The amateur Doctor in desert

I was the kind of person who didn’t like to visit a doctor when I got sick. It didn’t mean that I rarely got ill, it was quite the opposite, I got small problems with health all the time and because of that I didn’t bother to visit any doctor.

Having been living for long enough, I had a whole cardboard box of medicine, my treasure box. Wherever I went I would take it with me, as time passed and after using various medicine for long enough, I had built up my own methods to teat all my small health issues.

Since last year, when I had treated an old Sahara woman with two aspirin to stop her headache when I travelled in the desert; for the next few days during my stay in my tent in the desert, people came in from nowhere and brought their children or old people asked me for some medicine.

At the time the only medicine I dared to give was something liked red mercurochrome, anti-inflammatory cream and pain killers, this sort of medicine however had a big impact for the nomads who’s medical knowledge was far more limited than from our civilization. Before I headed back to my little town ‘Laayoune’, I left all my food and medicine for these poor Sahara people who were only living in tents.

Soon after I settled in this little town, my Africa neighbours often asked for painkillers for their headache. I thought there was a government run hospital in this town, so I didn’t give them any headache pills instead asked them to visit the doctor in the town. 

Never thought that I had much in common with all the women here, but their reasons were different than mine; they refused to see the doctor too because the doctor was a man. For this reason, these women who had all hidden their faces behind their veils would rather die than visit the male doctor in town.

I was out of choices so reluctantly gave two painkillers to my next door neighbour. Since then, I didn’t know who had made such publicity of it but the women from everywhere to nowhere all came to see me and asked me to treat their little problems. Apart from the medicine, the most pleasing thing for them was that some of my western style clothing was also occasionally included with the medication, so there were more people daily coming to see me. 

My opinion was that, if they would rather die than visit the male doctor, I could gave them a little help for their little issues of health; at least it could ease their pain as well as shoot off my loneliness living in the desert; wasn’t the way it worked just like one stone for two birds? At the same time, I felt it worked for eighty percent of the women and children who had taken the medicine. 

Therefore I was bold and built up my confidence, I even went out visiting patients. Jose saw me treating patients liked playing dolls, he always felt worried about me, he thought I was making chaos in the universe but he didn’t know there was also love behind the chaos.

My neighbour Guccka was ten and about to get married; two weeks before her marriage, a red mark had appeared on her thigh, at first it looked like the size of a coin with no pus in it, it felt hard when touched it and the skin was swollen shiny; her lymph glands had swollen out. When I visited her the second day, it had swollen like the size of walnut. The girl was suffering in pain, lying on the mat and moaning. 

“It’s serious, have to take her to see the doctor!” I spoke to her mother.

“That area of her could not be seen by the doctor, she is getting married.” Her mother told me firmly. After more than three or four days, it’s not getting better, I asked her father: “Let her visit the doctor and get it treated?

“No, we can’t.” He replied with no further. 

It suddenly crossed my mind, I had some soybeans at home. I had no other choice so I would try the Chinese way to treat the African. I went home and ground up the soybeans.

Jose saw me in the kitchen and came to ask: “Is it for supper?”

I replied: “I am making Chinese medicine to treat Guccka.”

Jose looked at me stonily  and asked again: “How come you’re using soybeans?”

“The Chinese old method for medicine.” When he heard me said with his disagreement showing: “These women don’t see the doctor but they are believing in you? Don’t make yourself obsessed with it.”

I put the messy soybeans paste into a little bowl and said: “I am a witch in Africa.” Then rushed to visit Guccka’s home. 

That day, I painted some soybeans paste on Guccka’s swollen thigh and covered it with gauze. The next day I saw the lump had softened and I put the soybeans paste on it again. On the third day, some yellow pus had shown under the skin. The fourth day in the afternoon, the pus squeezed out with a little blood; I applied some liquid antiseptic medicine in on it and after few more days, the wound completely healed.

When Jose got off from work, I was proudly told him: “It’s cured.”

“Because of the soybeans?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“You Chinese people are a really mystery.” He shoot his head and didn’t understand it. 

