Parallel Lives

by Narelle Minton

  Natalie took down the details. “I’ll sort it out for you and make sure your children are looked after.”

  “Do you remember the woman who was lying in the bed next to me yesterday?”

  Natalie nodded.

  “That was my best friend. She died last night.”

  Natalie reached out her hand to offer comfort. The patient clasped it in her thin, claw-like grip as she wept for her friend. “We were both cleaners at this hospital. Because of my illness, I only work part-time now. It’s really hard to provide for my children on a part-time wage.”

  Natalie stayed beside the bed, listening to her story.

  “I can’t talk to black people about how I feel. They don’t care, but I know you understand.”

  Natalie recalled the poster in administration. ‘Don’t tell us your problems because we’ll laugh at you.’ I’m really needed here. Compassion’s in short supply in this country.

  A referral came from the children’s ward to find a relative to care for a three-year-old, orphaned by the death of her mother from AIDS. Crippled and incontinent from spina bifida, she’d been admitted to the hospital with bed sores.

  On reaching the ward, Natalie was directed to her cot. As she approached, the child smiled broadly, reaching her arms through the bars to touch her. Natalie took hold of her little hand. “Dumela.” Though she was aware the child didn’t understand English, she pointed to her tiny fingers and counted, “One, two, three.” Touching each one, in turn, the little girl recited back, ‘One, two, three.’ What a darling, but I’ve got no idea how I’m going to find any relatives. I’ll have to ask one of the social workers for advice.

  Mosarwa was the first one she came across. “She’s been here for five months. We haven’t been able to find a relative. She’ll just have to stay in the cot until someone decides to take her. We’ve tried to get her into the orphanage but with so many healthy orphans to look after, they won’t take on one with special needs. Don’t worry about it.”

  “Mary and I want to see where you live. Can we come around to your place this afternoon?”

  “Sure. We’ll walk back together.”

  After showing them her room and collecting her photograph album, the three of them sat under a beach umbrella beside the pool. Natalie ordered drinks.

  “I’ve always wanted to see what this place was like,” commented Mosarwa.

  “It’s very nice,” added Mary.

  Natalie opened the album and the other two poured over it, with Mosarwa turning the pages slowly. There were lots of ‘oohs’ and ‘ahhs’ over the ocean and mountain scenery, to which they were not accustomed.

  Mosarwa looked up. “It will be like this in America. Michael and I have applied for a government grant to do our Masters at a university there. We expect to go at the beginning of next year. I’m hoping to marry someone over there so I won’t have to come back.”

  Natalie looked at her open-mouthed, but daren’t share her thoughts. That’s all very well for you two. I came here to teach you, and now you’re disappearing, leaving Mary and me to cover the whole hospital on our own.

  On leaving work one afternoon, Natalie came upon a young woman who was limping badly. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  The woman’s story flooded out. A victim of her boyfriend’s brutality, associated with frequent drinking bouts, she had come to the hospital for help. The doctor had diagnosed depression, given her medication and advised her to write a letter of apology to her boyfriend, with a promise to try harder.

  All Natalie could do was listen and reassure the woman her feelings were a normal reaction to what she’d experienced. She wanted to do more but already knew domestic violence was a norm in this country. Nobody, not even her family, would provide support if she left her boyfriend.

  On her return to the hotel, she sat by the pool, soaking up the peace and watching the birds twittering and hopping about. Hotel patrons around the bar were laughing and joking about, drinking steadily and wasting food. They were totally oblivious to the suffering and malnutrition of those living in the neighbouring slum. I don’t belong here. I’m neither a tourist nor a local. I want to help but there is so little I can do to change things.

  The next morning she plodded across the vacant land between the hotel and the hospital. Glue-sniffing street kids, who’d initially run away from her, now flocked around in their dirty rags, observing her through big, sad eyes. She greeted them and told them little jokes she knew they couldn’t understand. Nevertheless, her smile was returned as the children walked across the field with her.

