After Kilimanjaro Read online

  “What kinds of meat? I mean … you don’t eat monkeys, do you?” Sarah recalled that chimpanzees had been the source of the AIDS virus.

  “Where do you think you are? In the Congo? We don’t eat bush meat in East Africa. Ameera, you and Rasheed should come too.”

  “Sounds like fun. I’ll check with him.”

  “I could use a night out,” said Sarah. “That case yesterday was rough.”

  “Why? What happened?” Margo asked.

  “Eclampsia. The mother died. Not something I’ve ever seen before.”

  Ameera sighed. “It happens too often around here. That woman was doomed before she got to the hospital. Too late for us to make any difference. Once they start seizing, they never make it.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  DAMSELS AND DISTRESS

  Saturday morning. Sarah had survived her first week. She yawned, stretched, and contemplated going back to sleep. But she heard that bird squawking. The green one. He flew away before she could aim her camera, and her eyes followed him up to the sky.

  There it was. Kilimanjaro, finally emerging from its veil of clouds. She couldn’t see the whole mountain, just the main peak, projecting above the trees. The sky was perfectly clear, and the snow atop the mountain gleamed golden in the morning sun.

  The field outside the compound provided an unobstructed view. She was totally unprepared for the enormity and grandeur of this mountain, far too vast be encompassed in a single camera shot. The main peak, Kibo, immediately commanded attention, a treeless lavender cone iced with a few patches of shimmering white near the top. Off to the right, the jagged secondary peak, Mawenzie, looked like something between a sea urchin and rooster’s comb. She had to look both east and west, nearly 180 degrees, to take in the totality of this massive dormant volcano with long shoulders sloping down to the horizon. No way could her camera do justice to the splendor of this view.

  David would have to come and see it for himself.

  AFTER A LIGHT breakfast of bread and jam, she took a taxi into town, where commerce was bustling under a blazing equatorial sun. The sidewalks were crowded with vendors. Hundreds of used shoes were carefully laid out on blankets. Shirts, trousers, and backpacks hung from hedges. Fragrant ears of corn roasted on charcoal braziers. Ladies carried impossibly large loads of bananas on their heads. Women constructed dresses and shirts on sewing machines beneath awnings in front of their shops. Bright sparks tumbled into the red dust from a bicycle-pedal-powered knife sharpener.

  Shopping was like a scavenger hunt. Iron? Check. Hot water kettle? Check. Canned tuna? Check? Gas tank? She arranged for a shop to deliver one to her house. The mosquito net was the most important item on the list, protection from the nocturnal mosquitoes that spread malaria. A huge variety was available, including pink ones with ruffled canopies. She showed a picture of the hooks on her ceiling to a shopkeeper who recommended a spacious, cuboidal net.

  She browsed a souvenir shop—not too early to think about Christmas gifts for folks back home. Shelves were laden with carved wooden animals, T-shirts, and brightly colored placemats.

  A grizzled old man called out from the back of the shop. “I have what you need.” He waved his arm over a glass case. “Tanzanite. A rare gem found nowhere else in the world.” He pulled out a tray laden with a rainbow of glittering stones—mostly varied shades of blue, but also a few pink, green, and even yellow stones. “This one looks like your eyes.” He placed an aquamarine sliver in the palm of Sarah’s hand. “In the ground, they are just gray pebbles. They only show their true color when exposed to intense heat.”

  “It’s lovely.” She handed it back. “But I’m not in the market for jewelry.”

  “What a pity.”

  KNOCKING DOWN THE old mosquito net was easy. Just a few strategic pokes with a mop handle. But hanging the new net was a different matter entirely. She didn’t have a ladder, so she dragged a desk next to the bed and piled a stack of books on it. Teetering on tiptoe atop the books, leaning, reaching, and biting her lip, she nearly reached the first hook. Nearly. Startled by a beeping cell phone, she tumbled onto the bed, banging her arm against the desk.

  It was a text message from David, summoning her to Skype.

  There was so much to tell him. The mountain, the babies, the intimidating task of reviewing charts, and of course, her battle with the mosquito net. She carried her laptop from room to room on a virtual tour a tour of her house, ending at the scene of her failed attempt to deploy the new mosquito net.

