Old Lovers Don't Die (19 page)

Christian was about to make the incision in the abdomen with the scalpel when the theatre door loudly crashed open followed by raised voices in the reception room. Then he heard John’s voice instructing the intruder that he could not go into theatre. As he looked over his left shoulder, he saw the ashen face of the local Imam, Yusuf’s father.

“If I don’t operate on him, he’s going to die,” Christian said over his shoulder.

“Let me pray for you both first.”

“It will need to be a quick prayer.”

“To Allah the Almighty God we belong, if it please Allah let his angel Izareel call his humble servant home and let the sun of the world continue to shine through Yusuf. May the wisdom of the prophet Mohammed guide the hands which care for him.”

“And may the one true God look after us,” whispered Teresa.

“Thank you,” Christian said smiling inwardly at the thought that, despite the crisis, it was still necessary for each to assert their religious belief. Turning back to make the incision, he said, “We will need many large packs, Teresa.”

Christian made the incision in the skin down to Yusuf’s navel. As he did so, Satilde commented that Yusuf’s blood pressure was going down. That meant the bleeding inside the abdomen was getting critical. He could see Satilde squeezing the saline bag to encourage extra fluids into Yusuf. It was critical that he stop the bleeding. As he opened the fascia over the abdomen, blood gushed out over the surgical drapes and down onto the floor. Teresa quickly placed a retractor into the abdomen and handed him five large surgical packs. That would get rid of some of the blood, but he needed to isolate the splenic artery to stop the flow of blood. Reaching inside Yusuf’s abdomen, he could feel the lacerated spleen. Blindly he clamped the artery. The blood stopped welling up and, relieved, he put more packs in to dry up the blood. Satilde was busy putting up another litre of saline as he introduced another clamp, divided the archery, and removed the badly lacerated spleen.

“Don’t dispose of that until we have checked with the Imam.”

“I think that’s only with death that the body parts have to be returned but you can ask them when we’re finished.”

Christian washed out the abdomen with the saline before closing the abdomen with a nylon suture. He still had the leg fracture to set but at least now, he could take his time. As Therese placed the dressing over the incision, he looked at Yusuf’s right leg. There was no x-ray to be able to check the alignment, so it would have to be his best clinical judgment.

“Teresa, do we have any plaster of Paris to make a cast?”

“Yes, we do, but someone will have to get it from the pharmacy. I will see whether John is still out there.”

Christian looked at the lower leg; the deviation was lateral approximately half way between the knee and the ankle. He put one hand on the inner side just around the knee and the other opposite to that just above the ankle. One short sharp push with his lower hand pulling down realigned the leg. Now all he needed was the plaster of Paris to keep it in position. He peeled off his gloves and gown and peered through the theatre door to the reception area where he could see the Imam. He was sitting on the ground in the corner looking anxiously towards the theatre door. Christian smiled reassuringly as he walked through and sat down next to him.

“It’s going to be a difficult few days, but I think he will make it.”

“Praise Allah. I am most grateful that he guided your hands.”

“I had to remove his spleen, and although we can live without spleens in this environment, we going to need to see whether we can get him vaccinated. Do you know whether he has been vaccinated against TB or measles?”

“Yes, we run an education program through the mosque about vaccinations, and he has also had the smallpox vaccination.”

“That’s good because without his spleen he will have impaired immunity and would be very susceptible to certain infections. I have his spleen inside if you require it; I was not sure what the Islamic teaching was for body parts. Please call me Christian.”

“Thank you. I am Mohammed Sharaf. It is only with death that we like to have all body parts together. However, it is not a critical teaching. I am so grateful that you have saved my son. I would insist that you come and visit us when he’s better.”

“That might be a week or two, but I’m sure that we will be seeing each other regularly as he recovers. We will take him up to the surgical ward in a few minutes. One thing that fascinates me is the fact that there is a mosque in this part of the world. I would not have thought that is possible given the fact that 95% of Rwanda is Christian.”

“Christianity is the predominant religion, as you say, and you probably know central to its teaching is peace on earth and goodwill to men. In the genocide, that principle teaching was abandoned. Many people, in addition, were disillusioned with the God who did not protect them from such atrocities. Some of those former Christians now worship at the mosque.”

