Inside 'Kidneyville': Rani's Story

Rani holds documentation from her surgery. The file contains the signatures of the doctors, administrators and lab techs who profited from the sale of her kidney. View Slideshow CHENNAI, India — Jaya drank a quart of pesticide after her in-laws' dowry demands made her feel like there was no option other than suicide. When her […]

Rani holds documentation from her surgery. The file contains the signatures of the doctors, administrators and lab techs who profited from the sale of her kidney. View Slideshow View Slideshow CHENNAI, India -- Jaya drank a quart of pesticide after her in-laws' dowry demands made her feel like there was no option other than suicide.

When her mother, Rani, found her poisoned daughter, she carried Jaya in her arms to the hospital. The doctors and nurses had seen their share of suicide-by-pesticide and had antidotes handy. They saved Jaya's life, but she needed intensive care for more than a week. Her family couldn't afford it, and hospital administrators said they would stop treatment without payment.

Rani knew how to make fast cash. In Ernavoor, a desperate refugee camp on the north side of Chennai, that meant selling a kidney.

In this bleak slum, better known to locals as Kidneyvakkam, or "Kidneyville," 90 tsunami survivors stepped forward in January with charges of organ fraud, claiming that predatory brokers took their kidneys and sold them to the highest bidders, only to cheat them out of promised payment.

The accusations set off one of the widest police investigations yet into illegal organ sales. Two hospitals have been shut down so far, but few believe the live donor trade will suffer much. In fact, the crackdown has spurred a backlash from politically connected suspects that could put legalization back on the legislative agenda.

Meanwhile, in Ernavoor, people see their kidneys as an asset to be sold.

Many of Rani's friends had already sold their kidneys. They told her a broker named Dhanalakshmi ran a tea shop outside of Devaki Hospital in Chennai as a front for her real business: proffering organs on the black market. Dhanalakshmi gave Rani $900 upfront to cover her daughter's expenses and promised $2,600 more when the procedure was over. Dhanalakshmi made it clear that if Rani backed out, thugs on her payroll would sort out the situation with violence.

Before the 2004 transplant, Rani had to give blood and urine to be sure she was compatible with the buyer -- a wealthy Muslim woman from Chennai. She also had to pass a review by the Transplant Authorization Committee. Her blood work showed she was a match and she was soon on her way to GH Hospital to talk to the committee.

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The committee routinely approves illegal transplants through brokers. Its members are meticulous about covering their tracks, and give the procedures every appearance of legality. Rani's broker had coached her to speak only when spoken to, to hand over a packet of forged papers, and to leave as quickly as possible. Rani says that sometime before the meeting, Dhanalakshmi most likely paid a 2,000-rupee bribe to be sure everything went smoothly.

Rani wasn't alone in the committee's waiting room; three other women were there to sell their kidneys.

"We went up one at a time and all (the committee) did was ask me if I was willing to donate my kidney and to sign a paper. It was very quick," Rani said.

With the paperwork out of the way, she checked into Devaki Hospital a few days later for the surgery. The surgery went according to plan, but the recovery was more difficult than she had expected. Her neighbor sat by her bedside day and night. But after three days -- with her wound still draining liquid -- the hospital sent her home. When she went back to the hospital a week later for a checkup, the doctors pretended not to recognize her.

Her broker vanished in the time it took Rani to recover. She soon realized she'd been cheated when she saw Dhanalakshmi's vacant tea stall.

Rani had very little money after her daughter's hospital bills ate up the small advance. Several years after the operation, Rani is still unable to resume her job as a manual construction laborer because of the pain in her side.

When asked whether or not it was worth it she replied: "The brokers should be stopped. My real problem is poverty -- I shouldn't have to sell my kidney to save my daughter's life."

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Scott Carney is an investigative journalist based in Chennai, India.

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