  “Sam, that was stupid. You’re lucky you didn’t break your neck.”

  “I know.”

  “You need a big strong guy to come and fix it for you.”

  “Hop on the next plane.”

  “I wish I could. I’ll be there in September.”

  “Just in time for your birthday.”

  “Turning thirty on top of Kilimanjaro. That will be so cool.”

  For a few moments, the silence was deafening. Then she said, “I’m trying to think of something else to say. I don’t want to hang up.”

  “You don’t need to talk all the time. It’s nice just looking at you.” He frowned. “But your arm’s bleeding.”

  She grabbed a tissue to wipe the rivulet of blood. “It’s just a scrape.”

  “You should go clean it up.”

  “Right. And I need to get ready to go out. I’m having dinner with some friends.”

  “You’re not going out on me yet, are you?”

  “Nope. I’m the fifth wheel tonight.”

  IT WASN’T BAD. Just a scrape. She was washing her wound in the kitchen sink when she spotted the headlights of a Land Cruiser pulling into the driveway. Margo hopped out before the car came to a complete stop and rapped on the door.

  Sarah called out, “Come on in.”

  Margo stared at her arm. “What happened?”

  “I tried to hang a mosquito net, but I didn’t have a ladder. The housekeeper will be here on Monday. I’m hoping she’ll take care of it.”

  “Nonsense. Pieter can do that right now.”

  He did not need a ladder, just pulled off his shoes and stepped up onto the bed and touched his palms to the ceiling. “Good thing you didn’t break your neck.” In less than a minute, the net was in place. He leapt onto the floor and took a sweeping bow. “Voila.”

  Margo adjusted the net to form a diaphanous cube enclosing the bed. “This is how you keep the bugs out. And in the daytime, you can pull it up, like this.” She poked the corners of the net through some loops on its side.

  “It’s an elegant canopy,” said Sarah. “I feel like a princess.”

  Pieter snorted. “What do you know about princesses? You have no royalty in your country.”

  “Yes, we do.” She counted on her fingers, “Sleeping Beauty, Snow White, Pocahontas …”

  “Cartoons.”

  “My dad always called me his little princess.”

  Pieter shrugged. “Perhaps it suits you.”

  A FULL MOON shone through the jacaranda leaves, casting dappled patterns on the white tablecloths. The scent of gardenias blended with the aroma of roasting meat.

  Ameera was already seated at a table with her fiancé, Rasheed, an engineer who worked at his family construction firm.

  Sarah shook his hand. “It’s nice to have one non-doctor in the group. The conversation won’t be doomed to medical stuff.”

  “I don’t mind if you talk about medicine.” He beamed at Ameera. “I like hearing about her work. What about your fiancé? Is he a doctor?”

  “Yeah. He was supposed to come over here, too, but his funding fell through.”

  Margo nodded toward Sarah’s left hand. “He gave you a beautiful ring.”

  “It belonged to his grandmother. I think it’s a little over the top, but he says he wants me to be well marked.”

  Margo explained the service at the restaurant. “They’ll bring around all kinds of meat and slice it right onto your plate. When you can’t eat another
bite, you raise this little white flag.”

  A waiter plopped a sausage onto Sarah’s plate.

  Pieter chuckled. “They bring the cheaper cuts first—so you’ll be full when they bring the tenderloin.”

  Ameera, not surprisingly, was the first one to raise the flag of surrender. Pieter was the last, after tucking in massive quantities of meat.

  Over coffee, Sarah asked for advice on buying a car. “I found a couple of possibilities on the internet.”

  Rasheed shook his head. “You should look for a car in Arusha. Something with four-wheel drive. But not too big. A Rav4 would be perfect.”

  “With air-conditioning and automatic transmission,” Margo added.

  Pieter rolled his eyes. “She is obviously hoping you will let her drive it sometimes.” He winked at Sarah.

  Margo scowled at Pieter. “My father can help. He has a friend who is a dealer.”

  Sarah asked Margo what her father did for a living.

