Amie in Africa Box Set 1

by Lucinda E Clarke

  “Gardens are a pet project of mine, and it takes a lot of hard work, but I believe if you’re going to heal the body, then you must heal the mind at the same time.”

  Amie nodded.

  “Let me give you a little bit of background on the hospital. I’ve been here for almost two years, brought in with several other members of staff when the president’s son was dangerously ill. He’d received treatment overseas in America, but his father was unwilling to leave him in a hospital abroad. As you can imagine, it’s not wise for …” Matron paused, looking for the right words, “… not wise to be absent from your country for any length of time.”

  Amie had been in Togodo long enough to understand exactly what Matron was saying. When you seized power by force, even under the guise of an electoral process, there were always those who were prepared to lead a coup and take over, by force if necessary, especially if the previous leader was absent.

  “So, no expense has been spared here in the hospital,” Matron continued. “We have an excellent staff, almost all of us from other countries, and we have a lot of advanced equipment, such as MRI and CAT scans, an X ray department and two fully equipped operating theatres. And we are most proud of our neo-natal wards. In the last two years we have brought down the statistics on infant mortality to less than ten per cent among those who give birth in the hospital.”

  Matron looked at the expression on Amie’s face as she scribbled in her notebook.

  “I know that might not sound very impressive, but I can promise you that up until recently, the number of babies who died before, during and shortly after birth, was horrendous.”

  There was a knock on the door, the coffee had arrived and for once, and to her relief, Amie was invited to put in her own milk and sugar.

  Matron smiled. “Are you getting used to strong tea with at least three spoons of sugar?”

  Amie laughed. “You read my mind.”

  “This is not the first African country I’ve worked in, and customs do not vary.”

  Amie noticed Matron was not as young as she’d first thought. Her air of self-assurance and confidence, together with a few white hairs, put her closer to fifty than forty.

  Amie recalled the colonel’s instructions. “I would like to focus on the neo-natal department. I was told about that specifically.”

  “As soon as you’ve finished your coffee we can start. Although you might be in for a bit of a surprise!”

  After collecting Ben and the equipment, they walked to one of the buildings at the far end of the hospital complex. The small ward was familiar, with six beds, all occupied by women, who looked to Amie to be in the early stages of labour. She was shown the labour room and the recovery room and next door, another room that contained six incubators. Matron pointed to a hand dispenser on the wall for disinfecting their hands.

  “Many of these little ones have not had the best start in life and are quite frail.”

  Amie gasped, inside each incubator, covered in a light blanket, coloured either pink or blue, lay the smallest babies she’d ever seen.

  “Many of our babies are born small and underweight,” explained Matron. “Few of our mothers have a balanced diet and also, many of them work right up until they give birth. It has been quite a challenge to get them to come and give birth in the hospital. Many of them are frightened of what is strange to them, and too, the local witchdoctors do not look kindly on our work.”

  “I think I can guess why,” said Amie, making a note of the shots she wanted to get on camera.

  “We’re a threat to their income.” Sohanna Reddy added. “We dispense most medicines for free, and of course the local sangomas demand payment for their services. Woe betide you if you upset a sangoma though, they are powerful people and are best avoided.”

  Amie felt a shiver run down her spine. How would William’s sangoma react when he realised she’d deprived him of one of his best customers? She focused on what Matron was telling her.

  “We encourage the mothers to come to our pre-natal classes, but that’s not been the most successful part of the programme. We have a team I would like to introduce you to, who go out into the bush and look for young girls who may be pregnant. Some of them, poor dears, don’t even know they are pregnant.”

  “Surely not,” Amie was amazed. “But their families must …”

  Matron interrupted. “If they even suspect a girl has been with a boy, then they are often expelled from the family and the village. As far as they’re concerned, she is now of no value and cannot command a good lobola or bride price. She is damaged goods.” As she spoke Matron checked the monitoring devices attached to each bassinette.

  “Often these poor girls are not wayward, but the victims of rape, many as young as twelve or thirteen, a few even younger than that. They are sent out into the bush to fend for themselves as best they can, and even though their tummies begin to swell up, they are not really aware of the cause.”

  “Africa is even more cruel than I thought it was,” murmured Amie.

  “It’s a very different culture,” Matron agreed.

  “But what happens to them if your team do bring them in?” asked Amie.

  “I think they should tell you themselves. Come, the team as you called them, are waiting for us over at the unit.”

  Outside in the small courtyard shaded by two acacia trees, Amie was introduced to Nomsa, Thuli and Marga who greeted her with broad smiles.

  “Welcome,” said Thuli. “You want to know more about what we do?”

  “Yes, please,” replied Amie. “I have been asked to make a film about the hospital and all the things you are doing to help, especially the neo-natal unit.” As she spoke, Amie noticed the glances which passed between them. They did not seem quite at ease, or was this just her over active imagination?

  Marga spoke up, “We go out to the small villages around the city and talk to the people and try and find out if any of the young girls in their community have been expelled from their homes.”

