Shop Till You Drop (Mortuary Table Blues)

Note: Brendon has posted our collection of African photos at http://picasaweb.google.com/brendon.bond

Office duties at Mountain High Hospital were a bit unusual this week as I scoured the province of KwaZuluNatal to purchase a mortuary table with drain and accessories. I would wager that this is a first for a Peace Corps volunteer, not to mention negotiating over price and T and C (terms and conditions). This job was not as easy as one would think in this land of mortuaries on every corner, as the search went clear across the province to find a supplier. Of course, the job was hindered by lack of internet, phone book and sporadic phone service. Eventually the trick was to contact one of the more popular mortuaries and ask the owner where he had bought his mortuary tables and to ask if he had a spare (which he did not-mortuary tables are hard to come by). Given a name and city the contacts were made and a deal negotiated.

Shopping for a stainless steel sink and drain board for the hospital supply department proved easier and an act of serendipity. On Friday I hitched a ride in the patient transport to town to purchase sewing and knitting materials for the patients. My first stop after the fabric store was a side trip to the nougat manufacturer that makes this town famous. Delicious soft nougat (nothing like the hard rocks in the US) are stuffed with almonds, chocolate, cherries, pistachios, cashews) and packed in edible rice paper. The factory is unmarked but has a small retail store where I am becoming a very good customer. Brendon and I try to save some of the delicious candy for those trying days when home in Palos Verdes beckons, but rationing does not come easy. Walking down the side street to the candy store, I spotted a heavy duty stainless second hand sink and drain board on the sidewalk of a used furniture store with a posted price of R250. The sink looked like it was sent from Heaven as it met the specifications and was the right price. After some small talk with the owner of the store in Zulu, I offered R200 ($30) for the sink and the owner said “Yebow” – Good News for the Hospital that has to justify every purchase. The owner was delighted to unload the sink and I was happy to finish a task. The next task was to arrange the 80km delivery up the mountain to the Hospital.

Patient Transport is somewhat of a misnomer as the pickup truck and camper with benches is called the ambulance but is used for conveying patients, staff, supplies, equipment, mothers delivering babies, ARV recipients, pensioners collecting their monthly grants, blood specimens to testing labs, and employees attending workshops up and down the mountainside. The drivers are in charge of the human cargo and get constant calls for their services. Due to limited public transportation, the sight of the truck moving out brings throngs of people who need to get somewhere. There is initial haggling over who sits where and stops to be made but the patients needs come first. My confusion is that the schedule for the run is determined as it plays out depending on new calls and hospital errands to be done. My personal confusion is magnified by the language problem. I grab a ride on a moment’s notice and never know when I will return but the ability to go straight into town and haul supplies back is irresistible.

Trips in the Hospital Patient Transport are interesting and full of drama. The truck and cab are loaded for the trip, the driver signs the log at the gate and the drama begins. If something goes wrong in the camper, the nurse bangs on the window of the cab and the driver pulls over. Friday’s trip started with a critically ill patient who needed to transfer to a critical care facility. Pensioners were loaded in to be transported to the pension pay site where they receive their cash grants in person. After this trip down the mountain the patient and pensioners were delivered and I hopped out of the cab to do the shopping for the hospital and deliver dry cleaning for a hospital chaplain. After an hour or so the driver picked me up and we headed to the second hand store to pick up the new sink. The owner of the store carried the heavy sink and loaded it into the camper securing it under the benches. We then trekked back to the Vryheid hospital to pick up the nurse. The driver then got another call to pick up a former patient at the taxi rank who needed
medical care for his foot. The driver drove to the taxi stand and helped the patient hobble into the back of the camper to go back to the hospital. The driver started down the road and pulled unto the shoulder. He got out and ran across the busy street to purchase some corn roasting in hot coals on the roadside and brought them to the nurse in the camper attending the patients. The driver was tired on this Friday trip as he had transported a young boy to the Hospital the night before and was up past one am. He pulled the truck over again when we reached a large pond and ran to the water to splash the cold water on his tired face. As he drives he toots the horn (here tooting is called hooting) at every passing taxi and waves to every pedestrian on the busy road.

There is a unity of spirit for with all people that do not have private cars – patients, nurses, pedestrians, bus riders, taxi goers and Peace Corps Volunteers. The wait for the bus or taxi sometimes seems interminable but often produces intimate conversations and new friendships. In fact the Bond’s now have a private Zulu tutor two days a week that resulted from a chatting up at the bus stop. A few weeks ago we met a high school student while waiting for the bus (and complaining about the poor service) that wants the job of teaching Americans to speak his language and needs the money to buy a cell phone. So perhaps at least we will be able to communicate with our new community!