  “He owns a furniture store. Started out as a carpenter, but now has his own company, ships carved furniture all over the world. He was the first person in our family to go to secondary school. The rest of his family still lives out in the Serengeti. We’re Massai.”

  “Massai?” Sarah had read about the iconic nomadic cattle herders. “Did your father go through warrior training? Killing a lion and all that.”

  “Killed a lion, got circumcised … no anesthesia.”

  Both men winced.

  “You gotta be tough,” said Pieter.

  “Yes,” Margo laughed. “It takes balls to get circumcised.”

  Ameera gasped, and Sarah choked on her beer.

  Pieter chuckled and patted Margo on the back. “Well said, my lady.”

  Sarah decided to change the subject. “I’d like to go for a hike tomorrow. Can you recommend a trail? Nothing as extreme as Kilimanjaro.”

  Margo turned to Pieter. “Can we take her up to Marangu? I think she would like the waterfalls.”

  THE ROAD WOUND its way up the mountain through a lush forest. Marangu was an intersection of two minor roads, with two small shops and a bar, with tables and chairs scattered out front under a yellow and black Tusker Beer pavilion. Road signs painted in crude letters pointed to three different waterfalls. Sarah pointed at a sign that proclaimed in big letters, This way to the BIG waterfall. “Is that where we’re going?”

  Margo scoffed. “That waterfall is dinky. We’re going to the one with the lady and the leopard.”

  Trees and shrubs scraped the sides of the Land Cruiser as they bounced down the deeply rutted road. Sarah kept her jaw slack, so her teeth wouldn’t chatter. “Off the beaten path, are we?”

  “This is not exactly a major tourist attraction,” said Pieter. “Nothing like Victoria Falls or Niagara.”

  The road ended near a small reception kiosk that flanked the entrance to a steep trail. Margo bounded out and raced down the steps. An attendant rushed out of the kiosk and shouted after her. Pieter spoke to the man in Swahili and reached into his pocket. Sarah opened her fanny pack. “How much do we pay?”

  Pieter waved his hand. “I have this.”

  The trail dropped precipitously, with multiple switchbacks. Sarah asked Pieter how long it took for him learn Swahili.

  “I don’t remember. I was only four when we moved here.”

  “I thought your family lived in Holland.”

  “They do now.” He pointed through the trees. “There. You can see the top of the falls … and lady and the leopard.”

  The wooden statue of a woman was dotted with patches of faded pink and blue paint.

  “I don’t see a leopard.”

  “Look to your right.”

  The large cat was bright yellow with black spots, and big white teeth in a gaping red mouth. Not at all realistic, but the eyes were piercing. “If there’s a story that goes with these statues, I need to hear it.”

  Pieter scratched his head. “As I recall, this young woman was pregnant and unmarried. The punishment would have been severe, so her mother encouraged her to jump off the waterfall.”

  “How severe?”

  “Pretty bad. I think they would run a spear through both her and her lover and leave them staked out in the sun.”

  “I can see how jumping off a waterfall would be preferable.”

  “When she got to the top, she was too afraid to jump.”

  “And the leopard?”

  “The leopard crept up on her. When she saw him, she turned to run, but fell over the falls.”

  “And died?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s not exactly a pleasant little story. Why would they put up anything to commemorate it?”

  Pieter shrugged. “Cautionary tale?”

  Margo called out, “I’m already down at the falls!”

  A narrow waterfall cascaded down a rocky cliff to feed a shallow pool. Margo tried to shove Pieter into the water. He caught his balance, but she fell in, laughing.

  He reached down to help her up. “You are such a witch!”

  “Who’s calling who a witch?” She jerked his arm and he tumbled into the pool.

  He stretched out on his back, hands clasped behind his neck “Sarah, you should really join us. The water is nice.”

  She laid her pack on a flat dry rock and lay down in the cool water, looking up at the walls of the narrow gorge, sheer cliffs densely covered in vegetation. Above was a narrow strip of brilliantly blue sky.

  A group of small children descended the cliff effortlessly, like spiders, and jumped into the pool, giggling and sloshing. Pieter slapped the water and sent a huge wave crashing over the children. They screamed and ran away but returned quickly for more. Sarah gazed at the waterfall, the sky, and the pink lady, wondering if she had ever felt happier.

