by P J Skinner
‘Matibabu,’ she said. ‘Tafadhali nipe dawa.’
Sam shrunk from her touch.
‘What’s she saying?’ Sam asked the Mayor.
‘She’s begging you for treatment, medicine.’
‘But where are the nurses and doctors?’ she said.
‘In the staff room,’ said the Mayor.
‘Why aren’t they…’
But the administrator had set off again leading them through a couple of wards of similar horror before Sam had had enough. But there was one place they hadn’t visited, and she needed to know the whole truth.
‘I’d like to see the surgery please,’ she said.
‘Okay,’ said the administrator whose smug expression was still plastered onto his face.
***
Sam vomited onto the ground outside the surgery. She couldn’t believe what she had just seen. The decrepit operating table, the filthy floor splattered in blood, the plastic bags thrown against the wall with their ghastly contents, made worse by seeing the rusty instruments they were using to operate. No wonder the patients died. She coughed up more bile.
The men stood apart from her, embarrassed by her attack of weakness, not wishing to acknowledge it. General managers didn’t do that. It was better to pretend they hadn’t seen her.
Their reticence gave her time to damp down the incoherent fury threatening to escape her. Those bastards. How could they sit there playing cards like everything was fine? How many people had they murdered with their casual attitude? She struggled to regain her composure.
She wasn’t the only one. The Mayor was red eyed and speechless, shaking his head like a madman. They had to leave but she wasn’t finished.
‘How often do they clean the wards?’ she said to the administrator.
‘They can’t clean. There is no water, and we finished the supplies of detergent and bleach,’ he said, shrugging.
‘What happened to the water?’ said Sam.
‘The pump packed up weeks ago. It’s past repair,’ said the administrator, avoiding her eyes.
‘But what about the toilets? Where do people wash?’ she said.
‘People go behind the wards. We bury the faeces when we get time, or the dogs eat them.’
Sam put her face in her hands and took a deep breath. Solutions, not problems. Come on Sam you can do this.
‘I will send you a replacement pump straight away,’ she said. ‘My maintenance supervisor will come down and install it this afternoon. He’ll take the other one away to fix.’
The administrator shook his head.
‘He can’t do that,’ he stuttered.
‘Why not?’
‘Someone sold it, stole it, I mean.’
It was even worse than she had imagined.
‘Okay. Never mind, we’ll cement it in place so no-one can steal this one. I’ll investigate the detergent supply,’ said Sam.
‘We will need gloves. The cleaners will not do their jobs without gloves. I can’t make them work if they are not safe,’ said the administrator.
‘We’ll discuss this and get back to you,’ said Sam, grabbing the Mayor’s arm and pushing him towards the gate. They stumbled towards the exit and out onto the street. Sam was still retching. Victor Samba was green and trembling. To Sam’s amazement, he shook as sobs wracked his body.
‘It’s my fault,’ he said. ‘I killed her.’
‘Killed who?’ said Sam, but she knew.
‘My wife’s sister. I take a cut from the hospital money every month.’
Sam’s mouth fell open. She looked at him in incomprehension.
‘But why? Don’t you earn enough as Mayor, Victor?’
‘Ha! They haven’t paid me in eighteen months. The Governor of the Province siphons off the funds. If it wasn’t for Consaf, no-one would ever get paid. Even the police are subsidised by your company,’ said Victor.
‘So that’s also happening in the hospital?’ said Sam.
‘Yes, no-one had been paid so they take the money for medicines and cleaning equipment sent by Consaf. They have families too. They’ve lost hope, and it’s made them immune to the suffering of the patients.’
‘How terrible. We must do something about it right away. Let me organise the water pump first, and then I’ll come up and see you later, if that’s okay.’
The Mayor nodded, still sniffing, tear tracks marking his cheeks like slug trails. He shuffled off down the street towards his office in the municipal building. Ezekiel, who had been standing a discrete distance away, opened the car door for Sam.
‘What is wrong, Mama Sam?’
