Mary Westfall’s Blog

An Embarrassment of Riches

Victory! The internet is still working this evening so I get a chance to tell you my story. I think it really highlights how the funny, beautiful, and sad aspects of life can be so rolled up together here…and it certainly illustrates the courtesy and generosity I have found so prevalent among the Zambian people.

Last month I examined a young man in clinic – he was thin but otherwise looked well and had a particularly friendly smile. He looked about 11 years old and was there with his taller sister who seemed more shy but greeted me politely in Tonga. When I put my stethoscope to his chest instead of the expected “lub dub” of a healthy boy’s heart I heard a dramatic whooshing sound and felt the palpable heave against his chest wall as his heart fought to move blood. This boy has rheumatic heart disease – because he did not get antibiotics during a case of strep throat during early childhood a valve in his heart was severely damaged. The heart is an amazingly adaptable pump, but it cannot withstand the mechanical strain of that injury for the span of a normal life. Although he is actually 17 years old, his frame is as slight as a boy much younger, and without surgical intervention that is not available in Zambia his heart will most likely fail at a young age. He comes every month for an injection of antibiotics that helps prevent bacteria from infecting his damaged heart valve. Despite this rough history and questionable future he and his sister were cheerful, friendly, and fun to interact with. I had some extra time to interact with them as one of the meds the young man needed for his heart was out of stock in the pharmacy and it took some work and some time to look for a small supply to send him home with. After awhile they went off for him to have his injection and the supply of medicine still hadn’t come. I asked them not to leave without it, but the sister (who spoke better English) explained that they had to ride TWO HOURS on bikes to get home and as it was already late in the afternoon, she didn’t know how long they could stay. So much for the sad part of the story.

Soon after they left to get the injection in another room I got ahold of the supply of medicine. Nervous that they had already left I quickly walked, then jogged, over to where I expected to find them. Appearing to hurry is not very dignified in this culture and people stared a bit at me trotting by in my skirt, but I was worried about the possible additional strain on his heart without this medicine. As I thought about this possibility I vaguely heard a girl crying, “Mom! Mother! I am here, over here!”. It made no impression on me as I just thought some girl was calling her mom, it didn’t even register that it was unusual for it to be in English. Suddenly I felt someone grab my arm and saw the sister, out of breath, at my side. She had run to catch me as she had seen me hurrying in the wrong direction. They had already finished with the injection and were walking a different way. Calling me “mother” was a very respectful address for any woman older than oneself…I have frequently been called “sister” here by men and women older or slightly older than myself (for example someone called out to me “good evening sister!” as I walked back to the dorm this evening). It was a little strange to me to be called “mother” by a 14 year old girl, but isn’t that a lovely and courteous tradition?

I gave the sister the medication and sent them on their way, not expecting to see them again. However, when I arrived at afternoon clinic earlier this week I was startled to have the translator tell me that someone had a gift for me. He said that she had approached him earlier to tell him that she would be on the look-out for my arrival and would bring it in when I came. Just then I saw the young sister in the doorway….and she was holding a large, brown and white, LIVE chicken in her arms!! In Tonga culture (as in many traditional cultures) it is extremely offensive to decline an offered gift, so with some confusion I stammered out my thank-you’s both in English and Tonga, and took the hefty bird in my arms. The girl explained that they felt I had worked hard to help them at their last month’s visit, and had brought this gift for me as a mark of gratitude. Talk about generosity. They certainly didn’t look as though they could spare a chicken and I longed to offer it back to them. I even pulled the translator a little aside after a moment and asked if there was any way I could politely return it, but he assured me that there was not. Then the question was of course what was I going to do with a live, breathing, clucking, pecking, feathers-still-wearing chicken while I saw patients in clinic? Fortunately the translator found a place to confine it (not in the rooms were patients were being seen of course!) until I was able to give it away to one of the Zambian hospital employees.

So, for the first time in my life, I was the owner (albeit temporarily) of a live chicken. There have been lots of “firsts” during this time in Africa, but that was one I wouldn’t have predicted :-).