Chapter 18 - Medical Matters

I had a number of small accidents to attend to on the bridge site, and once it was known that I could bandage wounds and give some 'muti' (medicine), the demand for medical attention was so great that Hilda and I were kept busy most of the day, and on the next truck going to Kasama I sent a list of simple medical necessities which the Govt. Hospital was pleased to supply. Every morning women and children collected round the door, if not to ask for muti, at least to watch what was going on. There were bush sores, headaches, swellings, malaria, inability to feed babies, burns cuts and eyes white with pus. Many of them just needed a good wash but after giving one of the piccanins this treatment, it was expected that we should wash them every day!. The men on the bridge site started limping up, sometimes with the most infinitesimal scratches, and Alex had to put his foot down and said 'no treatment from the Mama until after three o'clock'.

Burns were very common, for the babies tumbled about inside the kias, and very often fell against the fire. It was very difficult for me to find a good way to bandage fat round bottoms that had never felt restriction, but eventually they healed up and the mothers were surprised. There was no gratitude of course, for the African accepts everything that is done for him as a matter of fact, but we had a great deal of satisfaction in seeing our treatments successful, The great difficulty was in getting them to go to the Hospital (mission) when the illness or accident was quite beyond my skill.

We had a smallpox scare one day and Alex sent the driver onto Mwenso for the doctor who came at once and examined the men, but fortunately for all it was 'alastrim', a kind of German measles which rampages at certain times of the year. While he was at the camp, I sent out for a few cases I did not understand, and among them was a mother with three children from a nearby village. Two of her children were suffering from pneumonia, and it was decided to take them in immediately to hospital in the vanette. The mother was terrified and needed almost physical force to get her into the vanette, but she was out and away when our backs were turned and there was nothing to do but accept tablets and instructions from Dr. Martin and have them taken to the woman's village.

Mwangani Mwenso, the mat-maker, was now in charge of stores, and during all our medical treatments, he was not far away. He was very interested in any muti used and anxious to acquire some. He even came with a slight swelling under his arm and tried to bully me into a supply of iodine which name he seemed to know. Then his wife come and uncovered a large swelling in the groin. I told her that I was not a doctor, but could only help with small things like cuts and burns and sores, but she would not go to the hospital.

I was bathing some children's eyes one day, and having run out of boracic I was using boiled water. Mwangani had been watching carefully and on seeing me about to throw away what was left of the water, he jumped forward -'Mama! I want that muti' I started to say it was only boiled water, but he was so excited at the possibility of owning it, that I gave it to him without remark, and he went off joyfully. One day he brought me two eggs. 'How good !' I exclaimed, and indeed it was a great gesture and most unusual. 'What is this for, Mwangani ?'. 'A present, Mama' said he with an offhand smile. I was delighted - my first and only 'present' without waiting for a return present. It is the custom only to exchange presents - an African always expects a return when he gives, though of course he does not expect to return when he is given.

There was a gang of men digging out sand up near the main road and one day a boy rushed in 'Come, Bwana ! a man is killed !'. The boy explained as we all hurried up the path to the road. The lorry was out and we had to walk. 'This boy was sleeping and the sand has fallen on him, his legs are kicking'. Just then the lorry appeared and in the back was the man who had been trapped in the sand. We got him down and Alex gave him artificial respiration for a long time, but there was so sign of life. I got a pocket mirror but there was no breath and during all the time the women who had gathered were wailing and screaming incessantly. Apart from distress, it is the custom to make as much noise as possible, but in those surroundings with the hush of trees, the prone grey corpse and the women with their bright cloths around them and their banshee wails it was a fearful picture.

They wanted to take his body away at once, but he had to be taken into Dr. Martin for a death certificate, and then seen by the District Commissioner or Police. These were miles away but by chance the D. C. was in the area, and was able to make his report. The body was taken into the village, wrapped in a blanket and buried in the bush without delay, to the accompaniment of much wailing and then a feast and beer drink. The man's widow lived in a nearby village, and she was sent for and could be heard arriving from the distance wailing all the way. It was an awesome sound. She would now become a part of his brother's household and her children would call him father. In most cases this works very well. They are absorbed into another family without resentment and repay by doing a share of the work, gathering sticks or kasava, making the gardens at planting times and cooking food.

There was one pathetic case of a piccanin who was not absorbed into another family when his mother died and I still think of him with regret. One morning I noticed a small boy sitting in the dust near our little kitchen. 'Unit, ask that piccanin what he wants'. He looked different from the piccanins who always played around the house. Unit spoke to him kindly. He had a nice manner with children, avuncular, slightly important as my interpreter. 'He says he is hungry'. We gave him food, and I watched him eat, carefully but with obvious need. He remained there all day and I told Unit to give him whatever was to spare from the kitchen and find out his story. He was about eight years old, obviously ill, his black hair a rusty red with dust and with none of the animation of most Piccanins. His mother was dead he said, and he had run away from his father. He said he had no-one else. I could get no further information, so we took him in to Dr Martin who found him to be suffering from malnutrition, anaemia and worm infestation and took him into the kindly care of the mission. I saw him later when I attended a church service there spoken in Chibemba, which I could not understand, and I think my little boy did not understand it either for he fidgeted all the time and was obviously ill at ease. I told him he could come back to me and look after the animals as soon as he was well, but some weeks later, Dr Martin write to say he had run away, and none of us heard of him again although I had all the village watching for him. We had traced his father who went once to see him but would not take him and he was not seen again.

'Run away' is a common term with Africans. Any sudden exit for whatever cause is called 'running away'. In the same way any lifting of the arm to actual bodily punishment is called 'beating'. When a woman would complain that her husband had beaten her it was necessary to look for some proof of this before seeing the husband. Wives often ran away' and many labourers had days off to look for them. It was too difficult to find out why in most cases, but those I did elucidate were for small reasons - the giving of a cloth to an older wife or being scolded for allowing a baby to cry. I have never seen a child in the bush smacked or punished in any way, and I have seldom heard them cry. They live on their mother's back until they are toddlers and sometimes later, and are breast fed as long as possible sometimes even by toddlers reaching up from play and helping themselves to the milk. Once on solid food they acquire some digestive troubles as they eat whatever the adults do, and either develop a digestion like an ostrich or succumb to various diseases.

Alex was suddenly down with a bad attack of malaria and Mrs ? of the Mission immediately offered her home to us both while he was ill. Roy was left in charge of the bridge work which was at a crucial stage and although only seventeen, he rose to the occasion manfully and kept the work going on successfully until Alex was able to return Simon prepared his food and Unit did the necessary jobs about camp. There were no floors to polish or windows to wash, camp life was comparatively simple and we found our sojourn on the mission house most civilised and a pleasant change. Every morning before breakfast there were prayers in which the houseboys would join and Alex a little delirious in the adjoining room had fantastic dreams of being in a sterilised heaven.