After Kilimanjaro Page 5

  Margo shook her head.

  Sarah turned to the scrub nurse. “Hold my retractor. I want to see what’s on the back table.”

  “Just hold what I gave you,” Margo snapped.

  Ruben’s eyebrows disappeared up under his scrub cap. His lips, behind his surgical mask, were probably pursed into a tight, “Oooh!”

  After an awkward silence, Sarah decided to fill the void with some teaching. “This part is very tedious. Margo has to has to seal off the stalk of the gall bladder, without damaging the common bile duct. If that gets obstructed, it’s a very bad complication. The liver won’t be able to drain.” She offered advice to Margo. “You could use a fine right-angle clamp—”

  “I am doing this operation, and you are assisting. When you do an operation, I will be happy to help you.”

  Suddenly the wound filled with blood. After a few tense moments of suctioning and searching, Margo clamped off the bleeding vessel. “Sarah, you should tie this.”

  It was a narrow space, only wide enough for one hand. Sarah kept tension on the suture with her left hand while the fingers of right created the knot.

  Ruben was impressed, “One-handed tie. Very cool.”

  Margo removed the gall bladder, which looked something like a gray poached egg. Or maybe a testicle. Sarah retired to the doctor’s lounge, leaving Margo and Ruben to close the wound.

  Pieter poured Sarah a cup of Masala tea, with hot milk and spices. “Today we have a treat: mandazis!”

  “What?”

  “Mandazis. African doughnuts.”

  Irregular blobs of dough, no holes in the center, sort of like New Orleans beignets, but without powdered sugar. She took a nibble. “Delicious. Did you sense the tension in the operating room?”

  “Dueling alpha females.”

  “Thanks for not calling it a cat fight.”

  “I saw no claws.”

  “I didn’t mean to offend her. Guess I got off on the wrong foot.”

  “It will be fine. She knows she can learn from you.”

  She took a sip of tea. “How did you wind up here, anyway?”

  “I could ask the same thing of you.”

  She explained how she had gotten a grant to do research in obstetrical mortality, but didn’t share her disappointment in the position, or her struggles to get data from medical records. She didn’t tell him how foolish she felt, in retrospect, responding to a notice on the internet, accepting a position at this hospital, sight unseen.

  He tilted his head. “Research, eh? Me too. I came to study altitude physiology. We compare Kilimanjaro guides to the poor souls that get admitted to the ICU with mountain sickness. Two-year furlough from my university. I’ve trained technicians to do the testing, so I have time on my hands. I volunteered to help supervise the anesthesia residents.”

  “So, you’re here because of the mountain.”

  “More accurately, the mountain gave me an excuse to be here. I was homesick for Tanzania.”

  Margo flopped into a chair. “Ruben’s almost finished.” Pieter set down his teacup. “I’ll go wake up the patient.”

  “Will I have to make my own tea?” Margo whined. “I am so disrespected.”

  Sarah handed her a mandazi. “That was a tough case. Lots of scar tissue.”

  Margo pulled some leftover sutures from her pocket. “Can you teach me the one-handed tie?”

  “Sure.”

  Pieter winked at Sarah, handed Margo a cup of tea, and left.

  Sarah looped the thread around the arm of her chair. “It’s sort of second nature now. I’ll have to tie one myself first to remember exactly how to do it.” She tied one knot very quickly, and then another in slow motion. “You should practice this about a jillion times, until it just flows. My father showed me how to do this when I was a little girl.”

  “Your father was a surgeon? So, what does he think of you following in his footsteps?”

  “He died a few years ago.”

  “Oh, I’m sorry.” Margo practiced a tying a few knots. “I think I have it now.”

  “Yeah, looks like you’ve got it. You know, back home we have a surgical skills lab where we practice on models or animals. We should set one up here.”

  “Great idea. Oh, and I can’t believe I almost forgot to tell you this. My father called this morning. He found the perfect car for you. Let’s ask Pieter to take us to pick it up.”