‘Many things. But we can fix them. Take me to the maintenance yard please,’ she said.
***
Sam found Frik having a cigarette in front of his office.
‘Hello Sam. You look rough. Would you like a cigarette?’
Sam was not keen on cigarettes ninety-nine percent of the time, but this was different.
‘Yes, please. Budge up.’
She sat beside Frik on the steps and he lit her cigarette. He let her smoke half before he spoke again.
‘Tough day?’
‘You’ve no idea.’
‘Need help?’ said Frik.
‘The water pump at the hospital has gone AWOL. Do you have a spare here we can donate? A two-inch outlet should be sufficient. It’s just for pumping water from a well.’
‘You went? No wonder you are under the weather. That place is like a death camp.’
‘I’m aware of that now, but we must try to improve conditions in there. We can go elsewhere but our staff and their families have no choice but to use it.’
‘My lads won’t go there,’ said Frik. ‘They are afraid.’
‘I need your help,’ said Sam. ‘Can you do without your workforce on Saturday morning?’
‘If you leave me the maintenance crews. Sure. What’s the plan?’
‘We will clean the hospital,’ said Sam.
‘Are you mad? Every germ known to man is lurking in there.’ Frik stared at her in horror.
‘People are dying. I can’t stand by and pretend it’s not happening.’
‘It’s self-inflicted. We pay them to keep it clean, don’t we?’ He flicked his cigarette across the yard and then thought the better of it and picked it up again.
‘It’s complicated. Can you do the pump today?’ said Sam.
‘Yes, we have an old pump that should do the trick.’
‘You’ll need to cement it in. They stole the last one.’
‘Don’t worry. I wasn’t born yesterday,’ said Frik
‘Thanks,’ said Sam.
‘You watch yourself. People don’t like change.’
***
‘Stoddard’s? It’s Sam Harris.’
‘Sam, It’s Rahul Singh, I was just thinking about you. We boxed your supplies ready to go this evening. Do you need anything else?’
‘Yes, please. We plan to clean the local hospital from head to foot on Saturday so I need enough bleach and Jif to float a boat in. Also, can you send six hundred pairs of industrial strength rubber gloves, medium and large sizes?’
‘That’s some undertaking. Do you need mops and scrubbing brushes and so on?’
‘Send me six dozen of each and lots of strong cloths. Anything you think necessary,’ said Sam.
‘You’re not doing it yourself?’ said Rahul.
‘I can’t ask anyone to do something I wouldn’t so. So, yes, I am.’
‘I’ll send some knee pads.’
‘Thanks Bill.’
‘You’re a trooper.’
‘Let’s hope I can persuade my workforce to muck in and I’m not left cleaning on my own.’
***
It was with some trepidation that Sam knocked on the door of Ngoma Itoua, the union leader the next day. His face wore a sour expression during the morning meetings as if he had just bitten into a lemon. He did not co
ntribute to the discussions except to object to every change that Sam proposed, no matter how favourable to the workforce. She had suggested they have a weekly meeting in her office but he never turned up.
‘Come in.’
Ngoma was sitting behind a desk with a word processer on it typing with two fingers. He hit each key with the caution of a cat patting a snake.
‘Good morning,’ said Sam.
‘If it is a good morning, which I doubt. What do you want?’
‘Have you ever been to the hospital?’
Itoua’s brow furrowed, and he frowned, his eyebrows almost meeting.
‘As a patient?’ he said.
‘In any capacity,’ said Sam.
‘God, no, I’d never go there. I don’t want to die. Why do you ask?’
‘I visited yesterday because the mayor’s sister-in-law died in childbirth.’
‘You took in the state of it? Shocking, isn’t it?’ said Ngoma.
‘It’s horrific. We should do something.’
‘We? Since when were we on the same side?’ His lip curled.
‘Look, labour relations in Masaibu aren’t on the best footing, but I’ve asked you for a weekly meeting to improve them, and you’ve never come.’
‘It’s a waste of time.’ He said, sneering.
