Mercy Dash for a Drunk

As usual, I took Mbise his meal out to him after we had cleaned up. It was dark and there was the familiar power cut, so I sat and chatted with him as he ate and drank from the Thermos of sweet coffee.

Mbise felt secure with the locked metal gate, but really the netting boundary fence with termite-eaten posts could hardly keep a scratching hen out!

There was gonging at the gate.

I remained, unseen by those at the gate and I could hear them in the local Meru language and Mbise use the word, ‘Pole’, which indicated to me that someone was in some sort of trouble.

‘There is an old man who has fallen from the bridge onto the creek bed.’ Mbise told me when he came back. ‘He needs to go to hospital.’

The bridge, not far beyond the gate, is three or four metres above the creek and is a simple footbridge made of logs with planks nailed across them - there is no railing. I reckoned if you could negotiate the steep, slippery track to it, crossing the bridge would be a breeze, even in the dark!

‘Is he drunk?’ I asked suspiciously.

‘Yes.’ Mbise’s replied simply.

‘No Mbise,’ I replied, ‘I’m not helping drunks!’

I was happy to take risks driving at night for people needing hospital attention, as mine was the only vehicle in the village. The secondary school had one, but the driver lived an hour’s walk away so I was more usually called out in emergencies. And I did not charge for the service whereas the school driver demanded payment. There are dangers driving at night with bandits being one of them.

Mbise returned to the gate and I heard some more Meru being spoken - a little more animated. There was the rattle of the chain as the gate was opened and Somi, the duty teacher came into my view.

‘The man is hurt, Mzee,’ he spoke in English, ‘I’m asking you personally to take him, Just to Kilala to The Sisters.’

‘The Sisters’ is a small hospital run by Catholic sisters and not very far along the main road.

I knew Somi very well and the personal plea from him was too difficult for me to turn down.

‘Who will come with him?’ I asked. ‘Mbise will have to stay here because there is no electricity. Mags will be nervous if she is left alone.’

‘The man lives across the creek,’ replied Somi, ‘I have sent a schoolboy to his home, by now his son will be here.’

I fired up the Toyota and Mbise had already opened the gate.  It was difficult to judge but I guessed the man was over fifty years old and he was certainly rotten drunk! He was complaining loudly of being sore but I didn't bother to look at the extent of his injuries.

The pair sat in the rear seat, so I was alone in front listening a lot of moaning and groaning, but I did not speak, going down the familiar, dusty track. Anyway, boozed people shouldn't feel pain, should they?

We had gone about two kilometres when  an unpleasant stink wafted up from the rear! At first I thought the dirty bugger had flatulence, but no, he had crapped!

I have experienced some stinks in my life but this was high up the list (no pun intended) so I told him his pedigree in my very best Swahili and demanded they open all the windows!

At the hospital, the son went into the hospital to fetch one of the Sisters. Meantime I was berating the man and how rotten he was from the inside!

The kindly Sisters accepted the situation, but the man refused out of the vehicle! Perhaps ashamed in front of the Sisters.

I spoke in a harsh tone to him, which did the trick and when he climbed out of the vehicle, I could see why he did not want to move.

He had been sitting in a pool of black stinking stuff that hardly deserves being called ‘crap’! Well, loosely perhaps. He was a stinking mess and he left behind him a stinking watery mess over the back seat!

The son, not surprisingly, sat in the front with me on the way back and I told him loud and clear that I was not very pleased and that he would be cleaning the mess in the vehicle as soon as we arrived back!

When we stopped at the gate for Mbise to open up, the son jumped out and ran off home!

Somi was still in our compound talking to Mags, so I suggested that as it was his suggestion to take the man to hospital, so he should be the one to clean up the mess.

He agreed, and coaxed Mbise to help.

We boiled water for him and supplied disinfectant and all the cleaning materials but it was poor old Mbise alone who cleaned the mess while Somi ‘supervised’!

The man was not injured at all! The pain he was experiencing, was due to a stomach/bowel problem that medication soon corrected! I doubt that the bugger even fell off the bridge!

Two days later the man came to our house to apologize, and brought with him a kilogram of sugar, in atonement.

I really did need a sweetener!