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I go say hello to Amari. I’ve met her once or twice but we haven’t had much interaction.
“Hello, Eric.”
“What do you need my help with?” I ask.
“Let’s make rounds and I’ll introduce you to the children,” she says in a heavy Swahili accent.
“This is Kwame, he’s twelve. He’s got the leukemia,” she introduces and I’m immediately alarmed. Cancer? How can we treat that here? I keep those questions to myself for now. I look at the IV in his arm and wonder what’s in it.
“Hi, Dak,” he says, waving. He is gaunt, his cheekbones making his eyes look sunken in, but he has a beautiful smile that makes my heart lurch. Poor fucking kid. He looks down at his coloring book and picks up a blue crayon to complete his picture.
“Hey, Kwame. How are you feeling today?”
He shrugs as he colors. “Da same.”
I don’t ask what that means, I’ll have a lot of questions for Amari when we’re done.
As we go around the room, she introduces me to all the children. They are as young as five and as old as sixteen. Kwame is the only cancer patient, and the rest seem to be recovering from injuries or infections.
Once we leave the area and go behind a partition where the medical supplies are kept, I ask the nurse, “How are you treating his leukemia?”
She looks at me sadly. “Just making him comfortable.”
“So, no chemotherapy drugs?”
She shakes her head. “No, sir. Not here. It’s hard to get them here and we would need to be trained on how much to give.”
I don’t even ask about radiation because that’s obviously out of the question. I feel sick that that child is just going to sit there and die.
“Can’t we do anything?” I ask. “Get the drugs shipped here?”
She nods. “We have before, but no more have shown up. I don’t know where they come from.”
From the fucking big pharm in America, I want to say, but I don’t. Greedy bastards can afford to donate some. I know what I’m doing when I get back to my tent tonight.
***
Ilook at the clockto see that while it’s 7:19 p.m. here, it’s only 10:19 in Denver. I pull up my contacts and dial Declan Kelley, the assistant hospital administrator where I was working before I took off in a fit and moved halfway around the world. I’m sure he’s not happy with me for leaving right after he went out of his way to get me a PT job, but I would be doing a disservice to these kids, and these people, if I didn’t at least reach out.
His cell rings four times before he picks up. “Hey, Eric.”
“Hey, man. How are you?”
“I’m good. Busy as usual. How’s Africa?” he asks, and he seems friendly enough and doesn’t sound cross with me at all.
“It’s cool. I’m learning a lot here, and hopefully making a small difference,” I reply honestly.
“That’s great. Did you need something or just calling to chat?” He chuckles. “I’m secretly hoping you’re calling to tell me you’re coming home and want your job back. Which of course is an automatic yes from me. Just have to run it by the head of PT.”
That’s a surprise. “No, I mean, yes, I’ll be back eventually and will need a job. I’m just surprised you’re willing to give it back to me after I left so abruptly.”
“We all understand why you did it, bro.”
“That makes me feel better. Thank you. But the reason I’m calling is because I was wondering if you could help me out. We need chemo drugs over here. Among other things. I haven’t talked to the head doc over here yet, but how does that work, do you know? Surely some of the big names donate medicine and supplies over here and elsewhere.”
“As far as I know, they do. I’m just not sure about the process, but they do donate. I’m sure it’s built into their business plan and yearly budget. Tax write-offs and all that. Tell you what, let me do some research and I’ll get back to you. Do you have access to email there?”
“Yes, it’s spotty but I have it on my phone and the laptop I brought. It’s just pricy so I try not to use it, but I can get emails.”
