With new comprehension, she calmed down. “God bless you.”
Young people who’d attempted suicide were frequently referred to Natalie for counselling. One such case was an attractive teenage girl, who’d tried to kill herself by drinking poison, in a desperate attempt to avoid the beatings she received at home. Despite her father and teachers telling Natalie, she was ‘a closed book’, the young girl opened her heart to her, pouring out all her woes. Natalie intervened with the family, requesting the girl come back in two weeks. On her return, she was much happier. “Everything is just fine at home now. I want to become a social worker like you, Miss Jones. I will keep an image of you in my mind to sustain me through rough times. From now on I’m going to adopt a positive attitude like you and try to give out to people, the way you do.”
“That’s the nicest compliment I’ve ever had.”
With a child in one of Natalie’s wards needing to go to Johannesburg for an operation, Natalie was requested to get parental permission. Though Francistown Hospital had an operating theatre and expert surgeons, a lack of surgical instruments, which the Health Department had failed to provide despite repeated requests, meant several patients a week travelled to South Africa for operations at a cost of several thousand pula a time to the Department.
Natalie asked if one of the others would mind going as she couldn’t communicate in Batswana. “The patient is on your ward. It’s your responsibility,” insisted Mosarwa.
Hoping the driver would be able to interpret for her, Natalie arranged a car to take her to the mother’s village, a distance of approximately 25 kilometres. They travelled along a sealed road for approximately five kilometres before taking off into the bush along a sandy track, crisscrossed at regular intervals by similar tracks. What’s happening? Surely I’m not being kidnapped? “Where are we going?”
The driver shrugged. “No English.” Natalie poked her head out the window. The health department emblem was on the door, so hopefully everything was OK. Finally, they arrived at a cluster of mud huts. Now what? A police vehicle, fortunately, arrived from nowhere as an elderly woman, wearing dirty, dishevelled clothes appeared from one of the huts. An officer interpreted for her. The mother was out collecting mopane worms for dinner. The father, however, worked in a government department in Francistown. A simple phone call was all that was needed now, though this would have to be made by Mosarwa, as the gentleman spoke no English.
As they returned along the track, Natalie realised what a special day this was. For the first time, she’d become fully aware of the primitive lives that so many people in Botswana lived, struggling to survive with no amenities and hardly enough to eat.
One Saturday afternoon, she was aroused from a nap by the sound of rocks bouncing off her roof. Looking out the window, she saw three boys in the playground, amusing themselves watching her panties swing around the clothesline with the help of their rocks.
She went outside and roused on them.
“It was another boy who’s left. He is to blame.”
“I don’t believe you.”
One of the boys pointed to his friend. “Madam, this is the boy.”
Natalie returned inside where she watched them through the window. It was quiet for a while. Then, they went a short distance away, before each hurling a rock at the roof and running away at full pelt.
Natalie couldn’t help laughing. What did they think she was going to do, chase them?
Chapter 55
It was a relief, at last, to be able to buy a Ford sedan from a missionary couple returning home. Not only could she now drive to work in comfort but she had the means to explore the countryside of a weekend. Her first chance to test the car came with an invitation from Jim and Winnie to join them on a weekend trip to Talarme Farm, 350 km south-west of Francistown. With Jim’s mother visiting, there was no space for her in their car.
The rhythm of African music on the car radio, as she travelled along the seemingly endless, straight road through an empty landscape, transported her onto another plane, massaging her soul. On arrival, she found the others relaxing outside an old-fashioned guesthouse. “Come, join us for a drink.” In the shade of the well-established gardens, she relaxed into a chair allowing the conversation to roll over her. “We’ll be up early in the morning to see the animals. Mum’s not interested, so you can come with us,” said Jim.
The car pulled up on top of a cliff. Everyone leapt out and rushed to the edge, where the red sun was rising through the cactus. Bird calls broke the silence of the night. Below them, vast plains disappeared into the distance. Jim passed Natalie his binoculars. She was able to make out ostrich, impala, wildebeest and zebras grazing on the plain. This is Africa.
They returned for breakfast, a prolonged affair in which everyone sat outside discussing Australian Rules football. Natalie was restless but nobody seemed in any hurry to move. An argument broke out between Winnie and Jim. I don’t need this. “I’m going to head back.”
Jim nodded. “There’s a place just a few kilometres from here, where a river flows parallel to the road. If you follow one of the tracks to the left for a short distance you should be able to spot plenty of animals.”
