As human beings, we instinctively seek hope and healing in the face of pain and death. For most of us, that hope is placed in two powers: first, in Allah, the Almighty, who is the ultimate healer and protector of life; and second, in doctors, those who devote their lives to saving others through science and medicine. But what happens when the second lifeline disappears, when there are no doctors, no clinics, no hospitals? For thousands of people living in the remote villages of Balochistan, this is not a hypothetical question . It’s a daily and deadly reality.
Balochistan, despite being the largest and richest province in terms of natural resources—holding vast reserves of copper, coal, gas, and gold—is also the most neglected when it comes to basic human services like healthcare. While cities like Quetta have hospitals and clinics, vast stretches of the province remain medically invisible. In the rugged terrain of rural Balochistan, a mother in labor, a child with fever, or a farmer with a snakebite often have nowhere to go. They rely on luck, prayers, and whatever folk remedies they can find—because professional medical help simply doesn’t exist around them.
Having personally seen the condition in various villages, I can say with pain that many areas don’t even have a single trained doctor. Some have no clinics, no dispensaries, and not even first aid supplies. Pregnant women deliver at home, often assisted by untrained hands. Children with treatable infections are left to suffer or die. Sometimes, even a cut turns fatal due to lack of antiseptics or tetanus shots. The tragic part is that these deaths are avoidable—but only if the healthcare system worked for everyone.
One of the most tragic examples was in 2021, when three children in a remote part of Washuk district died due to diarrhea and dehydration. A disease so easily treatable with a few salts and fluids ended up killing innocent lives simply because no medical help was available. Their parents were left devastated, holding their lifeless children, knowing that their deaths were not caused by illness alone, but by abandonment.
Transportation is another deadly barrier. In most villages, there’s no access to ambulances or even paved roads. To reach a hospital in the city, families have to travel for hours on broken, dangerous paths. Many patients die on the way. A heartbreaking example occurred in 2022 in the Awaran district, where a woman suffering from pregnancy complications bled to death in a jeep, unable to survive the five-hour journey to a city hospital. Her life could have been saved—if only a clinic existed nearby.
Imagine a sick child needing immediate medical attention. The nearest hospital may be 4 to 5 hours away, over rough, unpaved terrain. In many cases, the patient dies before ever reaching the city. Just last year, in the Khuzdar district, a young boy bitten by a venomous snake passed away because there was no anti-venom or trained staff in the local vicinity. By the time his family found a vehicle and reached a health facility in the city, it was too late.
Poverty makes matters worse. Most families can’t afford private treatment or even the cost of traveling to the nearest city. According to various surveys, over 60% of Balochistan’s rural population lives below the poverty line. Even if they manage to reach a hospital, they may not have money for lab tests, surgeries, or even medicines. As a result, many silently endure their illnesses, choosing between food for their children or treatment for their pain. This is not just a healthcare issue—it is a humanitarian crisis.
The statistics are devastating. Out of every 100 newborns in Balochistan, nine die before reaching their first birthday. In contrast, the number is five in Quetta, and seven at the national level, according to UNICEF and the Pakistan Demographic and Health Survey. This indicates a massive gap in healthcare access and quality. These newborns die of causes that are easily preventable: infections, birth complications, lack of oxygen, or simply not having a trained birth attendant present.
Even worse, the province is still battling diseases that most of the world has defeated. Only 1 in every 10 children in Balochistan is fully immunized. That means diseases like measles, polio, diphtheria, and whooping cough still spread easily. In 2019, an outbreak of measles in the Kech district killed at least 12 children in just a few weeks. These children were not born to die; they were failed by a broken system that couldn’t provide them a simple vaccine that costs less than a cup of tea.
In 2023, polio cases were once again reported from the Qilla Abdullah and Chaman areas, shocking the health world. Pakistan is one of the last two countries in the world where polio still exists—and Balochistan is at the heart of this failure. The province sees repeated vaccination campaigns, but due to poor access, low awareness, and sometimes insecurity, thousands of children are missed every year. The result is a generation at risk, born into a world where paralysis and preventable death remain real threats.
There is a severe shortage of health workers in the province. According to a 2021 report from the Pakistan Medical Association, the doctor-to-patient ratio in rural Balochistan is around 1 doctor for every 7,000 people, compared to the WHO’s recommended 1:1,000. Some entire districts have only a handful of doctors. Female doctors are even rarer, creating further barriers for women to seek help due to cultural sensitivities. And many doctors posted to rural areas either don’t show up or leave within weeks due to lack of basic facilities or security concerns.
Some local NGOs and charitable organizations have stepped in with mobile clinics and temporary health camps. While these efforts have helped hundreds, they are not permanent solutions. The government needs to invest in health infrastructure that reaches every tehsil, every union council, every village. Telemedicine, mobile units, and solar-powered clinics are all ideas that have worked in other developing regions and could be adapted for Balochistan’s unique geography and needs.
This healthcare crisis has deep psychological and social consequences. People living in neglected areas begin to feel invisible—like their lives don’t matter. They lose trust in the system, in the government, and even in the possibility of a better future. When a mother watches her child die from a fever that a simple tablet could have cured, the damage is not just physical—it’s emotional and generational.
What makes this all the more tragic is that Balochistan is not poor in resources. Billions of rupees are generated every year from its gas fields, mines, and trade routes. Yet its people continue to die for lack of paracetamol, clean water, and trained nurses. This is not just mismanagement—it is criminal neglect.
The government must take immediate and bold action. Emergency health units, permanent rural clinics, training programs for local medical staff, and subsidized healthcare must be introduced now—not ten years from now. District-wise healthcare audits must be made public, and accountability enforced. It’s time to move from promises to policies, and from speeches to saving lives.
In the end, we must return to where we began: Life is sacred. Allah is indeed the best of healers, but He has also commanded us to serve humanity, to save lives, and to bring justice. When we let children die from curable diseases, or women perish while giving life, we are failing not just our fellow citizens—we are failing our moral and spiritual duty. The people of Balochistan don’t ask for luxury; they ask for dignity, care, and the right to live.
