“Please take these tablets for protection against malaria,” advised Dr. Harry Etonga, the doctor at the UN medical clinic on Ministries Road in Juba, South Sudan. He wrote out a prescription.
“It is important that you take precautions, Dr. Chaudhuri. You have arrived in South Sudan from the Caribbean, which is a malaria free region.” Industry Adviser Ajay Chaudhuri nodded. “That’s fine doctor, but I am in the Caribbean only for the last three years. I lived in Botswana and India before that. Will I still need the tablets?”
The young doctor was emphatic. “Yes, please. I am from Cameroon, but I still take the course every time I return to Juba after home leave,” Dr.Etonga added. “The pharmacist will be with you soon.”
The pharmacist came in a little later and handed Ajay a bottle containing large white tablets. “Sorry, you had to wait,” he said smiling. “We want you safe.”
“Thank you,” said Ajay as he rose. The staff vehicle was waiting outside.
“Is the River Nile far away from here, Chaplain?” he asked the driver.
“Not too far,” Chaplain said. “I can drive there. Would you like to take a look, sir?”
“Thank you. I have read so much about it.”
Ajay stood on the river bank near the Nile Bridge. He had read that the source of the river was near the north shore of Lake Victoria in Uganda, where he had worked a few years earlier.
At Khartoum, it was joined by the Blue Nile, which flowed from the Ethiopian plateau. The two rivers, the longest in the world, then surged northward on their way past Cairo to join the Mediterranean near Alexandria.
“It wasn’t such a short drive to the Nile Bridge, Chaplain,” remarked Ajay, as he got back to the UN dormitory compound on Airport Road. His bags were still unpacked, so he spent the rest of the day unpacking and moving into his room.
“You didn’t use the mosquito net last night,” complained Mary, the maid, the next morning. “You know it is against the rules to sleep without a net. You should check with the doctor,” she grumbled, as she wiped the dormitory floor. “Many officers have got malaria here.”
“I’m sorry, Mary. I forgot. Thank you for reminding me. Please put up the net today, if you can,” said Ajay, as he left for his office in the adjacent Humanitarian Affairs compound.
Stark and dusty, the Humanitarian Affairs compound had a number of twenty foot containers which served as offices. Around the offices, there were enormous boulders, strewn perhaps by the eruption of a primeval volcano. Scattered between the boulders and around the containers, were bushes, shrubs and large indica trees of the mahogany family. It was a prehistoric landscape.
In the absence of a national electricity grid in South Sudan, the compound’s power was provided by a set of diesel generators located at the back of the compound, which were maintained by a team of Kenyan technicians. On one side of the compound there was a cafeteria, where staff members could have simple meals cooked in the kitchen. On the other side, rows of vehicles were parked most of them from the UN.
“Yes, malaria is a real threat here and we are lucky that our clinic is very good,” said Renato in the office. “It’s the river that flows through here. Mosquitoes are able to freely breed on the banks of the Nile and wherever there are stagnant pools.”
“Yes, I saw many small pools when I went to the river yesterday,” Ajay said.
Renato continued. “It is very rare but last year a Korean died of complications from malaria. He never gave it any importance and refused all treatment till it was very late.”
The first week in Juba passed very quickly for Ajay. The mornings were spent with Director General Jacob Mabok and his team at the Ministry of Industry. They worked on the government’s priorities and action plans. In the afternoons, the discussions of the morning were recorded in Ajay’s office in the Humanitarian Affairs compound.
As there were very few places to visit in Juba, Ajay spent his evenings either having dinner at the open air cafeteria watching the migratory birds flying in formation, or reading in his room in the dormitory.
The dormitory buildings were a cluster of tired looking colonial era bungalows. Each had 5-6 bedrooms and a covered balcony, where residents could sit and watch CNN or BBC if the link was good that day. They could not bring their families to Juba as it was categorized by the UN as a non-family duty station.
One evening when Ajay walked into the balcony he was surprised to find Dr. Etonga there from the clinic. “Good evening, Dr. Etonga,” he said. “I didn’t know you stayed here, too.”
“Please call me Harry,” the doctor said. “Yes, I have been here for quite a while. Almost two years. I find this place convenient. Kitchen facilities are excellent. One can cook if one likes.”
“Yes, I agree. But I haven’t tried cooking yet,” replied Ajay. The link was good that evening. They watched CNN and the run up to the US elections.
Days went by. Ajay remembered to take his malaria tablets every day in the morning. On the days he was back early from office and Harry too was back from the clinic, they would sit and have coffee or a beer. Sometimes others would join them.
