Skip to main content

Spa

“So do you think we can?”

“I think so. Don’t you?”

We have been talking like this for most of the day. Dr Kekana told us about a spa resort near the hospital which she went to last week. “You must go,” she said, “it is so nice!” We mentioned it to the manager’s secretary and she said she would arrange transport. However it kind of goes against the grain – leaving the site when you are supposed to be available.

“It’s only 7km away – we can be back in 15 minutes if we need to.” I say.

At 5pm a hospital 4WD rocks up outside the house. We climb in and set off. Our driver, Adolph, is a genial fellow who works in the Facilities department. As we chat it turns out he is not Zulu at all but Sotho, from Limpopo. He came to KZN some years ago for work.

The spa is only a few minutes drive down the dirt track. We park and find the bar. It is a highly improbable set up – “luxury” accommodation and a restaurant nestled in a valley in this remote part of rural Zululand and full of elderly Afrikaaners – come to “take the water” I suppose. Villas line the slopes, each with dramatic views over the valley. The spas themselves look as if they have seen better days. The brochure says they are 41 degrees – a dip of a toe reveals this to be an exaggeration.

We sit in the bar for a drink with Adolph and flip through the fliers on the table. Apparently you can also hunt here – shoot a Zebra for only R650.

One of the younger Afrikaaners comes over and gets into conversation with us. He explains to me with great animation how exactly to kill an elephant (shoot out its knee and then blow out its brains just in front of the ear. The skull is too thick if you try between the eyes apparently).

Dinner is steak – fantastic after nice, but slightly same-y hospital food. Adolph watches the Afrikaaner group as they in turn watch the news. There is lots about the strike. Adolph leans forward and whispers, “If they knew I was ANC – phew!”

We wrap up after an hour and half. We are on call after all. We get back and Hendy nips into outpatients. He comes back to the house 5 minutes later. “No one,” he says with satisfaction as he slips “Spaced, series 1” into the DVD player and we both settle back for another tough evening on call.

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Otherwordly isolation

I lean across the reception desk and catch the attendant’s eye. “Sawubona,” I say, dusting off my rusty Zulu. I see you. “Sawubona, ninjani?” she replies. I see you, are you well? “Ngiyapela.” I’m fine. She grins at me. “You must be a doctor.” “I am! How did you know?” “It is only the doctors around here who use Zulu. Even if it is only the greetings.” She arches an eyebrow. “I used to work here, at Hlabisa hospital up the road. I have a few other Zulu words, you know like ‘Does it hurt?’ and ‘Take a deep breath’.” She laughs. And then launches into an excellent impression of an elderly Zulu lady rattling off a series of complaints, waddling across the reception area clutching her back in mock agony. She gets it exactly right. I have come up to KwaZulu-Natal for a few days. Tonight I am staying in the Hluhluwhe-iMfolozi game park, 20 minutes or so from where I used to work. Awarded my entry ticket, I drive into the park. The sun is low in the sky, the kills bathed in amber light. I ta...
3 comments
Read more

10 years on

The door flies open. Lele peers in. "You must come out here and see. They are doing a play!" I finish up my case file annotation and come to the doorway. The waiting area is in chaos. A gang of school children are manhandling a couple of marimba's to the space in front of the consulting rooms, a team of nurses and counsellors are creating a stage area. Patients look on mutely. Some with interest, others - presumably feeling proportionately less well - without. "What is going on?" I ask. "It is 10 years since the clinic started. 10 years since MSF first started the HIV treatment programme and proved that it could be done in Africa. So the staff are celebrating. They are doing a show or something." The sister in charge of the clinic has moved to the front of the crowd of patients. She calls for silence and then gives a short introduction. Lele translates for me. "She is saying that this is a very important day. 10 years ago people were dying. And 10...
3 comments
Read more
The next patient is in her mid-20s. She sits gracefully on the edge of the chair and looks at me. "How can I help you today?" I ask. "It is this," she says, hands clasping her belly, "I look like I am 4 months pregnant!" "And are you? Have you checked?" "Oooh! Yes. MANY times - and always negative. I have been talking to my friends and they say it could be the HIV treatment." "Yes - that is true. You are on one of the older drugs, the one called Stavudine. That can make fat appear in different places on your body, and sometimes disappear from other places. Some people find that it makes their face thin." I suck my cheeks in briefly. She laughs. "I used to have a VERY round face, now it is thin!" "I suggest that we change that drug then. We have more drugs available in the public clinics than we did when you started and the one I will use has less side effects. Is that what you would like?" She nods enthusia...
1 comment
Read more