  “It is not easy,” continued Thuli. “Often the families are not willing to talk to us, they are very suspicious.”

  “Yes, so often it is the sisters of these poor girls, or a teacher in the village, who gives us information and then it is up to us to explore the bush and find them,” Marga added.

  Nomsa went on. “Usually they don’t wander too far away from their village as they are scared of wild animals and unfamiliar places. But sometimes they will hide from us, and it is difficult even when we do talk to them, and persuade them to come with us.”

  “But if you are offering them food and shelter and comfort …?” Amie could see no reason for refusing help in such circumstances.

  “It’s the fear of the unknown,” said Matron. “From being part of the community, living in a family group, suddenly their world changes, and they are chased out to fend for themselves.”

  “We can’t help all of them,” Nomsa added. “We know many of them die in the bush, if they can’t find enough to eat, or if the baby comes too soon. It is very sad.”

  “How – how many do you rescue?” asked Amie.

  “We brought in forty-two last year,” answered Marga.

  “And what happens when you bring them into the hospital?” Amie wanted to know.

  “Ah, that’s the part we are most proud of,” Matron smiled. “Come, we will show you the hostel.”

  Together they walked over to a low building, which consisted of a large dormitory, a central living area, a communal bathroom, and an area at the side under an overhang which served as a kitchen.

  “We give them a bed and check them out medically and feed them, of course,” said Thuli indicating the large cooking pots.

  “But the hard part is teaching them about their pregnancy,” Nomsa cut in. “Many of them have no idea …”

  Amie interrupted. “But surely, they see babies being born all the time, and they have animals all around and …” she simply couldn’t fathom anyone being pregnant and not kno
wing it.

  “Sex is not a subject that is talked about,” Matron, answered her. “It’s not part of African culture to give any sex education at all. It also makes our family planning work difficult. Most of our women are very passive when it comes to being told what to do by the men. It’s not their place to say no if a man wants favours.”

  “And if they refuse or are not willing, many times the man will beat them into submission,” Thuli added.

  “This also makes our work with the HIV patients very difficult,” said Matron. “We tell the women to encourage the men to wear condoms, to prevent the spread of the disease, but the men refuse, they don’t like to wear condoms, so they don’t. And now this is another form of power they have over the women.”

  “Do you know how many of the women in the hospital are HIV positive?” asked Amie. Again, she noticed uneasy looks passing between the other women.

  “Officially, we are not allowed to test for AIDS, even with the consent of the patient, and there are no official records or statistics of how many people are infected,” Sohanna Reddy told her.

  Amie picked up on the word ‘official’ and took a chance. “I won’t put this in my film. I won’t even mention AIDs, but do you have any idea of … how many ...?”

  Matron looked over her shoulder before she answered. “At the moment, one hundred percent of our pregnant and nursing mothers are HIV positive,” she said quietly.

  Amie gasped. She had no idea how bad the situation was. “And the government is not collecting figures at all?”

  “How can you, if you are not allowed to find out who has AIDS and who hasn’t?” said Nomsa bitterly. “Until the government acknowledges there is a problem, then no one is going to do anything about it.”

  “We are not even officially allowed to encourage the women to ask for condoms,” Thuli added.

  “And we get nowhere talking to the men of course,” Amie could hear the frustration in Nomsa’s voice.

  “What a difficult job you have!” Amie was horrified.

  “But, on the brighter side,” said Matron, cheering up, “we have helped lots of our young bush mummies give birth to healthy new-borns, and then we teach them how to breast feed and look after their babies.”

  “Because few of them can read and write, we teach them through song and dance, and some of them are going to sing for you and show you what they have learned,” said Thuli.

  “That will be great,” said Amie, thinking this would make the programme much more visual and interesting.

  The matron nodded. “We keep them as long as we can, and try to find a place for them to live, and work too if possible. But it’s not easy. There are always more young mothers than we can accommodate.”

  By the end of the day, Amie was pleased with the footage she had in the can. She was sure this would make the best of all the programmes on her list and for once, there was some real truth in it. She made arrangements to go back the next day to interview a few of the patients and film some of the diagnostic equipment in use. The colonel hadn’t actually mentioned the mother and baby unit, only the neo-natal ward, but Amie felt this was a vital part of the good work being done by the hospital staff, so she hoped he wouldn’t make any objections when he saw the finished programme.

  On several occasions, Ben was surprised and puzzled by some of the shots Amie took, they didn’t seem relevant in his mind to the subject matter, but Amie was determined to have footage to use when she returned to England and put together what she saw as the truth about life and everyday happenings in Togodo. Her programme wouldn’t tell the same tales as those she was being coerced to make by the government, but for the moment, her version would have to wait. The colonel’s demands came first, and she only had two months to prepare all the programmes he wanted.

  Amie had never thought of herself as an evangelist in any way, but she was beginning to have a burning desire to try and explain the way of life, the culture and the beliefs held by African people. She had already heard many stories about the wastage of foreign aid to third world countries, how most of the money and supplies went into the back pockets of the rich, ruling class and how few of those who really needed help ever received any at all.