  He was stooped over a patient in the recovery room. Margo pulled his stethoscope from one ear. “My father found a car for Sarah. Can you take us to Arusha on Saturday?”

  “Sorry, this is the weekend for my clinic in the mountains.”

  “Darn it. I forgot. We’ll have to take the bus.”

  “Don’t take the bus. Not a good idea for the two of you to drive back by yourselves. Sarah hasn’t driven in Tanzania before, and you don’t drive much yourself. We can go next week.”

  Margo pouted. “We’ll have to find some other entertainment for the weekend.”

  Sarah smiled. “I have an idea.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MOVIE NIGHT

  Sarah set her laptop on the coffee table. “I can’t believe you guys have never seen Titanic! I’ve lost track of how many times I’ve seen it.”

  Margo was skeptical. “What’s so great about a shipwreck movie?”

  “It’s a great love story, too. Fictional, of course.” Ameera called out from the kitchen, “Is it a tragic love story?”

  “If I answer that question, I give away the ending.”

  Margo laughed. “But we already know the ship sank. Besides, you said you kept watching it over and over, and unless you have a very bad memory, you knew the ending after the first time.”

  “True, but you know how little girls love to keep hearing the same stories again and again.”

  Ameera sat down between them with a bowl of popcorn. “Fairy tales. Not all of them have happy endings.”

  They huddled together on the sofa, focused on the small screen. When Leonardo de Caprio’s character showed up in a borrowed tuxedo, Margo though he had “cleaned up well.”

  Ameera said, “All men look lovely in formal wear.”

  At the movie’s end, Margo was perplexed. “Why did she throw away the necklace?”

  Ameera had tears in her eyes. “She found her one true love and lost him.”

  Margo pointed out that Rose had a granddaughter in this movie. “Obviously, she got on pretty well with someone else.”

  Sarah refilled Margo’s wine glass. “You’re not very romantic. Don’t you believe in one true love?”

  “How can there be just one person for each of us? Look at how many people there are in the world. What kind of magic would it take for each of us to find that one person?”

  “What if we’re hard-wired to expect ‘one true love’?” Sarah mused. “And once we fill that slot, we can’t feel the same about someone else?”

  Margo stared at her wine glass. “Maybe we don’t want to feel so strongly about another one because that would make the first one less special.”

  “I think my mother felt that way about my father,” said Sarah. “Since he died, she’s had no interest in any other man.”

  Ameera asked, “How did your father die?”

  “Pancreatic cancer. Kind of ironic. He was a big Whipple surgeon. You know what that is, right?”

  Margo nodded. “Big operation to take out the pancreas.”

  “Many of his patients died anyway after suffering for months. So he refused any treatment. He and my mom went on a trip around the world while he still felt good.”

  Ameera pointed at the computer. “Back to this movie. Why didn’t Rose want to marry the man her mother picked out?”

  Sarah shook her head. “Duh! Because she didn’t love him.”

  “Arranged marriages can be very successful.”

  “But would you want to marry someone your parents picked? Instead of marrying Rasheed?”

  Ameera pursed her lips.

  Margo laughed. “Sarah, how do you think she met Rasheed?”

  “It’s an arranged marriage?”

  “I don’t have to marry Rasheed. Our parents arranged for us to meet, and we liked each other. Actually, there are fewer divorces with arranged marriages than with love marriages.”

  “What about your people, Margo? Do the Massai have arranged marriages?”

  “In the past, fathers sold their daughters. Got paid in cows! Not so much now.”

  “So, you could marry Pieter?”

  “Ha! Pieter is just a friend. Like a brother. Besides, my father would never let me marry a mzungu.”

  “Mah-zoon-ga?”

  “It is a term for a white person,” said Ameera. “Not a very polite term, I’m sad to say. Tell us about your fiancée. What is he like?”

  “David? I can show you some pictures.” Sarah pulled up photos on her laptop. “Here we are at medical school graduation. And here he is holding my cat.” She enlarged the image for a close-up view of his face.

