- Dear Family and Friends,
-
- Late in the afternoon a friend got a call on his mobile
phone. The words were garbled and broken up, the call lasting just a few
seconds before cutting off. The musukuru (grandson) is serious, come now.
You have to be a Zimbabwean perhaps to know that the word 'serious' usually
means very sick. What would be a problem, even an emergency in the "normal"
world was destined to be a nightmare in our broken country.
-
- Again and again my friend tried to phone for more information
about his grandson but after numerous attempts gave up. He was wasting
time. His grandson is in a rural village, it was almost dusk and he knew
he must go. A fifteen kilometre bicycle ride got him to the village. It
was completely dark when he arrived. By the light of a candle he looked
at his precious little musukuru. Teeth clenched, face in a grimace, body
curled in taut foetal position, the two year old boy obviously needed help.
He had been vomiting copiously, shaking and arching his back and now the
slightest movement caused him to scream in pain.
-
- The nearest clinic is 3 kilometres away. There is no
transport, private or public. No telephones. No electricity, not even any
running water to wash away the vomit. An ambulance will not come from the
nearest town, not unless you can pay cash, in advance, up front: 50 US
dollars.
-
- As gently as possible the musukuru was laid in a box
which was lifted onto the back of the bicycle and tied securely with strips
of old car-tyre inner tubing. Blankets underneath and on top of the musukuru
in the freezing cold winter darkness, the journey from hell began. Every
stone, bump and gully on the disintegrating gravel road caused a scream
of agony from the child. Words of comfort were measured against the urgency
of the journey. At the clinic at last, there was no sign of attendance.
Calling, shouting, knocking finally produced a youngster: No nurses here,
he said.
-
- The next clinic is another 7 kilometres away. The grandparents
finally arrived, pushing their grandson in the box on the bicycle at 2
in the morning. Shivering and with frozen fingers their lifted their precious
musukuru into the hands of the nurse. They knew what to expect and had
bought a small sheet for the bed, their own blankets, a towel and even
maize meal and a small pot to make porridge for the child. A drip went
in, that's 14 US dollars, payable immediately. An intravenous antibiotic
was given, that's 12 US dollars, payable immediately.
-
- Two days later my friend was back in town and stone broke.
The musukuru is still in the clinic, still on a drip and still has a problem.
There are no doctors there. The nurses say that sekuru must pay for more
drugs. His cell phone is flat. He has no money, no airtime left and back
there, down the dusty pot-holed road the life of his little grandson is
in his hands.
-
- Until next time, thanks for reading, love cathy?Copyright
cathy buckle 25th July 2009.
-
- www.cathybuckle.com http://www.cathybuckle.com/> .
For information on my new book: "INNOCENT VICTIMS" or my previous
books, "African Tears" and "Beyond Tears," or to subscribe/unsubscribe
to this newsletter, please write to: cbuckle@mango.zw mailto:cbuckle@mango.zw>
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