Natalie drove along the sealed road, searching for Jim’s track. Nothing obvious. It must be round here somewhere. I’ll turn down this track and see where it leads. Oh no, the car wheels are sinking in the sand. I’d better get out and walk. She continued along the track, coming before long to thick jungle, with Tarzan-style vines hanging off trees. She crept along the track, spellbound by a magic that drew her deeper into its depths. The thought of lions and elephants roaming free unnerved her. Yet she continued. The shuffling sound of animals caught her ear. She stopped, relieved to glimpse a herd of impala at close quarters. On becoming aware of her presence, they pranced away. This was far more exciting than viewing them through binoculars. Natalie followed the animals along the track until it disappeared. She pottered around for a while, searching for the river, but failing to catch a glimpse of it, headed back. That’s strange. I didn’t notice all those other tracks crossing this one before. She came out into the open, at a place she hadn’t been before. The sun bore down on her. She caught her breath. Her body began to tremble. She was lost somewhere in Africa with no water, wild animals lurking and no one knowing her whereabouts. How stupid can I be? She’d heard of people wandering around in the desert in circles until they died of thirst. Taking note of the sun, she continued in a straight line until, with relief, she caught sight of power-lines ahead. I’m nearing the road. Reaching it not far from the turnoff to Talarme Farm, she knew she had to turn left. Thank goodness the car’s visible from the road. She managed to reverse out without becoming bogged. That was a lucky escape. I’ll keep to the main road from now on.
That was what she thought, until a few kilometres on, she came upon another track. Perhaps this is the one leading to the river. Natalie turned onto it and drove until it became too rough. Once again she continued on foot, coming to a troop of baboons, some as big as her, swinging about in trees. One large one started walking towards her. Natalie scurried back to the car and returned to the main road, heading for home, intoxicated by her little African adventure.
She was making good headway through the wild, barren land when a man with two children on a donkey cart waved her down. He gestured for water. Natalie gave him one of her bottles, which he handed around his family, while, with his agreement, she photographed the donkey cart.
With a sense of relief, she finally arrived back to the safety of civilization in Francistown. At home, with an eerie quietness still pervading the house, she sat on the front step with Casper, sharing Kentucky Fried Chicken. Later that evening she wrote her weekly letter to Chris. So far she hadn’t received a reply.
Chapter 56
Now her job was official, Natalie determined to take a stronger role in managing the social work department. Domestic violence had to be addressed. The number of burns and broken bones presenting at
the hospital was appalling. She put it on the agenda for their next meeting.
Everyone sat around the office in a circle. In her usual way, Mosarwa took the lead. “We don’t have domestic violence in this country. Men own their wives. They can do whatever they want with them.”
Natalie glared at her. “Do you mean to say you condone the dislocated limbs and broken bones we see when women have been beaten by their partners?”
Michael chimed in. “These women need to look at their attitude. If they were more subservient, they’d get fewer beatings.”
“There is absolutely no excuse for violence and cruelty, whatever the culture. As social workers, we have a role to protect the vulnerable.”
Mosarwa shook her head. “You’re a white, completely out of touch with our culture.” She got up and left the room. The other two followed.
How dare they treat me like that! She was the senior but they did as they liked. Because she didn’t speak the language and was still learning how things worked, she was dependent on them and they knew it. If these are trained social workers, what hope does the country have? She knew no amount of arguing would get her point across. They weren’t listening. Nevertheless, she photocopied articles on domestic violence she’d brought from Australia and left them on the social workers’ desks.
The following Saturday, Natalie was called to the female surgical ward. Screams of agony, interspersed with shouts of ‘I want to go home’, echoed along the corridor as she made her way to the ward. A young, blonde-haired English woman, sporting a navel ring and tattoos, looked totally out of place amongst the passive, black patients, lying quietly in their beds.
The young woman had been on her way to Victoria Falls to go bungy jumping when she’d fallen off the top of her camper vehicle, fracturing her leg. After dropping her at the hospital, her companions had continued on their way. “I’m all alone here and my leg hurts so much.”
“Haven’t they given you an injection for the pain?”
“I wouldn’t let them. I was afraid the needle would be contaminated with AIDS.”
“We use disposable needles. You’ll be quite safe. Shall I arrange some pain medication?”
The woman nodded. “I want my mum.”
“I’ll call her for you and, if the doctor agrees, organise a flight out this afternoon.”
“Please do that.”
Natalie spoke to the doctor, arranged pain medication and got approval for her to fly home. With it being a Saturday, her office was unusually quiet as she settled down to undertake the necessary phone calls and paper-work. She wished it was her going home. She didn’t fit in any more than this woman, but no, she was stuck here until the end of her two-year contract.
On Monday morning Natalie was collecting the pagers from reception when her attention was drawn to a tall, gawky-looking, young man who stood out from the rest in his suit and tie. His hair was trimmed short at the sides but stuck up on top like a brush, accentuating his height. She overheard him ask the receptionist for Michael.
“I can take you to Michael.”
“Thank you, madam. I am Candrick, a social work student.”
Not again. I’m the one who’s been liaising with the university but it’s as if I still don’t exist. I’m not putting up with it any longer. “Candrick, my name is Natalie. I’m head of the social work department and I will be supervising you.”
“Very well, madam.”
“Please call me Natalie.”
Candrick smiled nervously. He followed her to her office and accepted the proffered cup of tea, sitting awkwardly in the chair, his legs too long to fit comfortably under the desk.
“Tell me about yourself Candrick and what you hope to get from this placement.”