  CHAPTER NINE

  FRIENDS IN NEED

  Ameera felt Sarah’s forehead. “You’re hot and you look awful. Are you having diarrhea?”

  “It’s coming out both ends.” She had made five trips to the restroom during clinic.

  “You should lie down in the back cubicle, where I can keep an eye on you.”

  Sarah insisted on walking home. Sick as a dog, she intermittently hugged or sat on the toilet until she finally passed out on the bathroom floor. Her cellphone rang, somewhere in the distance.

  Ameera’s voice woke her up. “You are so sick! Let’s get you to bed.”

  Pieter scooped her up and carried her across the hall. “I’m going to start an IV. Okay?”

  She had not felt this sick in a long time, not since she was a little girl. She recalled her bedroom, pale blue with white organdy curtains and a pony-shaped clock with a pendulum for a tail tick-tocked on the wall. She begged for water because her mouth was so dry, but her mother said her tummy was too sick. She wiped Sarah’s face and put a damp cloth on her forehead. “Watch the clock. When the big hand is at the top, I will bring you a drink.” As soon as her mother left the room, Sarah pulled the cloth from her forehead and sucked out the cool water.

  IT WAS DARK outside when she awoke. Pieter was fiddling with her IV.

  “Where’s Ameera?”

  “Rasheed fetched her. Are you feeling better?”

  “Yes, but I need to go to the bathroom.”

  “More diarrhea?”

  “No, thank heaven.”

  “Don’t get up too quickly.” He held her arm and carried the bag of IV fluid as she walked across the hall. “Do you need me to stay in here with you?”

  She would have blushed if she had not been so dehydrated. “I’m okay, thanks. Close the door, please”

  A few minutes later, he called out, “I’m not listening.”

  “Yes, you are, you liar.”

  “I am only listening for a loud crash in case you fall.”

  “Then how do you know I haven’t peed yet?”

  No answer.

  “I thought so.”

  “Maybe you should turn on the tap.”

 
That worked.

  Once she was back in bed, he hung another bag of fluid. “You didn’t pee much.”

  “I thought you weren’t listening.”

  “How’s your stomach?”

  “Still queasy.”

  “I’ll give you some more Zofran.”

  “That’s what zonked me out, eh?”

  “Yep. Settles your stomach, helps you sleep.” He patted her shoulder. “Sweet dreams.”

  SHE AWOKE TO sunshine, the smell of coffee, and enough strength to get out of bed.

  Pieter sat at the dining table with his laptop. “Good morning. You look much better.”

  “Thanks.”

  He pulled out a chair for her. “I made you some tea and soup. I hope you don’t mind that I slept on your sofa.”

  “Not at all. Thanks so much for taking care of me. Maybe it was something I ate.”

  Pieter bit his lip, trying not to laugh. “It’s the mzungu scourge. You’ll adapt in time.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  SURGERY: A TEAM SPORT

  A ribbon of yellow fat billowed in the wake of Ruben’s knife as he sliced through the skin, carefully following the line that Margo had etched with the tip of a blade. Sarah followed close behind the scalpel, dabbing up blood and cauterizing oozing vessels. The intern paused to admire his work. Then Margo took over the quest to remove a diseased gall bladder. Ruben’s role was reduced to tying off blood vessels. He was not very good yet. An artery squirted his face and Margo chided him. “You should have worn safety glasses. It’s lucky the blood didn’t get into your eyes.”

  Sarah showed him a better way to tie. “Loop the suture around twice on the first throw. We call this a surgeon’s knot. See? Right over left. The second throw has to be in the opposite direction, left over right, so the knot lies flat and tight. Otherwise, you have a granny knot that won’t hold.”

  Abdominal surgery back home tended to be endoscopic: operations almost became video games. Sarah had not often seen the belly so widely split open and was not accustomed to the work of tugging on retractors, as she and Ruben struggled to keep the liver out of the way. The human liver is much like that of a chicken—albeit much larger—slippery, soft, mottled red-brown. Sarah peered into the wound, trying to see what was going on. “Do you have a self-retaining retractor?”