Another day, my neighbour Hati came to see me, she said to me: “My cousin come from the great desert and is staying with us but she is dying, Can you go to see her?”

I had hesitated when I heard what she was dying, “What sort of illness?” I asked Hati.

“I don’t know but she is weak and has headache, she is slowly losing her eyesight, she is so thin and going to die.” I listened to her graphic description and felt intrigued; Jose had heard our conversation in the sitting room and rashly shouted: “Echo, leave it and don’t mind other people’s business!”

   

I lowered my voice to Hati: “You come back later, I can only go out after my husband has gone to work.”

When the door just closed, Jose came to scold me: “If this woman dies they will think it’s you who caused her death, if they are not willing to see the doctor then let them die, it serves them right!”

“They don’t have any knowledge themselves, it a very pitiful….” Despite I argued over and over, Jose was probable right; but I was full of curiosity and bold, I didn’t really listen to him.

Once Jose stepped out of the door, I also sneaked out too. When I arrived at Hati’s home, I saw a young girl liked a bag of bones lying down on the floor and her eyes were deep liked two black holes. I touched her and felt she hadn’t got a fever; her tongue, fingernails and inside her eyes looked a healthy colour.

I asked her if there was any where she felt unwell, she couldn’t make it clear and had to ask Hati who translated the Arabic: “Her eyes slowly could not see clearly, inside her ears are ringing and she has no energy to get up.”

A lightening of idea just crossed my mind and I asked Hati: “Your cousin was living in the great desert?” she nodded.

“Was she eating well?” I asked again.

Hati replied: “She almost hasn’t eaten anything at all!”

“Wait a minute.” I rushed home and took fifteen highest units of vitamin pills for her.

“Hati, are you willing to kill a goat?” She nodded her head quickly.

“Firstly, give these vitamin pills to your cousin for two or three times a day, and then you make some goat soup for her.”

Just like that within ten days, that cousin of Hati’s who I was told was dying away eventually came to see me by herself, she sat with me for half of the day in great spirits.

Jose came home and saw her, he was smiling and asked: “How come? A person who is dying can get well so soon? What sort of illness had she?”

I was giggling away and replied to him: “No illness, just nutritional deficiencies!”

“How did you know that?” Jose asked again.

“ I figured it out myself.” I was actually surprised to find Jose praising me.

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We were living on the outskirts of a little town called ‘Laayoune’ there were not many Europeans who would choose to live in that area; Jose and I were happier to meet the local people and half of our friends were Saharan local people.

Most the time I was unoccupied therefore I opened a free school for women, I taught them basic knowledge like number counting and recognising money, if they reached a higher level I taught them simple mathematics such as one plus one equals two. I had between seven and fifteen pupils, the attending number could be very mobile in other words it was a school of freedom with no forced attendance.

One day in the class, the pupils were not paying much attention and ran to my bookshelf to pick up books. As it happened, a pupil had picked up a book about ‘How a baby is born’, the book was written in Spanish and full of graphics and pictures. There was colour photos clearly which described how to became pregnant and how a baby was born.

My pupils viewed this book with great curiosity, so we had to left the maths behind and instead spend the next two weeks explaining about this book. They looked at the pictures while screaming as if they didn’t have a clue of how a life was formed, although a few of them were mothers and had already had three or four children themselves.

“What a strange world we are living in, the teacher who has never give birth but teaches the mothers who have already had children about where a baby comes from.” Jose said that but couldn’t stop laughing.

“They only knew giving birth in the past but now they know what is it all about, it is a matter of easier said then done.” I said.

At least these women are now gaining more common sense of life even if that doesn’t improve their lives and make them more healthy and happier.

One day one of my pupils Fatima asked me: “Echo, when I due to give birth, can you come to help me?”

I was lost for words whilst looking at her. I saw Fatima almost everyday but I actually didn’t know she was pregnant.

“You….how many months?” I asked her.

She naturally didn’t know because she couldn’t count numbers. I eventually persuaded her to take off her wrapping cloth from head to toe, she remained only in her long under dress.

“Who helped you give birth last time?” I knew she had a three year old son.