‘How do you know if we don’t discuss it? I can’t solve the issues if I don’t know what they are.’
‘What have you done for us?’ said Itoua.
He folded his arms and glared at her.
‘I stopped Philippe from taxing the casual staff.’
‘That was you? Didn’t security do that?’
‘And who do you think gave security the order to police the payments?’ said Sam.
‘Oh.’ Itoua pursed his lips and fiddled with a pencil. ‘What did you want to do?’
‘I’d like to speak to the workers about cleaning the hospital. Can you organise a meeting for tomorrow first thing please?’
‘They won’t go there. They are afraid.’
‘It will be a free choice. I promise,’ said Sam.
‘Okay, tomorrow at eight outside the maintenance sheds.’
Ngoma turned his face back to the screen and the meeting was over.
***
Stoddard’s lorry turned up at the gates of Masaibu camp at sundown. Hans put his head around the door of Sam’s office. He was smiling.
‘Did you forget to tell me something?’ he said.
Sam raised an eyebrow in enquiry.
‘There’s a truck outside from Stoddard’s. Anything to do with you?’
‘Oh! Yes. Gosh, didn’t I tell you?’ said Sam.
Hans shook his head in disbelief.
‘No, you didn’t. I think the shit is about to hit the fan.’
‘I wouldn’t miss this for the world,’ she said, standing up. ‘Let’s go then.’
Sam walked down to the main gates with Hans. The security woman who had tried to steal Sam’s belongings when she first arrived, poked around in the back of the truck with the air of a child in a toy store. Hans banged on the back door making her jump with fright.
‘You shouldn’t inspect the contents of the delivery truck,’ said Hans. ‘That is not your job. You should only search the outgoing traffic. Don’t make me tell you again.’
The woman stuck out her bottom lip and got out of the truck, making herself small as if avoiding a blow. Hans slammed the doors shut and went to talk to the driver.
‘Please can you drive to the Canteen over there on the square?’ he said ‘It’s the green building with a tarred roof.’
He took his radio out of his holster. ‘Frik, come in please, over.’
‘What’s up Hans? Over.’
‘Can you send a team of men to the canteen to unload the food delivery please? Four or five will do, straight away if you can. Over.’
‘Roger. I’ve got people right here. I’ll send them straight away. Over and out.’
By the time the truck had manoeuvred its way around the square and parked outside the canteen, five workers were standing outside waiting for instructions.
Hans positioned himself beside the truck and Sam waited indoors directing operations and wiping the shelving down to receive the fresh food. She moved all the local fly blown food to one shelf and stacked the tins on another. The fresh vegetables smelled wonderful, and she popped some fruit into her pocket for later. She packed the meat into the freezers with care, dedicating one for the old chickens and smoked fish, and the other for the fresh meat that had arrived.
Mama Sonia waddled into the canteen as they were about to leave, wheezing and puffing with effort. She leaned against the table fighting for breath before turning on Hans.
‘What’s going on?’ she said, pushing her face inches from his. ‘How dare you go over my head? Who authorised this?’
‘Excuse me?’ said Sam, who had been in the larder. ‘This is the order you gave to Moussa Dueme. You authorised it.’
Mama Sonia did a double take. Her mouth opened and shut but no sound came out.
‘Who brought the food here? I am supposed to go with Moussa Dueme to collect it,’ she said
‘The truck broke down. I asked Stoddard to deliver the order instead.’
‘But this is irregular. I must go to Uganda and choose the food myself.’
‘I’ve supervised the unloading, and it’s of excellent quality,’ said Sam. ‘I intend to ask Rahul Singh to organise a delivery once a week on their run to Lumbono. You may write the list of provisions that you require and give it to Mr Dueme, and he will fax it to Stoddard’s. Anyway,’ she said in fake comradery, ‘you’re far too important and busy to waste two days a week shopping in Uganda.’