  Did you really have to experience it here on the ground to understand that people behaved differently, acted differently, and thought differently? Yes. You couldn’t even start to understand them unless you lived among them.

  The moment Jonathon walked in the door that evening, Amie knew he’d not had a good day. He threw his briefcase on the sofa and only put his lap top down a little more gently.

  “Bad day?” Amie enquired unnecessarily.

  “Usual nonsense,” he snapped as he made for the dinner table. Hearing the door bang, Pretty had rushed to take his plate out of the oven and bring it through to the table.

  “Nothing is ever simple,” grumbled Jonathon as he sat down. “Everything you ask for, or try to organise, becomes a massive problem.”

  “Even with the Fixer?” asked Amie.

  “Even Alfred is finding it uphill. It seems everyone is rather preoccupied at the moment. There’s something going down, but no one can put their finger on what.” Jonathon paused, then stood up and walked over and held out his arms.

  “Come here, I need a hug. It’s so good to be home and I will try not to be so grumpy, I promise.”

  “I understand,” Amie replied giving him a big squeeze. “Life here can be so frustrating.”

  “But there are moments when it’s extremely rewarding as well.” Jonathon smiled.

  “It’s all part of the experience,” said Amie, pouring him a glass of wine.

  “Not tempted to start the expatriate drinking, are you?” Jonathon grinned.

  “No, we’re hardly in the ‘White Mischief’ class,” giggled Amie. “Anyway, I have to admit that while I’m so busy at the moment with all this filming and editing, I don’t have a spare moment to get into any kind of mischief at all.”

  “How’s it going? How many programmes does the colonel want again?” asked Jonathon.

  “There are six altogether. The bicycle project, the hospital, the computers in schools, the small business modules, electricity supply and the bed and breakfast. Frankly, the hospital is the only one I think will make a good programme, and I have a sneaky feeling the colonel won’t be pleased with it at all.”

  “Why, if that’s the one you think is really good?” Jonathon was puzzled.

  “He wanted me to show the new neo-natal ward in particular, and it does have some really up to date equipment. But what really impressed me was the scheme they have for finding young pregnant girls who are thrown out by their families, and left to fend for themselves in the bush.” Amie described how the girls were brought in, safely delivered, and then taught how to care for their babies.

  “I can see why that might not please him,” said Jonathon as he hungrily dived into his dinner. “That’s a throwback to more primitive times, and he wants you to show Togodo as a modern, upmarket, first world county.”

  “Exactly, and it most certainly is not, and there’s no way I can get the camera to record those images, they’re just not there,” Amie complained.

  “I wish you luck. What’s for dessert?”

  Even though time was extremely tight to get the programmes ready for the Trade Fair, Amie was determined to meet her deadline. To start with, she kept up her twice weekly visits to the school, but even those went by the board as she devoted every waking moment to the project. The days flew past with Amie staying up late every night, doing her best to edit the footage she’d captured to tell stories that were simply not there. She recorded the voice-overs herself, often in the early hours when there was less external noise, and just hoped the cicadas chirping outside the window, would appear to be natural sounds recorded during the filming. There was no way she could stop them from rubbing their legs together while she was telling enormous lies in her commentaries. She was dreading her meeting with Colonel Mbanzi on
the due delivery date.

  The whole city was buzzing with the excitement of their first ever International Trade Fair. Even Jonathon had been diverted into setting up a booth with pictures, plans and information about the desalination plant. The newly built, and not quite completed, conference centre was the focal point of everyone’s interest, and work continued day and night to try and get everything ready on time.

  When Amie drove to the government building housing the colonel’s office, she couldn’t stop herself from shaking. This is worse than a trip to the dentist, she thought. She needn’t have worried, for although she’d made an appointment, the colonel was nowhere to be seen, and his secretary had instructions for Amie to leave the disks with her.

  Hopefully they’ll get lost, thought Amie as she got back into the car. The show opens in a couple of days, and if he doesn’t like them, there’s not a lot I can do about it now. Several times she’d tried to see her employer – if that was the right word to describe him – once she’d completed each of the programmes, but he’d always been far too busy to waste his time seeing her. Well, that’s his problem, she thought, but I know he’ll make it mine somehow, even if it meant lying about his instructions to her.

  That afternoon at the Club the buzz was all about who was going to come to Togodo’s first ever Trade Fair. People were laying bets as to how many visitors would actually fly in, and how many the government would boast had come to the show.

  “I’m not wasting my money on any wager,” said Diana, coming over to join the others on the veranda. “But you can’t lose if you bet the official statistics send the numbers through the roof.”

  “Can we go and have a look? Is it going to be open to the general public?” enquired Kate.

  “I asked Jonathon to try and find out,” said Amie.

  “They won’t just let anyone in off the streets,” said Anne. “Can you imagine, crowds swarming in from the informal settlements and mixing with the overseas business elite?”