(The Nationalist, 18 April 2003)
I remember when I was in Zambia that I put a good deal of work into planning a visit to a group of villages in a place called Mulauli. I wanted to go around, meet the people, talk and listen to them. My intention was to give a few days to it.
Such ventures require preparation: first, the four-wheel drive, checking to make sure it was OK, an extra spare wheel, fuel, oil, water, battery, jack and wheel spanner, shovels and an axe; then a tent, bed, table, chair, food, kitchen utensils, a box containing the requisites for Mass, medical kit, clothing, books and other items.
I arrived at my destination about four o’clock one afternoon, and was looking forward to starting my work. I set up the tent and arranged the goods inside. All was ready, so I started off to visit the first village.
On my way there, I saw a man walking towards me with a worried look on his face. Behind him I saw some boys moving slowly. The man came over and, after the usual greetings, asked me to help. His son, a boy of about twelve, was ill. He brought him to me, helped by the group of boys. The boy could hardly stand, his body rigid. With the ordinary movement of walking, he would fall over. It was clear, too, that he was in great pain.
I had no idea what the problem was. There was no sign of injury to the boy, and what he had eaten was the same as everyone else. There was no chance of the boy getting a lift with anyone else to the mission hospital, and walking there was out of the question; it was 50 km. away. A decision had to be made, and I knew what it would have to be. I would have to pack up and take him there. The worst of it was that I would have little chance of getting back to the area because of other commitments that were coming up. But I had to go.
Feeling frustrated, I set off for the hospital with the boy and his father. On arriving, the doctor told me the boy was suffering from blood poisoning, having been infected from walking barefoot, and that he would have died if he had not been brought so quickly. They gave him blood transfusions and saved his life. I’m glad my plans went astray, though disappointed that my visit had to be abandoned. I never did get back there. But the boy lived.