‘But…’
‘That’s okay. Don’t thank me. I’m always trying to make your life easier, Mama S,’ said Sam with a wink, and before the startled woman could reply, she waltzed out of the canteen with Hans following. One worker hopped into the cab of the truck with Hans and they headed off to take the cleaning gear to the stores. Behind them, Mama Sonia punched the wall in frustration, her entire world crumbling.
‘Arrogant bitch! You’ll live to regret this.’ she muttered and stomped off to Philippe’s office.
Chapter XIV
Silence fell over the packed yard as Sam mounted the steps to the maintenance office. She turned to face the workers, a mixture of trade and labourers. They were not accustomed to being called for a meeting that didn’t lead to a strike. Ngoma Itoua, the union leader, stood beside her leading to further speculation.
‘What’s he doing here?’ said one.
‘She’s resigning,’ said another.
‘Who told you that?’
‘Shh, she’s about to speak.’
Sam took a deep breath. Public speaking was not something at which she excelled but she needed to do this in person. Her sincerity could not be in doubt if she were to persuade them.
‘Bonjour,’ she said, her voice quaking despite herself.
‘Bonjour Mama Sam,’ they chorused back, the goodwill tangible. She must harness it.
‘This morning I have a dilemma for you, one with which you can help me. But first, I need you to raise your hand if you know someone who died in the Masaibu hospital.’
One by one, the hands rose. A horrifying visual proof of the carnage wreaked by the medical institute. It rendered Sam speechless for a second. She gulped and bit her lip.
‘Okay. So, almost everyone. That’s terrible. I am so sorry. You may know the Mayor lost his sister-in-law this week. I have spoken to him and we are acting to prevent more deaths.’
‘What can you do?’
‘They are murderers.’
‘It is a black hole which swallows our people.’
‘I agree. We must do something. I have a plan, but I need your help,’ she said. ‘We must clean the hospital ourselves.’
A roar went up from the cro
wd, disapproval, fear, fury, and disbelief. When the hubbub had died down, one electrician stepped forward. He was a shop steward and a much-respected member of the workforce.
‘You want us to go in there?’ he said, ‘we’ll die too.’
‘No one will die. We’ve fixed the water pump and bought cleaning supplies from Uganda. Everyone will have a pair of industrial rubber gloves,’ said Sam.
‘Is it compulsory?’ shouted someone.
‘No,’ said Sam.
‘Will you be cleaning too?’ said another.
Sam bristled.
‘Yes, I will disinfect the toilets.’ she said. Oh God, what have I said?
‘You? I don’t believe it.’
‘If I clean the toilets, will you help sterilise the rest of the hospital?’
‘Yes, Mama Sam. I’ll do it.’
‘Me too.’
‘We’ll go on Saturday morning instead of working here. No one will have to enter if they don’t want to, but remember, if we can disinfect the hospital, people will survive instead of dying. I can’t promise we’ll save everyone, but it’ll make a big difference,’ said Sam.
‘They’ll just let it get dirty again,’ said the electrician.
‘No. No they won’t,’ said Sam. ‘I’ll organise an inspection of the premises to take place every month before we pay the supplement. If the hospital is not spotless, we won’t pay. Consaf will provide the cleaning materials. What do you say?’
‘Clean the hospital. Clean the hospital. We will clean the hospital,’ chanted someone, and soon everyone joined him, their rich voices swelling and filling the courtyard with sound.
A lump threatened to block Sam’s throat. Let’s see how proud you are when you have to clean the toilets.
‘Okay then, we’ll meet at eight o’clock on Saturday morning at the gates of the hospital.’
Ngoma Itoua put his hand on her shoulder. ‘Is it true, Mama Sam? Will you clean the toilets?’
‘Yes, I keep my promises, even when I wish I hadn’t made them.’ She raised a rueful face to him. He beamed.
‘I too will clean the toilets. We’ll do it together,’ said Ngoma.
‘Wow! Brilliant. Thank you. I’m blessed,’ said Sam.
‘No, we are. It’s the first time I ever felt positive about the project.’