  Ameera touched Sarah’s shoulder. “You miss him very much.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Is he your one and only?”

  “I’ve never had another boyfriend.”

  Margo said, “Then he is, by definition.”

  THERE HAD NEVER been a romantic proposal from David, simply a tacit understanding, evolved over time, that they would eventually marry. The wedding was always a mirage sparkling on a desert highway, continually evaporating and then reappearing in the distance.

  Shortly before Sarah left for Africa, David’s parents came for a visit. As they were leaving, his mother slipped a small box into David’s pocket. He showed the box to Sarah later, as she was brushing her teeth. “What do you think this is?”


  “Maybe cuff-winks?” Her voice was muffled by toothpaste foam.

  He opened the box. “Oh … shit … I don’t believe this.”

  Sarah rinsed out her mouth, tapped her toothbrush on the sink.

  He pulled a ring from the box. “This was my grandmother’s. I guess, um, I’m supposed to give this to you.” He smiled and slipped the ring onto her finger. “Do you like it?”

  “It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

  “We should get married when you come home.”

  “Next July.”

  “That would be cool. This is actually great timing. With this ring, you’ll be well marked when you go to Africa.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  FACING FEAR

  Margo was oblivious to the hair-raising traffic, sitting sideways in the front seat and chattering non-stop. The painted line was a mere suggestion for cars, motorcycles, bicycles, mini-buses, huge transport trucks, large motor coaches, safari vehicles, and donkey carts. Sarah covered her eyes in terror as an oncoming minibus overtaking a tractor trailer swerved into their path. Pieter braked sharply to avert a collision.

  Sarah uncovered her eyes. “Pieter, you have nerves of steel.”

  Margo punched his shoulder. “Macho man. Fears nothing.”

  He jerked his shoulder. “Do not assault the driver.”

  Sarah sighed. “I hope the traffic isn’t this bad tomorrow.”

  Pieter glanced in the mirror. “Sundays are much quieter. And we’ll leave early.”

  “Most of the casualties happen late at night.” Margo stated this with great authority. “Drunk, crazy drivers who can’t see where they are going in the dark. A few months ago, there was a terrible crash. So many bad fractures that we used up every single bone plate and screw in the hospital.”

  The landscape was flat and arid, the air hot and dusty, and the distant mountains were barely visible through the haze. Traffic halted for a herd of livestock crossing the road. Two little boys with their plaid shukas flapping in the wind waved their staffs at forty or so perky brown goats and five scrawny Brahma cows. Three donkeys brought up the rear.

  “Those boys look young to be herding,” said Sarah. “It must be dangerous.”

  Margo nodded. “It is. My mother knew a boy who was nearly crushed by a snake. It was after one of his goats. He grabbed the goat and climbed a tree, but the snake still got him.” She made two fists and twisted them together to demonstrate.

  “Did the little boy die?”

  “No. He was sitting in a tree, so the branches kept him from being squished.”

  “We’ll show you some of those snakes,” said Pieter. “At the snake park.”

  Sarah shivered, “I kind of hate snakes.”

  The last donkey crossed the road, and they continued their journey until a policeman stepped into the road and raised a big stick. He looked something like an ice cream man, in a spotless white short-sleeved uniform and a white cap with a black bill.

  “What’s wrong?” Sarah asked.

  “Random stops,” said Margo. “They check for driving license and required equipment.”

  Pieter opened his window and greeted the officer pleasantly. “Shikamo, Papa.”

  The policeman studied the windshield of the car for a moment. Then he raised his stick and waved them on.

  “Why did he let us go?”

  “Doctor sticker.” Pieter pointed to a decal on the windshield.

  “What equipment are you supposed to have?”

  Margo counted items on her fingers. “A first aid kit, a fire extinguisher, and a hazard symbol to put out on the road if you break down. Don’t worry. They will already be in your car.”

  Pieter tapped on the windshield. “We have one of these stickers for you.”