Candrick sat up straight in his chair and looked directly at her. He spoke softly with hardly any accent. “I am 22 years of age. I come from Maun in the north-west of the country. My father belongs to the Setswana tribe and my mother to the Kalanga tribe, so I am fortunate to be able to speak three languages fluently. My family has been split up by the government, with whom my parents are employed. My father lives and works at Ghanzi. My mother has been placed at Kasane. My sister, not wishing to disrupt her schooling, has remained with the maid in the family home in Maun. I, of course, am attending university in Gaborone.”
“That must be very difficult, having the family spread all over the country.”
“It’s normal in our culture. There is little respect for the family unit. People are expected to be able to stand on their own two feet.”
“Mm, I see.”
“As for what I hope to learn from this placement, I think I am fortunate to have someone with so much overseas experience available to teach me. I am open-minded and want to learn as much as I can. I am willing to do anything you direct me to do.”
Natalie relaxed into her chair, nodding her head. “I think Candrick if we continue this kind of open discussion, we can learn a lot from each other. For me, social work is about listening to others with sensitivity and helping them solve their own problems. What I’d like, is for you to use your own initiative as you become more confident in the role. Don’t always wait for me to direct you. With your understanding of languages, talking to people in the wards will give you the chance to pick up on any problems. Then if you report back to me, we can plan your intervention together. How do you feel about that?”
“I think you are providing me with a wonderful opportunity. I’m looking forward to getting involved in the work here.”
Natalie stood up. “Come on, time to meet the others.” Following introductions to the social workers and Winnie and her team, Natalie took Candrick on a tour of the hospital. He bowed his head as he shook hands with each person, waiting for others to speak first. What a relief to have someone so courteous. Let’s just hope the arrogance of the other social workers doesn’t rub off on him.
Candrick arrived next morning dressed neat and tidy, but more casual than the previous day so he blended in better. He walked past the other social workers, chatting together outside the other office, and came directly to her room. “Good morning, Natalie.” His smile suggested he was genuinely pleased to see her.
“Morning, Candrick. Now you’ve met the doctors and nurses and got the hang of how the wards run, I think you should come with me so I can introduce you to some of the patients.”
Candrick gently placed his briefcase down beside her desk and stood up ready to go. They walked together to the male orthopaedic ward where they came upon an unshaved, elderly gentleman, apparently asleep.
Natalie looked around. “The nurses all seem to be busy with doctors’ rounds. I’m not sure why he’s been referred to us. He doesn’t speak English. Why don’t you have a chat with him and see if you can find out what he wants.”
Candrick shuffled over to the bed where he crouched silently beside the gentleman, who turned toward him and started speaking. Natalie noticed more of the head bowing from Candrick. The gentleman did most of the talking as he pulled himself up in bed. The two were soon laughing openly together. After about twenty minutes Candrick shook the gentleman’s hand and returned to where she stood near the door.
“You seemed to get on well together.”
“Yes, we spoke about village life before we got onto the business at hand. Older people have to be treated with respect if you’re going to win their trust. That’s why I let him initiate and direct the conversation. He doesn’t speak Setswana so has been unable to communicate with the nurses. He had a fall at the shops and fractured his femur. He wants me to contact his village to advise them what’s happened and arrange for someone to collect him. Now he realises he’s too old to go on shopping sprees alone.”
“Well done, Candrick.” This young man’s a real asset. With his understanding of languages and culture and my social work skills, we can achieve a lot together. He can connect so much better with these people than I ever will.
They were in the back seat of a hospital
vehicle returning from the psychiatric ward when Natalie, glancing at Candrick, noticed a glum expression on his face. “What’s up?”
He shook his head. “I know there’s no such thing as witchcraft but it’s frustrating when patients blame it for anything from mental illness to AIDS. When they become ill, they pay traditional doctors large sums of money to have spells removed. The doctors generally use contaminated knives to cut them, often on their chests, to fill the wounds with curative herbs. This spreads HIV. Yet, traditional doctors are amongst the tribal elite. What can we do?”
“It’s a struggle. We don’t seem to be getting through to people about the importance of wearing condoms either. It’s just as frustrating with women, who refuse to stand up to men, allowing them to continue to have unprotected sex.”
“I asked one of the male nurses if he used condoms. He said, ‘Sometimes, but I have sex two or three times a day so I don’t always have them available.’”
Natalie sighed. “If we can’t get through to staff, what chance do we have with patients? Do you want to get a pie for lunch?”
Candrick nodded and asked the driver to drop them off at the pie shop. While Natalie stood back from the throng of customers, pushing and shoving to reach the counter, Candrick, despite his normally gentle demeanour, forced his way forward to purchase the pies and soft drinks. They sat outside together on a timber bench soaking up the sun, watching the locals wander past.
Natalie turned to him, “You know Candrick, you’re the only person who’s ever spoken to me about your culture.”
“Keeping foreigners uninformed enables locals to maintain power over them.”
“Why do you speak openly then?”
“Because the system has to change. Traditional culture no longer works. Botswana is part of a global village. It has to catch up with the rest of the world if it’s to survive. Unfortunately, I’ve always felt like an outsider in my own culture. It means I have to be careful what I say in front of others to avoid losing face. But with you, I feel comfortable to speak openly and explore my ideas without having to worry.”
Parallel Lives Page 28