“Does not the Quran say to cast terror into the hearts of the unbelievers? And doesn’t it also exhort all true believers to fight and kill those who believe the Messiah was the son of Allah?”

“I see you’ve read the Quran. Not all Muslims are jihadists as not all Christians are extreme fundamentalists. Those who undertake jihad in Africa often blaspheme in the name of Allah. They are more interested in power and control than people’s souls. Unfortunately because of those extremists in Somalia and Mali, sight is lost by many of the common ground that could be shared by Christian and Muslim, to make the world a better place.”

“I’m not sure that you will convince me of that Mohammed, but we are all one on this planet together and so let’s get your son well and I’m sure we will talk more. Now if you’ll excuse me, I must go and check on your son and then need to go and identify those who have died and been taken to the morgue.”

“Bless you, my son, and if there is anything that I can do in any way, please let me know. Could I give you my mobile number in case there is any problem with Yusuf?”

“Of course we will let you know. But I haven’t had a chance to get a new SIM card for my mobile phone; however you would be more than welcome to have my number once I do.”

“I will organize an MTM SIM card for you tomorrow; one of our brothers sells them in the market.”

“I hear you’ve made a friend of the local Imam,” Emmanuel said as they sat down for Chantal’s supper of spicy fried chicken.

“I’m not sure that I’ve made a friend. He was obviously very concerned that he was going to lose his son and therefore very grateful that we have managed to save him so far.”

“Margarita and Satilde were very impressed at the way that you operated on Yusuf.”

“He may need a blood transfusion. Is there any way that we could obtain four units of blood, Emmanuel?”

“It would take three days to organize from Rhuengeri.”

“Fingers crossed then that there is no more bleeding.”

Christian watched as Chantal used a pair of aluminium tongs to lift the fried chicken out of a large battered black iron pot. She would shake each piece to remove any excess oil, before putting it on a plate. Next to the pot was a new black flat frying pan, which Christian had not previously seen, gently simmering what appeared to be bananas. He thought it would be an interesting side dish with spicy fried chicken. He was a bit worried about the brownish colour until Chantal explained that what she was cooking was Plantain, a vegetable that looked like a banana. When they turned brownish black, they were sweeter and ready to eat. To the sizzling Plantain, Chantal then added a little vegetable oil, cayenne, and a pinch of ginger. The smell accelerated his hunger and reminded him that he had not eaten since breakfast that morning.

The combined plate of spicy chicken and plantain, when placed in front of him, almost overwhelmed his salivary glands; it was a shame that he was so hungry that it did not linger longer on his palate. With his last mouthful, Emmanuel interrupted his gustatory joy.

“There was an email from your friend Isabella today. Her curriculum vita is very impressive and we would be delighted to have her. We could certainly use her on the medical ward and medical outpatients, particularly in helping with the children who have malaria.”

“When does she think she would be arriving?” Christian said, reluctantly wiping the last piece of chicken from his lips with the paper serviette.

“She said she would be flying into Kigali at the weekend and then come down the following week.”

“Is there anywhere that you could suggest that she could stay?”

“I have already talked to Chantal and she is welcome to stay with us. I had thought we would send you up to do an outpatient clinic at the orphanage next week. There are three hundred children ranging in age from one to sixteen, so having two of you there would be very helpful. We usually send the ambulance with you in case there are any children who need to come back.”

“That will be interesting; I should see whether I can contact Cindy the American friend that I met who is working there. I could possibly phone her if you have a number for the orphanage as the Imam is only getting me a SIM card tomorrow.”

“Is he indeed? Hopefully not one which has Sharia style restrictions on it,” Emmanuel said with a wry smile.

“Emmanuel, we need to try and work with everyone for the greater good of our people,” Chantal quickly admonished.

“It’s all very well saying we ought to all work together but there’s a great difference between belief and practice with that religion. I can appreciate there is a commonality of belief, but the practice of their belief involves superimposing that belief system on everyone whether they are Muslims or not. Not only that, it often involves severe punishment, if there is not compliance. That is not freedom to worship; that is a loss of freedom if you do not worship in the prescribed way. In addition, trying to appeal to the community down here on the basis that Christianity had failed and allowed the genocide is disingenuous and shameful. “

“Lots of grounds for interaction there then,” Chantal said challengingly, while standing up, collecting the dishes, and looking at Christian with her eyebrows raised.

