Chad #16 2019
I left Bere just after sunrise. It had rained during the night. Olen had offered to take me in a truck if it didn’t rain. When it rains they put barriers across the road so that vehicles can’t destroy it. Well that already happened decades ago. It’s a dirt road that isn’t maintained. Mud and sand! I like a moto ride too. The wind in my face, I just want to be driving and can’t. So I bring my stuff out to the gate where they are waiting. There are two guys, one I’ve seen his face before. I’m poor at bartering the price but I try anyway. I offer them 2500CFA each. I think that’s the lowest price I’ve heard some local people pay in the dry season. He says 4000, the roads are terrible. But just because it rained doesn’t mean it takes more gas or more wear and tear on the moto, I interject. He smiles. I offer 3000. He says, give 4000 each and we’ll go. I know I paid 4500 last year, but that was suppose to include a boat ride across the river, for us and the moto. We talk a little more and I give in to the 4000. One moto gets my luggage, two bags. And I go behind the other guy. It’s cooler because it just rained. People are just getting out and around, so it’s rather quiet in town still. We head out the road past the fields that are not yet planted. They guy with the baggage is in front and is going fast or slow depending on the puddles but keeping a safe speed. My moto guy seems to like to accelerate. So he accelerates up behind the guy in front, and when we are about to touch his back tire with our front tire, he pulls in the clutch and puts on the brakes. Then a short distance is created, and he accelerates again, to brake again. Accelerate, brake, accelerate, brake, accelerate, brake, accelerate, brake, accelerate, brake…………..
I think you get the picture. My back and stomach are getting a minor workout. I ask him to stop doing it, and he says, oh you don’t like that? Nope. So he does a little less aggressive than before, for the rest of the trip.
It takes about an hour and forty five minutest to get to Kelo. We pass people with their cows yoked together with a single blade plow, going out to the fields. They just leave the plow on it’s side and the cows drag it out to wherever they are going. There are others riding bikes with hoes, chickens, small sacks or whatever on the rack in the back. And others walking. Once in Kelo I go get my ticket while the guys unload the baggage, and the baggage handler sticks it underneath in the bus. I pay them and then head across the street to get some roasted peanuts that Audrey wanted. They come in1.5 liter water bottles. I choose the oldest lady to buy them from. I prefer to purchase from the old, assuming that the younger ones have more options, and the old likely have only that. A young girl about 15 keeps shoving her’s in front of me as I look at the old ladies peanuts. Finally I tell her to stop and Im buying from the old lady. She looks angry and says something I don’t understand. After that I get on the bus and wait. I sometimes have the energy to sit out and interact with all the people that are selling things or the little Muslim boys that are begging, but today I don’t. I just hope my diarrhea doesn’t occur today as the bus doesn’t stop but once in about 7-8 hours. That’s usually on the side of the road, and Id rather not have diarrhea there either. Olen and Denae thought I should have taken a diaper and offered their kids version with a laugh. After about 25 minutes of waiting, the bus is full enough that they leave.
During the ride music videos and a movie plays. The movie appears to be about Americas shooting Muslims, which is terrible. The music videos look like about three different styles. We stop in Bangor and they fill the few remaining seats that are left. A business man from there sits down next to me. He sleeps for a few hours, and when he awakes, he says hello and starts conversation. I find out he’s a Muslim, as I expected from his attire. His name is Hamidou, he has two wives and 12 children. We talk, and as the music videos play I ask him about each. Most are about love. They are in Housa from Nigeria, Arabic from Sudan, and some in Fulbe. There is one where a man is singing out in the open in front of a crowd on benches. It appears as if wealthy men are coming up and sticking bills of money individually to his forehead. After each is put there if falls to the ground and a little kid is there to pick them all up for the singer. This occurs with bigwig after bigwig. I ask him about it. He says it’s a guy who was brought in to sing, and before singing, he asks someone for the names of the rich people in town and memorizes them. Then as part of his singing, he names specific people. When they hear their name, they feel obliged to honor him back, by giving him money in this way.
I ask Hamidou if he’s done the Hadje (sp?) to Mecca yet. He says he hasn’t had the money to yet. He says it costs at least a million, or about $2000 minimum. He says over the past 8 years he’s been supporting his brother in med school. Apparently Guinea is the cheaper place to go to med school, about $2200 a year, which is about half what it costs in Chad. His brother recently got done, so he thinks in the next few years it may be possible. It’s required for all Muslims who have he means to do it.
We have an uneventful trip up to Ndjamena and part our ways. He says next time I’m down in Bongor to call him and he’ll come visit me.
As I’ve thought about this trip I think I may have discovered something new about myself. I constantly struggle with patients that say they can’t pay whether they can or not, and the internal struggle that gives me. I could help, but don’t know when to. And if I paid for everyone, that’s counter productive in the long term for whoever is left after I leave. So the other night I realized that is one thing I like about the US system. I don’t worry very often about who can pay for surgery except in private pay patients for elective surgery. I do have to struggle with insurance companies to get them to pay for what they should be paying, so the patient can get their surgery paid for, but especially not in an emergent situation. The things that really bug me about the US system are multiple, but probably the worst for me are the litigious society we have, and electronic medical records that make less time with patients and more time on a computer. So where would I find these things- no litigation- just do what’s best for the person in front of you, no EMR, and no payment for me to worry about. Refugee camp hospitals? I assume they’re funded? Maybe someday I’ll see what one of those are like. You have other ideas?
So these are my thoughts as I wrap up my trip. If you’re interested in previous stories, please look up our website www.missiondocs.org If you’re interested in financially helping mission hospitals that I visit or have worked in, or want to help some Cameroon hospitals get X-ray stuff it can be sent to my parents church as before:
Summersville SDA Church
70 Friends R Fun Dr
Summersville, WV 26651
Please specify if you have a specific desire for your funds
This is tax deductible.
Again, to those few that helped me make my dream of an X-ray machine in Bere a reality- THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!!
I hope you have enjoyed my musings and thoughts and that it spurs you to choose to volunteer some of your time and effort, to those in need around you either close to home or far away. God bless you! Until next time—