  At work, Natalie’s frustration was growing. All correspondence from the wards continued to be directed to the other social workers as if she didn’t exist. Mosarwa would snatch the mail when it arrived and order Natalie about. Most of the time the other three talked to each other in Setswana so she was never sure what was going on. When she asked, she received minimalist answers.

  Winnie continued to be Natalie’s best support. They chatted together at work and Natalie accompanied the family on outings from time-to-time. A weekend trip to Nata took them on a 180 km drive along a good sealed road, through the usual monotonous scenery. It was a pleasant surprise, on arrival, to discover the river in full flow. Torrents of swirling, brown water passed under a pedestrian bridge, strewn with people catching fish, by hitting them with sticks or using a line or net. An extraordinary number of fish were being caught, with children walking about with half a dozen good-sized eating fish strung together. Large, green trees lined the banks, with hundreds of egrets roosting in them.

  They pulled up at the home of a friend of Jim’s, who lived beside the river with his five dogs. A bearded, grey-haired, white South African, ‘Bottles’ had lived in Botswana for fifteen years. He welcomed them into his rambling, old colonial home. Natalie shuffled, with her luggage, around piles of rubbish and cartons of empty beer bottles to the dingy room where she’d be spending the night. She dumped her stuff on the grubby bedding and returned to the living room. When Bottles finished the beer he was drinking and grabbed a couple more bottles to have on route, they all squashed into Winnie and Jim’s car for the drive to the salt pans. After the dryness of the dessert, Natalie was mesmerised by a huge expanse of water, disappearing into the distance like a great inland ocean. Bottles pointed out the soda-ash factory on the other side. “It was going all right to start with. Then, when the Yanks got wind of it, they dropped the world price of soda. It’s been running at a loss ever since. Once it’s forced to close down, the Yanks will have a monopoly again and jack the price back up. They can use the profits then to make loans to developing countries and make a packet on the interest.”

  After driving a little further, they saw hundreds of pink and grey flamingos, which on their approach, took flight, heading into the glorious sunset, with its matching pink clouds. Darkness was fast approaching and they must return. Natalie watched out the window at the ever-changing colours of the clouds, as the sun sank slowly on the horizon. The wildness of the wide African grasslands, silhouetted by the fading light, breathed into her an incredible feeling of strength and freedom.

  Bottles approached her the next day. “I hear you’re moving into a government house shortly. Take one of the dogs for protection. Casper’s a woman’s dog. Used to belong to my mother. Though he might not be big, he’s a good watchdog. He’ll bite the blacks. Once he’s bitten a few, word will get around and you won’t have any trouble with intruders. He’ll probably pee inside to start with though.” Natalie looked down at the cream-coloured dog, shaped like a German Shepherd, but with short legs like a Corgi.

  Winnie thought it was a good idea. “He can stay at our place ’til you move.” So that was settled. Without the right paperwork, Natalie was nervous about getting through the two veterinary checkpoints on their return trip but, on this occasion, luck was with them and they were waved through without incident.

  Chapter 53

  Finally, after seven weeks in the c
ountry, Natalie was instructed to move out of the hotel into a three bedroom house 4.5 kilometres from the hospital. It would be so much better to live close to Winnie and the hospital. But no, because of her elevated status she was provided with a three bedroom house, presently only available on the outskirts of town.

  With the need to buy food and household items, Natalie could no longer ignore her financial situation. With no appointment letter she was not permitted to open a bank account so couldn’t arrange for the transfer of money from Australia. What made it worse, she hadn’t received her salary this month when everyone else was paid. Unsure who was responsible, she approached Mrs Magape.

  Mrs Magape immediately called a young woman to her office. “Why hasn’t Miss Jones been paid?”

  The woman stood there, nervously biting her lower lip.

  “Why hasn’t she been paid?”

  “I forgot.”

  “Would you like to go without your pay?”

  It was embarrassing to watch the poor woman continue to be harangued mercilessly for several minutes.

