A lifetime’s memories erased

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Jenny, 89, and her carer, Pin, 49. More than 50 staff, mostly women, work at the centre. Some are trained nurses, others auxiliaries. Borcard Metraux

Offerings to the spirits, a calendar with the portrait of the Thai king and a wheelchair with the Swiss cross – a multicultural environment. Borcard Metraux

Margrit, 69, in her room. Two or three residents share a house, and each person has their own room. Borcard Metraux

Geri, 65, and Nong, after playing ball. Even though they don't speak the same language, communication is sincere. Geri needs to move and express himself all the time, but what he says is incomprehensible. But unlike in Switzerland, residents are not given tranquilisers. Borcard Metraux

Philippina, 73, has been living at the centre for six years. She likes to spend her afternoons lying on the couch. Borcard Metraux

A painter, Suzie, 65, used to produce calendars that were sold all over Switzerland. Today her illness prevents her from painting. Now withdrawn, she hardly talks. Borcard Metraux

Irene, 78, is only staying for a few months, a way of giving her husband Siegfried some respite. They will return home to Potsdam where Siegfried will continue looking after Irene alone. Borcard Metraux

Beda has been at the centre for three years. The 58-year-old former engineer lives in a silent world. Sitting in his chair, he stares into space. Borcard Metraux

Fon, 34, has worked at the centre for a year. She looks after Beda with two other caregivers in eight-hour shifts. The nursing staff earns around 9,000 Thai bahts per month (around CHF250). bm photo

The air in the room is warm. Everything is calm. Borcard metraux

Alzheimer's disease strips away what makes us individuals, shredding the memories of a lifetime. Borcard <metraux

Ruth, 74, relaxes in the living room of her new home. She arrived in Chiang Mai six months ago. She likes the climate, the flowers and walks in the park. bm photo

Twice a week, Nut, 42, comes to give the Baan Kamlangchay residents a massage. Bernard, 80, is from Geneva. He is the only French-speaking resident. Borcard Metraux

Sunshine peeking through early in the morning. Borcard Metraux

A short moment to relax. Each resident is cared for around the clock, by three caregivers. Borcard Metraux

Loulou, 89, arrived nine years ago. Her precarious health means she spends most of the day in bed, demanding special care. Borcard Metraux

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Faham is a village in northern Thailand, a few kilometres outside Chiang Mai. It's here that ten years ago, Swiss citizen Martin Woodtli set up Baan Kamlangchay, a centre for people suffering from Alzheimer's disease and old-age dementia.

His project began when his father killed himself, after he no longer felt able to look after his wife, an Alzheimer’s patient. Woodtli became his mother’s sole caregiver.

Convinced there was not a single institution in Switzerland that was up to the task of caring for these patients, financially or in terms of the structure, he decided after much thought to take his mother with him to Thailand. Woodtli, a social worker, knew the country well as he had worked there for Médecins sans Frontières (Doctors without Borders). He then set up a specially adapted structure for his mother.

Today Baan Kamlangchay is home to a dozen European residents.

“Who am I?” “Always the same question.” Siegfried doesn’t expect her to hear the answer. The 78-year-old German has been having the same conversation with his wife Irene for years. Her illness remains mysterious and tough to deal with, especially for family and friends. The memories of more than 50 years of life together are slipping away, slowly vanishing forever. Irene is here for a few more days to see if she can become a resident, but Siegfried isn’t quite ready to leave her behind in Thailand. The couple will head back to Potsdam near Berlin, where Siegfried will continue to care for his wife alone.

Some residents have been here for a number of years, while others have just arrived – at least that’s what they think. Geri seems troubled, anguished and talks non-stop in a language no one comprehends. Beda sits silently in his chair staring at a point in the distance. Occasionally, he hums quietly to himself. He’s just 58. Ruth, Margrit, Suzie, Bernard…their illnesses are different for each and every one of them. Are they locked away inside their bodies? Are they aware of their state of mind? Do they know where they are or who they are?

And if it happened to you? It’s a frightening prospect, because it strikes at the very foundation of what we are: our mind, our discernment, our identity. The illness gorges on everything, swallowing a lifetime’s memories. Everything becomes vague, to the point where we forget who we are, erasing our existence.

(Text and photos: Stéphanie Borcard, Nicolas Métraux, bm-photo.ch)