Harry seemed quite lonely. “I am from a large family, which is very common in Cameroon, Ajay,” he said one evening. “My parents died when I was seven. I was brought up by my uncle. I remember playing football with my cousins in their house. Primary and secondary studies were in a place called Sasse. I was good in my studies and this helped me get through. Financial help came from my uncles, who were very kind. Am I boring you with all this, Ajay?”
“Not in the least. You had said that studied at the Faculty of Medicine in the University of Yaounde,” said Ajay. “I understand it is a very good university and it is supported by WHO.”
“Yes, but that was later. Passing a competitive examination was required for that,” said Harry. “One had to be bilingual in French and English as well. But the life of a doctor is not very good in Cameroon, Ajay. You are always overwhelmed by work. Pay is very little, perhaps $80 to $100 a month. My wife Darcelle and I are both doctors. She used to work for the Yaounde Central Hospital.”
“Then life must have been comfortable, Harry,” said Ajay.
“Money was always a problem. There were family commitments. In addition to my own children, I was bringing up my brother’s children too, which is a common custom in our society. So when I received this offer to join the UN, I jumped at it.”
He finished his beer. “Here money is good. But life was better with the family around,” he added as they got up to leave.
“You must be a vegetarian, Ajay,” said Harry one evening. “From where do you buy your vegetables?” he asked.
“Mostly from Konyo-Konyo market near Juba University,” said Ajay.
“I don’t have a vehicle on weekends, Ajay. So if it is not inconvenient, perhaps I can join you the next time you go to Konyo-Konyo. I need vegetables, particularly cauliflower and eggplant. I love eggplant. Earlier I used to get it from the market across the Juba Bridge. That market seems to have closed down.”
“Please do join me. It would be very good. I will go there on Saturday,” said Ajay.
“Saturday morning I will be at the clinic till noon,” said Harry.
“I will pick you up from there, Harry. It’s on the way to Konyo-Konyo.”
On Saturday, Ajay parked his vehicle in front of the clinic. Harry was at his desk. “Good to see you, Ajay. Please sit down.”
That was the last sentence Ajay heard that morning.
When he vaguely regained consciousness, he was in a hospital bed and attached to gauges and meters, with people all around him. Ajay could hear their voices, but they seemed to come to him from a great distance.
“Oh God! We are losing him! Is the ambulance ready? Nairobi should be expecting him,” a voice exclaimed.
“It is ready. The pilot is here. But wait a bit, there seems to be some slight recovery. Fingers crossed,” another voice said.
“It was Providence,” said Harry later. “There was nothing we could do and there was nothing we really did. You recovered on your own, Ajay. It cannot be medically explained. I doubt if you would have survived the journey to Nairobi in that old Russian helicopter.”
“I understand you took your malaria tablets one every day instead of one every week! It is a miracle you didn’t collapse earlier.” Harry continued to sound grave. “Thank God you passed out right in the clinic where I could attend to you immediately, and that it did not happen elsewhere or while you were driving,” he said. “I am surprised. You could have asked me about the correct dose at any time.”
“I thought it was one tablet a day as usual. No one told me otherwise,” Ajay said. “Anyway, thank you for taking care of me.”
“Sir, your bed was not slept in for two nights. Were you visiting Nairobi for the weekend?” Mary asked Ajay when she saw him the next morning.
“I was visiting the ICU, Mary,” said Ajay dryly. Mary did not know what ICU was, but didn’t ask.
“He is an excellent doctor,” said Renato back in the office, after he heard Ajay. “We are lucky to have him here. This has proved again how good he is. He seems to be there when he is needed the most. There have been many cases like this in the last two years.”
Time passed quickly. A 3-member supervisory mission arrived from the UN headquarters in Vienna without much notice. Fortunately Ajay and his team were ready and well prepared. The mission left for Khartoum the next day satisfied with the work being done in Juba.
The recent rains had created pools of water. On the way to the airport with the supervisory team, Ajay was surprised to see a stretch of water by the roadside covered with beautiful lilac lotuses in full bloom. It was a most wonderful sight and completely unexpected.
The following weeks were full of tension in Juba. Sudan’s President was on a visit to Juba at the invitation of the Government of South Sudan. It was to finalize the remaining steps for the formal independence of South Sudan, but the talks proved inconclusive. The Sudanese President returned to Khartoum abruptly. There were rumours of imminent resumption of hostilities. The Peoples’ Liberation Army soldiers of South Sudan started firing their automatic weapons for practice at night just outside the UN dormitory compound. Ajay and the others were advised to stay indoors to avoid stray bullets.
A month went by. The tension in Juba seemed to ease. There were rumours of progress being made in the talks. Ajay had to travel on work for a few days to the towns of Wau and Malakal. At Wau he was struck by the beautiful craftsmanship of St. Mary’s cathedral which stood serene in the war ravaged town. Malakal, too, had been in the middle of fierce fighting, since it was located close to the border with Sudan.
