing just in time for a photo op, it became abundantly clear: being a veteran in Moldova must feel like winning a consolation prize—plenty of treatment opportunities, just long overdue and wrapped in a ribbon of state neglect.
And as Moldova’s CREPOR continues to patch up the heroes of war, one has to wonder: can renovations alone arm them against the battles of a society that treats their sacrifices like outdated furniture? After all, in the grand theater of international aid, where the audience cheers for a showy reno project, the performers themselves are left navigating the absurdity of outdated systems and forgotten promises. Welcome to the world of healthcare, where the past lurks in every faintly squeaky wheelchair.
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