  “Take Miss Jones now. Pay her immediately.”

  Natalie followed the woman back to her office.

  “Why didn’t you come directly to me?”

  “I didn’t know who was responsible.”

  “A cheque’s not available at present. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.”

  Natalie went back the next day, several times before she finally received the cheque for a month’s salary. Now I’ve got to see if the bank will cash the cheque without an account. After pleading with the teller for several minutes, Natalie got the money, a whole month’s salary in cash. She looked around the bank at the local men and quickly stuffed the money into her bag, hoping nobody had noticed how much she had. How I’ll keep it safe, I’ve no idea.

  Winnie took Natalie shopping for food and household items and helped her to settle into the large house with its barred windows, tiled floors and standard government furniture. Fortunately, there was a wire-mesh fence around the yard so Casper would be safe. It was, however, an hour’s walk to and from work. She’d have to think about purchasing a second-hand car once she got a bank account.

  Natalie returned home from work the next day, exhausted, but relieved to find Casper still there. After giving her an effusive welcome he rushed around the back to bark at children playing on equipment on the adjacent land. A young man from next door came outside to see what the commotion was. He looked at Natalie, a stern expression on his black face, “Are you on your own?”

  Natalie nodded.

  “You’d better be careful. There are robbers around here, everywhere. I might even be one of them.” He took a slurp of the beer he was holding and chuckled, before sneering at her.

  Natalie called the dog and went inside.

  She’d hardly put her bag down before there was a knock at the door. Two women, neighbours from the other side, demanded she hold the dog so they could come in. Without thinking, Natalie did as she was bid. They came in and settled on the two easy chairs, their feet on the coffee table, drinking the beer they’d brought with them. After a brief interchange with her in which they spoke perfect English, they switched to Setswana, chatting to one another, totally ignoring Natalie’s presence. She sat there waiting for them to leave, annoyed at their rudeness but grateful to have some company. It was two hours before they left and Natalie could get on with cooking dinner.

  Finally, the weekend arrived. At last, she had time to clean and decorate the house. Natalie scrubbed out the cupboards and mopped all the floors before putting colourful posters on the walls and unpacking a few ornaments. That looks a bit more like home. Now I can explore the area. Casper led the way along a walking track to the river bed where large, green trees grew along the banks. The chirping of birds reminded her of the hotel garden. The sun was warm on her skin as she ambled along the sandy riverbed, where only a few pools of water remained. On the way back Natalie collected wildflowers to put in a jar on the dining room table.

  That night she went to bed a little more at ease but was awoken by the resonance of nearby drums. Their constant, menacing beat, accompanied by the wail of high-pitched chanting, reminded her of old African movies where someone says, ‘The natives are restless’. Natalie looked down at the little dog, sleeping on the floor beside her, comforted by his presence. It took a few days before she realised the sound had come from a nearby church, with the congregation celebrating Easter.

  Winnie returned from a trip to Gaborone with news for Natalie. “I went to see Mr Pekhu. He’s been lying to you for weeks about your appointment letter. He admitted he’s had it all the time.”

  This is unbelievable.

  Back at work, she came upon Mrs Magape in the corridor. “How are you settling in?”

  “After nine weeks, I still don’t have my appointment letter. Without it, I can’t open a bank account, install a phone, buy a car or get an exemption certificate from the Immigration Department. Without that, I only have three weeks left in the country.”

  “Have you rung Mr Pekhu?”

  “Yes, I’ve been ringing him every week. He keeps telling me it’s delayed with the Public Service but I’ve discovered he’s had it all the time.” Her pent-up frustration finally exploded. “I get the impression I’m not wanted here. Unless I hear something by tomorrow, I’ll ring Australia to arrange my return.”

  “Follow me.” Mrs Magape marched to her office with Natalie in pursuit. The older woman went to her desk, sat down, picked up the phone and dialled a number. “Mr Pekhu, I know you have Miss Jones’s appointment letter. Fax it to me within the hour.” She banged down the receiver.

