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They shout in Swahili and I inform them I only speak English.
One says, “What is happening?”
“They’re trying to steal my shipment. I’m an American doctor and we have very sick patients in the south village. Please. All I want is to get my two boxes in peace and I’ll be on my way.”
The cop eyes me speculatively, then says, “Juma, you stealing this man’s things?”
“No! He lies!”
I carefully pull out my ID and show it to the cop, then I ask him to follow me to the cart. I show him the two boxes with my name on them. “I had these arranged personally because I had a feeling this was happening. These guys are stealing medical supplies. Do what you want with that information, but I’m leaving.”
I heave the two boxes onto my dolly and walk calmly off the tarmac, smiling when my back is turned.
My hand and jaw throb, and I taste blood, but I don’t care. It was worth fighting for.
***
The next few days arequiet. On my way back to the village, I found a small store and bought a couple of hardware kits with padlocks for the door where we keep the drugs. After that interaction, I’m taking no chances. I won’t ever find out why they were stealing the drugs, but I can guess. Especially the narcotics. I know a criminal when I see one and their intentions aren’t difficult to figure out.
I take a set of keys for the padlocks and give them to Jack. “I’ll let you decide who keeps a key.”
“Appreciate it, Eric. For everything. I had no idea the drugs were being stolen. I thought the main hospital was just hoarding them.”
“Did you ever ask anyone there to let us have some of their supplies?” I ask.
“Yes, they always said they were short and couldn’t share. Which is true, I’m sure, but now we know why they were short. I mean, they did give us a few things when I would ask, but nothing like narcotics or chemo drugs.”
“Shouldn’t cancer be monitored in a bigger hospital, anyway?” I ask, having always thought it was odd that people going through such things should be convalescing in a hospital, not a village clinic.
“Yes, once the type and severity of the cancer is determined, they are allowed to get treatment here, since we have the IVs and the nurses. But it’s getting the blood tests done to check the progress that is the challenge.”
We have a village member who runs blood we draw to the main hospital for testing, and usually they call Dr. Alsworth with any results. Kwame’s blood hadn’t been tested in a while, which was why we didn’t know what stage it was, only that it was leukemia.
“Kwame’s already doing better, they tell me. And a delight to the other patients,” the doc says.
“I’m glad. He needs to be around other people. I imagine being an orphan is terribly lonely.”
“A family friend of his parents took him in, so hopefully he can go back there once he’s better.”
“No grandparents?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “They died young, then the parents passed. Dad died in the river trying to rescue a large animal, I’m not quite sure of the story. Mom had, what we can best guess, was a stroke.”
“Sad,” I comment.
“Right. So, are you excited to go home?” he asks, changing the subject.
“I have mixed feelings about it,” I tell him honestly.
He nods in understanding. “Well, of course we’d love it if you’d stay.”
“Trust me, I’ve been thinking about it. But I do think my time here is done for now, which isn’t to say I won’t be back. You have a new group of people coming in Monday, right?”
“Yes, two doctors and two nurses. I’m very excited. I’ve also petitioned the organization for more supplies, and after your ordeal, I’ll personally be going and picking up shipments from now on.”
“Take a couple of big, strong villagers with you. I don’t trust those creeps I ran into.”
“I plan on it.”