“My mother.”

“You can ask you mother again, I can’t help you.”

She lowered her head: “My mother can’t come, she is already dead.”

I couldn’t say anything after her reply to me.

“How about going to the hospital? Don’t be afraid.” I asked her again.

“No, the doctor is a man.” She refused me immediately.

I looked at her tummy, it was about eight months already.

I hesitated to tell her: “Fatima, I am not a doctor, I have never given birth myself so I can’t help you to deliver your baby.”

She almost burst into tears and said to me: “Please I beg you, your book on the bookshelf clearly show it, please help me, I am begging you…..”

I became soft when she desperately begged me but thought it over, it still wouldn’t work. I made myself resolute and told her: “No, you can’t mess it up, your life will end by my hand.”

“No, it won’t! I am healthy, I can give birth myself, you can only help me that will be all right,”

“We will talk again about it!” I didn’t promise her.

One month had passed and I had already forgotten about it. One evening, a little girl who I didn’t know was knocking my door. When I opened the door, the little girl could only say: “Fatima, Fatima.” She didn’t speak any Spanish.

I locked my door while talking to the little girl: “Ask her husband to come back, do you understand?” She nodded and was quickly running off.

When I rushed to Fatima’s home, I saw her three year old was standing crying next to her and Fatima was sweating in pain on the floor. Her waters had broken and were running all over  the mat. 

I picked up the child in my arms and quickly took him to stay with the next door neighbour, then dragged a middle aged woman to Fatima’s home. Unfortunately, the Africans who lived here weren’t full of compassion and were very uncooperative. The middle aged woman was very furious and scolded me in Arabic when she saw Fatima in her labour situation, she stormed out the door. (After that I found out that they thought it would bring bad luck seeing someone giving birth.) 

I could only said to Fatima: “Don’t be afraid, I will go back and fetch something and will come back here as quick as I can.” I rushed back home and grabbed a book from the bookshelf, in no time I turned to the chapter on delivering a baby and read it quickly; my heart also thought: “Scissors, cotton, antiseptic solution, what else do I need? What more do I need?” At that moment I just recognised that Jose was back from work and he looked at me in stonily.

“Oh! I am so nervous, I can’t do it in these circumstances.” I spoke to Jose with my shaken voice.

“Do what? What are you doing?” Jose also sensed my nervousness.

“Delivery a baby! Her amniotic fluid has already broken!” I had one hand hold tight to the book and the other picked up a big roll of cotton; I also looked around for a pair of scissors.

“You are mad, you are not going.” Jose quickly grabbed my book from my hand.

“You haven’t had any experience for delivery a baby, you will kill her.” He shouted me loudly.

I woke up a little and still made my argument: “I have a book here, I also have seen a documentary about giving birth…….”

“You are not allowed to go!” Jose rushed to grab my arms, both my hands were full of stuff.

I could only used my elbow to hit his chest while struggling and shouted: “You are a cold blooded animal with no compassion, let me go!”

“I won’t let you go, you are not going anywhere.” He stubbornly held me tight.

Whilst we were busying swaying each other, we suddenly saw Fatima’s husband standing outside our house at the window and staring in at us in confusion. Jose let go of of me and said to him: “Echo can’t deliver your baby, she will hurt Fatima. I am going to get a car, your wife must go to the hospital and give birth there.” 

Fatima finally gave birth to a baby boy at the hospital. The Spanish government provided this free of charge for them because they were local residents. When Fatima came out of the hospital, she felt very proud of herself for being the first Saharan woman whom had given birth in the hospital in this area and she didn’t bother to mention about the doctor being a man again.

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One morning, I went to the rooftop to hang out my washing, suddenly found our landlord had a pair of baby goats fenced in on the rooftop. I was excited and called Jose: “Come up quick! There are two lovely little goats that have been born.”

He came up to the rooftop and looked at them then said: “This kind of little baby goat is best for barbecue.”

I was shocked and replied to him angrily: “What non-sense are you talking about.”