Christian was about to reply when the phone rang in the front room and Emmanuel got up to answer it. He could hear Emmanuel’s voice from down the corridor, saying yes he is here, before he shortly reappeared standing in the doorway leading into the kitchen. He stood there for a second, smiling at Christian, before saying.

“It’s for you, Christian, the young American woman that you are talking about from the orphanage. She would like to come down and visit next week, I think just before Isabella arrives, if you are lucky!”

Christian smiled at the gentle teasing and walked into the front room to pick up the old green phone. Cindy sounded genuinely excited to hear his voice. She quickly explained that she had been assigned a class of boys to teach, aged between seven and ten. That was all going well and there were seven other volunteers from different countries also helping. However, her voice changed somewhat after telling him that and she almost whispered into the phone. There was something that she was concerned about that she needed to discuss with him. Could she come down to visit and get his advice, as she did not want to discuss it on the phone? Christian suggested Sunday, as he was less likely to be operating or working in the hospital. He added that she could stay with Emmanuel and Chantal. Cindy then told him she would be coming by bus and would see him on Sunday before quickly putting the phone down.

He walked back into the kitchen wondering what it was that was troubling Cindy so much that she couldn’t tell him on the phone. Emmanuel and Chantal were embracing each other as he walked in.

“It’s not only the young who can do love.” Emmanuel winked at Christian as he kissed Chantal on the cheek and put the ground coffee into the coffee pot. Christian laughed, delighting in the fact that they felt comfortable enough in his company to demonstrate their feelings. It also momentarily distracted him, from the concern that he had detected in Cindy’s voice.

“Cindy would arrive tomorrow night if that’s okay. She seems to be concerned about something that’s happening at the orphanage.”

“We will prepare the spare room,” Chantal said.

“I will be interested also to hear what Cindy has to say as there have been some concerns about what goes on at that orphanage.”

After Chantal’s meal and the long day operating, Christian slept soundly. The next morning when he did his ward round, he found Mohammed sitting next to Yusuf’s bed quietly praying for him. Besides looking a little bit pale, Yusuf’s observations were all normal. Christian waited until Mohammed had finished praying and then informed him that he was happy with Yusuf’s progress. He had decided to heed Emmanuel’s advice about becoming too familiar with Mohammed, although he could sense that Mohammed found his new detachment difficult to understand. On Sunday morning, he asked Yusuf whether he had passed any wind out his bottom. When he nodded and smiled, Christian put his stethoscope on his abdomen. There were early bowel sounds; Mohammed would be delighted as they could start getting Yusuf something to drink. As Christian stood up and smiled, Mohammed sensed the good news.

“Praise Allah, my prayers have been answered,” he said with a broad smile without waiting for Christian to speak.

“They may well have been, but this is a normal part of bowel recovery after an operation,” Christian said, not wanting to ascribe to the supernatural something that was natural.

“Would you come and have a meal with us and allow my family to pray for you?”

“Thank you, but buying me a SIM card with so much credit on it is more than enough.”

“Does prayer frighten you, or is it just that you don’t like Muslim prayer?”

“Neither actually,” Christian said, a little annoyed at the implication of bias in both directions. “I have my own beliefs and would prefer to keep them personal.”

“I’m sorry. I hope I didn’t offend you. That was not my intention at all. I would like you to meet my family and my wives. They are all extremely grateful for your skill; both my wives are very good cooks. Perhaps you could also come to our malnutrition clinic and then stay for lunch afterwards.”

In the two weeks that he had been at Garanyi, he had not heard about any malnutrition clinic outside of the hospital. There was obviously a great need given the number of children that he had seen with pot bellies and a reddish tinge to their hair suggesting severe protein deficiency; malnutrition was endemic. He wondered why Emmanuel had not mentioned the clinic, and where the medical and dietary advice was coming from in the clinic that Mohammed had established.

“If it’s not on a day that I’m operating next week, I will come.”

“I will check with Teresa. Her brother now shares our beliefs, and he can coordinate a time with you.”

