Munachi

|Chapter 24|

I grab the glass of water from the nightstand and dip a clean flannel cloth into it, which I gently press to the man's lips. The blue eyes closes again. I press some water onto his lips and put my hand on his forehead to feel for a fever. He's burning up. I take another cloth, wet it and lay it over his eyes. I decide that I must contact Dr. Frank at the hospital of Bamenda, asking for the medicine my patient will need and any advice he might be able to offer me. And if possible send me a doctor as soon as one could be spared.

As the morning passes, the stranger's fever grows fiercer and hotter. I spend all day with him, trying to keep it in check, bathing his body with cold water, changing the dressings on his wounds, and giving him the medicines the doctor had sent from Bamenda.
I lay on the cot beside the bed in my room again. It's uncomfortable, and I wake up every few hours to cool my patient off.

Three days on, I'm utterly exhausted. But the man still lives. One afternoon I decide to take a quick walk over to check on the excruciating slow progress of the ground clearing for my clinic. As I'm walking down the path, I hear the whine of an engine in the distance. I rapidly turn and hurry back up to the house. At last, someone is coming to help me. I pray it's an actual doctor, or at least someone with some more medical supplies and antibiotics.

I arrive at the bottom of my veranda steps just in time to see a car pull up. A woman climb out of the vehicle and removes a pair of dark shade and a large hat. I don't recognize her at first, but when the woman turns to face me, I stop in amazement. Astrid Vincent! Astrid is one of the new friends I made right after moving to Cameroon. She's the wife of Rev. Lucien Vincent. She's a pretty woman with bundle of enthusiasm and energy. She's never at loss for conversation, and most of the time when she isn't talking, she's laughing.

“Hello, Muna!” Astrid's french intonation always catch me off guard.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Vincent. What a surprise to see you out here.”

“Astrid! Please, call me Astrid, for goodness' sake. Surely we can be on a first-name basis! I heard you were nursing a very sick patient, and I thought you might just like a bit of company, so here I am for a visit.”

“Thank you. How very thoughtful of you.”

Astrid plunk herself down onto one of the chairs that I kept to the side, away from the examining table and chairs. “Wow, it's hot. You don't happen to have a cool glass of water or iced tea handy, do you?”

I call Jamal and ask him to fetch us something chill.

Astrid, fanning herself with her hat, continues. “I understand there's going to be a bit of an inquiry into the whole accident. Have you heard anything about that yet? But first, how's your patient doing?”

“He's still got a fever, and I'm treating him for an infection, but it's really too soon to tell if he'll recover. But I'm praying for him.”

“That's very good. Well I spoke to Dr. Frank. He was the one who told me about your white patient. He tells me your patient has no family here in Cameroon. He's British, William Constant. A world traveler. And he's only met the man and became acquainted few weeks before his accident. Other than that, he doesn't know much about him.”

Jamal brings a jug of orange juice and some glasses. Astrid drinks hers gratefully.

“I don't suppose the poor man is a Christian, is he?”

“I don't know,” I reply. “He hasn't recovered consciousness.”

“Well then that is something else we must pray for. You look tired.”

I smile weakly. “Yes, I am. I don't get to sleep well because I'm always up listening in case William, I mean, Mr. Constant's fever gets worse or he becomes delirious.”

“You poor thing. Out here all alone and caring for a man on the brink of death. You really must take a break for an afternoon and come have tea with me. If you don't look after yourself, you'll wear yourself out.”

I smile gratefully. It's kind of Astrid to be so concerned about me, but I know my duty is to my patient. “I hate to leave him with Jamal while he's so ill, Astrid.”

“Oh, Muna, you're so dedicated to your work. I really do admire you for that. Tell you what. As soon as you feel you can leave your patient, why don't you give me a call, and I'll send my car to fetch you?”

“Thank you, Astrid. It's very kind of you.”

Astrid stands and wears her hat. “I must take my leave now. I'll be praying for you and for William Constant's recovery.”

I wave to the cloud of dust that's Astrid's car roar off down the road. I still have my work cut out for me keeping William Constant alive. Morning, noon, and evening I keep vigil beside his bed, anxiously looking into his face for a clue about when his fever would break. He's hot and red with the fever still. His body is wasting away, but he still cling to life.

At night and in the evening I pray for him. Sometimes as I pray I wonder, does he know and love God? Has he given his life to Jesus? Is he ready to meet his Maker, forgiven and free? Perhaps it's because William is not a Christian that God seem to be very slowly, almost imperceptibly, healing him and giving him a second chance at life.

One morning I receive a call from Dr. Frank, telling me that he'd managed to get through to William Constant's family in London. His grandfather's health prevents him from making a trip to Africa to see his grandson. He asks me to care for him until he's in my area and will have him taken away. 

That night, William Constant's fever breaks. I wake up just before dawn. The room is very dark and cold, and it's silent. I can't hear William's rag breathing any longer. He must be dead!

I sit up quickly. With shaking hands I fumble for the switch to on the bulb. In those few seconds, I realize that I'd come to care for this unknown man who sleeps in my bed. Will I never meet the person behind those blue eyes? Will I never hear his voice? I suddenly feel desperate. He must live!

I move over to the bed and see my patient's chest rising and falling in long, slow breaths. His face is paler, and there are no beads of sweat glistening on it. I put my hand on his forehead. “Oh, Lord, thank you!” He's alive. The fever has broken at last.

The eyes flash open at the sound of my voice. “Who are you?” comes the hoarse whisper.