  Her style has to be admired. No introductions or anything.

  Unnerved by the crisis she’d unintentionally created, Natalie returned to the social work office, sat down and slumped over her desk. Mosarwa entered the room. “What’s happened?” Natalie filled her in.

  Mosarwa looked at her, aghast. “You don’t really intend to leave do you?”

  Leaving doesn’t seem such a bad idea after all. At least I’ll be back with Chris. “I’m fed up with the way you treat me, with your aggressive outbursts and racist comments, constantly calling me a ‘white’. You wouldn’t like it if I treated you that way. If I decide to stay I expect a change in your behaviour.”

  That afternoon, as she walked home, the heavens opened and she was drenched by monsoonal rain. Inside the house, she collapsed on the floor, clutching Casper. Huge sobs racked her body. Her mind spun. She remained there, in the dark, for hours, trembling. Finally, she got up and filled the bath. As she immersed herself in the warm water, she felt strangely cleansed in spirit as well as body. An incredible sense of peace seeped through her veins. With it came the clear recognition that being a volunteer in a developing country didn’t give others the right to bully her.

  After drying off and getting dressed, she opened the windows to destroy the tomb-like silence of the house and let in the soothing sounds of the night, which accompanied the intermittent hum of the refrigerator. Then she romped on the floor with Casper, laughing as they played together.

  Next morning she was called into Mrs Magape’s office and handed the surreptitious appointment letter. At last, she could open a bank account and obtain an exemption certificate from the Immigration Department, enabling her to cross the border and visit adjoining countries. It was time to buy a second-hand car and begin to enjoy life in Botswana.

  Chapter 54

  Looking around the hospital, Natalie observed things afresh – the sick and the healthy, faces that expressed pain, those that laughed. She saw friendly smiles she’d previously overlooked. There is a place for me here. I won’t turn my back on it.

  During her hospital rounds, she came upon a woman she’d briefly met before. Natalie had the unpleasant task of informing her she’d tested positive for HIV. Her two-month-old baby, suffering from AIDS, was in another part of the hospital. Through an interpreter, the woman express
ed her despair. Natalie stayed there, listening to her. Relieved by her catharsis, the woman finally reached her hand out to Natalie, a gentle smile crossing her face.

  The following day Natalie was pleasantly surprised to discover a birthday card from the social workers on her desk. What was more, Winnie invited them all to a birthday tea at her place. It felt like a real party with the little girls running about. There was even a home-made chocolate cake with trick candles that kept lighting back up after Natalie blew them out, making everyone laugh. If only Chris was here to enjoy it with us. I can imagine him trying to blow out those candles.

  Winnie suggested Natalie make her life easier by sticking to the surgical wards like her. At least there, most of the patients recovered, but Natalie knew she couldn’t. She wanted to be there for those who needed her most. As long as she could, she’d offer all the warmth and compassion she was capable of to the sick and dying, to the nurses, the doctors and the other social workers. Her goal was clear, to make the hospital a better, more supportive place for everyone.

  She made a good connection with a young Zimbabwean patient, weakened by an AIDS-related illness. This woman provided for her family by smuggling clothing across the border to sell duty-free in Botswana. So far from home, poverty-stricken and extremely sick, she clung to Natalie. “The nurses here are so rough and uncaring. They won’t listen to me. You’re the only person I trust. Please take me home and let me be your maid.” As much as Natalie would have liked the company, she knew she couldn’t harbour an illegal immigrant. Instead, she provided her with money from the Social Welfare Fund for a bus ticket home and accompanied her to the bus stand.

  Unusually, one woman did return for the results of her HIV test. When Natalie advised her she was HIV positive, she became irate. “You’ve destroyed all my hope for the future.”

  Natalie listened patiently to her tirade. “Now you know you’re HIV positive, you’ll be able to ensure your children don’t get it. Make sure you keep any open wounds or sores covered.”