Christian could feel that he was irritated; he was not certain he had not been manipulated into the decision. His response was a half-smile, which he hoped conveyed to Mohammed that he would visit out of professional interest. That was the truth, but there was part of him that was still curious about a religion, opposed openly by so many, which not only existed but also was apparently thriving.

Having finished his ward round, he went and found the key to the pharmacy on the medical ward. Checking through his emails, he found one from Isabella confirming that she was arriving and saying that she was very excited and looking forward to catching up with him again. She had been in touch with his mother, Renata, who had asked her to buy a telephoto lens for his camera, as Renata’s birthday present to him. It was to be a surprise, but Isabella felt that she needed to be certain about what lens would fit his Canon camera, given how expensive it was. Christian quickly replied that he was also looking forward to seeing her and the telephoto lens suggested by his mother was the correct one.

The next email from Petrea caught his attention. She said she missed him and then went on to precisely explain the five million dollar bounty that had been placed on the head of Kariba Offengowhe. It was payable if he was captured or if he was shot. DNA evidence was required if he was shot. No one knew who was providing the bounty but it was suspected that a corporate conglomerate associated with the Chinese government was responsible. The removal of Kariba would allow access for groups, such as the Chinese, who were currently frozen out of the region. Information from the CIA indicated that the Chinese government was actively supporting Bosco the Butcher with arms in an attempt to control a major portion of the world’s supplies of tin, tungsten, and tantalum. ‘Be very careful’ she ended her e-mail. The removal of Kariba would not only change the dynamics of supply and possibly freeze out the West, but may also provide a power vacuum in which the smaller militias may seek to take over, causing an increase in the number of atrocities. Since the Congo was one of the few places which supplied tantalum, used in all mobile phones, the world spot price would go through the roof. The PS at the end of her e-mail said that she thought he should leave, and to please destroy the email after reading it. He should not reply to her until he was out of Africa. Text messages to her personal number should be his avenue of communication.

Christian sat and looked at the email. He knew that Petrea was taking a huge risk by sending it to him. She had possibly breached protocol at the ICC by revealing such sensitive information. Ignoring such advice would be at his own peril. He would text her on the personal number that she had given him, to say that he had received the message, and thank her for the warning. He looked at his phone and realised his stored addresses had not been transferred with the new MTN SIM card. He needed another phone similar to his bluetooth to add the addresses to his new SIM card. He hoped Cindy had a similar phone.

The least he could do in the interim, he thought, would be to stop Isabella coming next week. He quickly dashed off an email to Isabella suggesting that he had received information that it was becoming more dangerous to be in Garanyi and he suggested that she not come. Her reply was instantaneous. If you are there, I am coming. I am a big girl now and capable of looking after myself. Look forward to seeing you next week with your birthday present!

He switched off the computer, locked up the pharmacy, and returned the key to Elizabeth. He had subsequently learned that Elizabeth did not speak much French or English. However, the wide welcoming smile that she gave him each time he went to the ward did not need translation. As he walked out the front of the medical ward, he could see right along the front of the hospital and down to shores of the lake. He joined the constant stream of people heading to the Congolese border before peeling off, and walking the short distance to the Sudani’s. Chantal had left a note explaining that they were out at a community meeting and that he was to help himself to the left-over ratatouille.

As the mouth-watering smells from heated ratatouille started to wander through the kitchen, he wondered briefly whether he should bring forward his departure. Petrea would not have sent such a warning unless she was seriously concerned. He then remembered that Emmanuel had mentioned a Chinese manager at the orphanage where Cindy was working. He would ask Cindy what she knew when she arrived, which may help him make a decision.

The next morning, he slipped out quietly while Emmanuel and Chantal slept. He wanted to briefly check on Yusuf before he met the bus and Cindy. When he walked into the ward, Yusuf was sitting up, smiling, and drinking soup that his family had brought in for him. Two women sat next to him, both wearing full veils so that he could not see their eyes. They both stared at the ground as he checked Yusuf’s chart. Christian assumed they must be Mohammed’s wives. Women venerated as mothers he could understand, but restricted in areas where their talents may well have contributed to improving the world, made it more difficult visualising the common ground, about which Mohammed had previously spoken.