Back in Juba after a week, Ajay did not meet Harry for a while. Suddenly he got a call late one night from the Juba police.
“Sir, we have a Dr. Etonga here with us at the Customer Police Station. He would like to speak to you,” a voice said and passed on the phone.
“Can you come down here, Ajay,” Harry sounded subdued.
“What is going on? Are you alright?” asked Ajay.
“Yes, I am alright,” Harry replied.
“OK. I’m coming over.”
Harry called up Chaplain, his driver, and asked if he could meet him at the police station. Perhaps translations would be required or a witness. Chaplain agreed to meet him in 20 minutes. Ajay picked up his ID, informed the guards at the compound gate and drove to the police station.
The roads were deserted. There were no street lights. Clearly it was not safe to go out at that hour in Juba. Perhaps he should have asked one of the security guards at the gate to accompany him, Ajay thought.
The police station was near the John Garang Memorial Park, named after the First Vice President of Sudan.
Harry was there. He looked dishevelled. “Can you formally identify me to the officers here, Ajay?”
“Yes, of course,” said Ajay. He looked at the two police officers, and identified Harry as the doctor in the UN medical clinic. The officers looked relieved. “In that case we will report the matter to the Head of UN in Juba, before anything else,” the senior officer said in English.
“Please officer, what is the problem?” asked Ajay. “Maybe I can help.”
“Sir, according to the complainant, which is the Beijing Hotel, Dr. Etonga got into a fight with another person in the restaurant after a few drinks earlier this evening. When the police arrived, he pushed the officer and tried to snatch the officer’s gun. This is a serious matter.”
As they spoke, one of the officers was on the phone to Alberto Fornocaldo, the Representative of the UN in South Sudan. There was a brief conversation.
The officer came back into the room. “Since Dr. Etonga is an employee of the UN, we will not hold him. I have been promised appropriate action by the UN. Our job is done,” he said.
“I did get into an argument with Henri Bouba - you don’t know him, Ajay - over the Canon Yaounde football club, if I remember right,” said Harry in the car on the way back. “We had a few drinks. Henri is from Cameroon too, and works for Medicine Sans Frontiers. But all this about fighting and the gun is invented, to extract money perhaps. I am surprised they did not bring Henri in for questioning.”
Harry looked at Ajay in the darkness as they reached the dormitory compound. He put his arms around Ajay. “I must thank you for this,” he said. Ajay smiled, “Remember, you have to deal with Alberto Fornocaldo tomorrow. I am glad you are back and alright.”
An enquiry committee was set up to arrive at the facts. Ajay was a member of the committee. Peter Mwangi and Samuel Otieno from the administration department of Humanitarian Affairs were questioned, since they were present in the Beijing Hotel at the time of the incident. The discussions went on for about an hour.
“I am of the opinion that the incident was exaggerated, and perhaps requires no action,” said Alberto Fornocaldo to the committee members, when the enquiry was over. “But I wonder if it would be acceptable to the police if Dr. Etonga continues to work here. They might come up with something else. We need to be careful about this.”
“Harry, please come in,” said Mr. Fornocaldo. The doctor came in and sat down before the committee. “Everything is OK. No action is required and I am sorry you had to go through this. But it may be difficult for you to work in Juba after this incident. We need the help of the police very often. Nevertheless in view of the satisfactory quality of your work here, there is a more senior position in Malakal, which you can take up. Ajay has recently been there. In Malakal, as you know, the pay and allowances are substantially higher.”
Harry took time to reply. “I must thank you for being so understanding,” he said slowly. “I am not sure if this unfortunate encounter at the police station was not a blessing for me. I spoke to my wife Darcelle in Yaounde from the police station. That night for the first time she agreed to come back to me. We have decided to rebuild our lives and return to the happy family home we used to have with the children. I am sorry I shall be unable to accept your very kind offer.”
“Darcelle and I will resume our work as doctors in the clinic in Bastos. It was the excessive money I earned in the UN that tore my family apart. For an ordinary Cameroonian, the earnings here are too much to handle. It causes mistrust and jealousies. I have some savings now. We do not need any more money. Instead, I want my family back. It needs me.”
The room went silent. Each person seemed momentarily immersed in his own thoughts. The purpose of life and work seemed to fall into perspective.
As he got up to leave, Ajay suddenly remembered the splendid lilac lotuses that bloomed so casually by the roadside in this war torn land, the sporadic gunfire, the eternally flowing Nile and the endless streams of birds flying homewards high in the sky.