  MARGO’S FATHER WAITED in front of the car dealership, stone-faced. He had the tall, lean physique of a Massai warrior, but instead of shuka, he wore a plaid Ralph Lauren sport shirt and beige linen pants. When he spotted Pieter’s car, his face cracked into a broad smile and he waved both hands in the air. Margo leapt out before the car came to full stop and ran to hug her father.

  Pieter switched off the ignition. “What is the name of that toy with a crank that you turn until the funny guy pops out?”

  “You mean a Jack-in-the-box?”

  “Yes, that’s it. She is a Jack-in-the-box.”

  The eight-year-old Rav4 gleamed with a fresh coat of metallic blue-green paint. Mr. Ledama had taken the car on a test drive and pronounced the vehicle to be in fine shape. He started the engine while Pieter peered under the hood and gave his approval.

  MARGO RODE WITH her father in his Lexus SUV, Sarah followed in the Rav, and Pieter brought up the rear. Mr. Ledama honked his horn at a red metal gate and a shuka clad guard let them in. A tree tree-lined driveway ended at a rambling cream-colored house with a red tile roof. Margo’s mother stood in the driveway, wiping her hands on her apron. Her broad face beamed as Margo bounded out of the car.

  As they walked toward the house, Pieter winked at Sarah. “What did I tell you? Jack-in-the-Box.”

  Mrs. Ledama smothered Pieter in a bear hug, then clasped Sarah’s hands. “Thank you for buying this car, so that my children come to see me. Lunch is ready. You girls go freshen up.”

  In Margo’s room, Sarah said “Your parents really seemed to like Pieter. I thought your father didn’t like mzungus.”

  “I didn’t say he doesn’t like mzungus. He just doesn’t want me to marry one. I’m supposed to marry a Massai.” She frowned. “Why should I have to get married anyway? Why should I let some guy always tell me what to do?”

  “Good question.”

  “Does your fiancée tell you what to do?”

  “David? All the time. But I don’t always listen to him. He didn’t want me to come here.”

  “You came here anyway? Seriously, you are some strong woman.” Margo sat down on the bed and stared out the window. “The funny thing is … no real Massai man would have me.”

  “Why not?”

  “I did not get cut.”

  “You mean … circumcised?”

  “They cut you when you are about eleven or twelve years old. But my mother would not let them do it to me.”

  “I thought it was illegal.”

  “It is. But they do it secretly. And …” Margo paused, raised her eyebrows for dramatic effect and whispered, “They do this to babies.”

  “Why would anyone do something so horrible?”

  “They say it makes us better wives. What they really mean is that if we don’t enjoy sex, we won’t fool around.”

  LUNCH WAS SERVED in the garden among bougainvillea and hummingbirds. Monkeys scampered along the top of the brick wall. Sarah had heard that Massai only ate things that came from cows—meat, blood mixed into milk. But Mrs. Ledama had prepared a bountiful feast of typical Tanzanian fare: pilau rice with goat meat, chapatis, and bananas.

  When she couldn’t eat another bite, Sarah leaned back in her chair and patted her belly. “That was wonderful. I could use a siesta.”

  “Maybe a short one,” said Margo. “Then we go to the snake park.”

  “WAKE UP, SARAH! Time to go.”

  Sarah kept her eyes tightly shut and tried to breathe slowly and deeply.

  Margo pounced on the bed. “I know you’re awake.”

  “I don’t like snakes.”

  “Ha! I thought you were a strong woman. You have to face your fears.”

  PIETER PLUNKED DOWN on a bench beside an attractive young lady in a snake park uniform. “Go on the tour without me. June and I have something to discuss.”

  June punched him playfully in the shoulder. “Yeah, he already knows all that snake stuff.”

  Margo rolled her eyes. “You and your snakes.” Then she murmured to Sarah, “And his ladies.” She explained to Sarah that Pieter had always liked to hang out at the snake park when he was a boy. “He was a volunteer snake handler.”

  The first glass case housed a huge python, its head hidden somewhere deep within its coils. A photograph displayed on the glass showed a similar large snake slashed open, with a dead man inside.