The cost of a vaccine is a matter of life and death for thousands of children in Bangladesh. This week, as the World Health Organisation confirms a staggering 40% surge in measles cases across the South Asian nation, British pharmaceutical giants are scrambling to increase production. But for the families in Dhaka's slums and the rural villages, the question remains: will the shots arrive before the outbreak claims more young lives?
The numbers are stark. Over 3,000 cases have been reported in the first quarter of this year alone, compared to 2,100 in the same period last year. Children under five account for 70% of hospitalisations. The Bangladeshi government has declared an emergency, with limited local vaccine supplies now exhausted.
Enter GlaxoSmithKline and AstraZeneca. Both firms have announced emergency production lines in their UK and European plants, promising to ship millions of doses by next month. A joint statement from the companies read: "We are mobilising our manufacturing capacity to support global health partners in controlling this outbreak." The serum will be sold at cost price, they claim, a nod to the public relations nightmare that followed past drug pricing scandals.
But in the lanes of Kamrangirchar, a Dhaka slum where families live on less than a dollar a day, such promises ring hollow. Rina Begum, a mother of three, lost her youngest to measles last week. "They told us help was coming, but my baby died before the needles arrived," she said, her voice breaking. "Now they say more vaccines are on the way. But how many more children will die waiting?"
The vaccine production ramp-up is a logistical feat: from raw materials to the final vial takes at least six months. Critics argue that the pharma giants should have anticipated the spike, given global vaccination rates have dropped due to Covid-19 disruptions. "This is not a surprise," says Dr. Amina Khatun, a public health expert in Dhaka. "We've been warning about the return of preventable diseases for two years. The industry has been slow to act, and now children pay the price."
The British government has pledged £10 million to support distribution, but on the ground, the challenges are immense. Health workers must navigate flooded roads and rebel-held territories to reach remote villages. Each vaccine must be kept cold, a near-impossible task in a country with frequent power cuts.
Yet there are glimmers of hope. Local charities like BRAC are training community health workers to administer the shots, and mobile clinics are being deployed. The global solidarity is real, but it comes too late for many. As the first shipments leave factories in Liverpool and Cambridge, the clock is ticking for the children of Bangladesh. The real test will be whether the vaccines reach those who need them most, not just the well-connected in the cities.
For now, the families wait. And in the steamy heat of a Dhaka hospital, a nurse holds the hand of a feverish child. Outside, the monsoon clouds are gathering. The rain will come, as it always does. But the measles vaccine? That remains a lifeline yet to be delivered.