I quickly pushed the baby goats to their mother and at the same time, I discovered the mother goat had some things liked a heart that was sticking out from behind her body, it probably was the remaining water bag after it gave a birth but it looked very disgusting.

After three days, this horrible thing didn’t drop down but still hung out from the body.

“How about take it for slaughter?” The landlord said.

“If you kill the mother goat, how can the little goats survive?” I quickly found a reason to save the mother goat.

“It will die if it is still dragging the water bag like that.” The landlord replied.

“Don’t rush to kill it and let me try to treat it.” I blurted it out without thinking and I had no clue how to cure the mother goat.

I had thought it over at home and something came up on my mind. I took a bottle of red wine and went up to the rooftop to forced fed it to the mother goat, I was hopping if that didn’t make it die, there was a half chance it would cure it. This method had come from a farmer and I occasionally overheard and somehow I still remembered it in my head.

The next day, the landlord said to me: “It’s cured, all the dirty waste from it’s tummy has gone, the mother goat is well! Can I ask how did you treat it? Anyway, I am really appreciate it, thank you!”

I smiled and told him lightly: “It has drunk a whole bottle of red wine.” He immediately replied: “Thank you! Thank you!” then thought it over again, Muslims are not allowed to drink, so neither should their goats too. I left them but felt I had gone against their will. 

I was the witch here who could treat whoever apart from Jose, he was scared of me, most the time he gave me no chance to treat him, no matter how I used thousands of different ways to prove myself in order to restore his faith in me, it was in vain. 

One day, he had a stomach ache, I gave him a bag of medicine powder-(weisen-U) and asked he swallow it.

“What is it?” He asked.

“You try it, it worked to me.” I said.

He reluctantly drank the powder with water but felt worried afterwards. He took a good look at the little plastic bag of the powder but couldn’t work out the Chinese writing; fortunately there was a English letter he knew—vitamin U…..

He asked me with a frustrating pained cry: “Is there such a thing called vitamin U? How can it treat stomach-ache?”

I really didn’t know and grabbed the plastic bag to have a look. It certainly had what he said and I was laughing out loud for it a long time. Whatever it was, his stomach-ache had really been cured by it.

The fact was being a vet was also fun, Jose was scared to death since the last time of what happened about the delivery of Fatima’s baby; I didn’t tell him about I was also playing the role of a vet too. He apparently thought I was no longer interested in playing doctor games.

Last week we had three days holiday and the weather was neither too cold or too hot; we made plans to rent a Jeep and go camping in the great desert. Whilst we were loading our tent, food and water into the car, suddenly a very dark woman from our neighbour showed up, she didn’t cover herself with veil and relaxingly approached us.

Before I opened my mouth, she was very lively told Jose: “Your wife was brilliant, my tooth no longer feels pain after she fit it for me.”

I quickly changed to another subject when I heard what she said and loudly said: “Oh? Where is the load of bread? How come I can’t find it!” At the same time I was laughing hysterically inside to myself.

As expected, Jose wasn’t laughing and intriguingly stared at me: “Since when have you become a dentist, my dear?”

After a few seconds I lifted my head up, it was no good to pretending otherwise now, I decided to come clean: “It started last month.”

“How many people have you done their fillings for?” He also started to laugh.

“Two women and a little child, they refused to go to hospital, there was no other way, so….the fact is, they can bite down on things now without any tooth pain after I fitted it for them.” What I told him was also the truth.

“What sort of material for the filling?”

“I can’t tell you about it.” I quickly made a reply.

“If you don’t tell we don’t go camping.” He was actually threatening me.

“Okay!” I jumped out one step away from him first and lowered my voice and said:

“Never fall off, waterproof, strong glue, smells good and looks colourful, you guess what this goodie is?”

“What?” He didn’t use his brain, instead he quickly asked again.

“Nail…polish….!” I loudly replied.

“Wow! Nail polish for a filling!” He looked scarily at me and his hair was all standing up just like a sort of a cartoon character, awesome!

I pondered him feeling scared just like that, I quickly kept myself safe by running some distance away from him; when he became aware of it, he wanted to chase me, I this witch had already disappeared without a trace into thin air.