Sirens

On Wednesday 23 January (see how Mosotho I’ve become) my friend and I went to Maseru (Lesotho’s capital) to do our mid-service check-up. We left with clean bills of health and since we were both going the same direction we decided to travel together. We got a ride to Mohale’s Hoek (the camptown past me but before her site) in a nice car with AC and a very nice driver. It was me, her, and the driver.
Now I want to preface this by saying that I am fine and that everyone else is also fine. About 10 minutes before we reached my site the driver lost control of the car and we swerved off the road and flipped at least once. The driver was not drunk, there were no potholes in the road.
I was sitting next to driver and by chance I had put on my seat belt. I very rarely wear seat belts in Lesotho not because I don’t want to but simply because there are none or they don’t work. It seems that legally the people sitting in the front seat are supposed to wear seat belts but often times they will put it on when they come to a police stop and take it off as they start driving away. My friend in the back seat had not put hers on.
When the accident happened there were no pedestrians in the area or cars. The accident happened on the main road that goes from Maseru to the southern most districts. So within minutes a motorcyclist stopped and helped us get out of the car. Soon after other people stopped their cars to help us. Our things were scattered all over the area since the car windows had all broken. My friend lost her cell phone in the accident so I called Peace Corps Lesotho. They alerted the police that there were volunteers involved with a car accident and the PC doctor called us saying that he was going to send a car to pick us up and bring us to Maseru. But since Maseru was about a 2 hour drive away one of the people who stopped to help us took us to the Mohale’s Hoek Government clinic. No one called an ambulance; no one called the police.
I had never been inside the Mohale's Hoek clinic until that day. I had passed by it plenty of times when walking in town but I never had a reason to go inside. We walked in to a room that could best be categorized as an ER but consisted of a hallway with benches and a single room with basic medical equipment. They asked the driver to come in to the room first as my friend and I waited. Around that time the Mohale’s Hoek Mounted Police came to the hallway. I had expected them to ask what happened but all they asked was for my name and contact information and that I stop by and make a statement later. After the driver walked out (a few days later I saw one of his friends who told me that he was fine with a minor head injury) they took in my friend. She was having trouble walking and was using a wheelchair because one of her feet was swollen and her other hand was badly cut up. She told me later that the “doctor” (not sure if he was one) insisted she describe her injuries in Sesotho (he may have thought she was Mosotho because she is Black) but did clean up her cuts and wrapped her wrist and ankle. A nurse then came to ask me how I was feeling. I told her I had some minor cuts, my head was hurting and neck felt stiff. She casually gave me a neck massage and started walking away. Earlier I had called my Principal to let her know what happened and she had come to the clinic. As the nurse began to walk away from me she started yelling at her to treat me and the nurse shrugged saying that they didn’t have anymore neck braces but they could clean up my cuts. As I went in to the room I noticed a puddle of blood on the floor that they had not cleaned up yet. And in a country where HIV/AIDS is a major concern I was surprised no one was worried about it.
Peace Corps soon picked us up and took us to a hospital in Maseru with the Peace Corps doctor. In training I used to joke that the building looked like a Mexican restaurant: red bricks and a purple roof. Not to mention that if you didn’t look at the sign carefully (which has a Basotho hat on it) it almost looks like a sombrero (did I mention it’s called Willie’s). The doctor was expecting us and took my friend in to a room with the PC doctor. I waited outside. It first glance the place looked very American; clean, decorated with fake plants. A woman came up to me dressed in a black blouse and black jeans and started taking my blood pressure. She then handed me some pain medicine with out asking me if I was allergic to anything. Since I had no idea what pain medication she was giving me (and frankly I was not in that much pain at that point) I refused to take the pills. Soon after the doctor called me in to the room and by that point they had wheeled my friend somewhere else. The doctor was very good and very patient asking me how I was feeling, how my memory was, and thought that I should get a CT scan in the next few days just to be on the safe side (I later learnt that they did not have a CT scanner at this hospital). He also prescribed a neck massage to help with my neck stiffness and did ask me about my allergies. He then sent me with the previous lady to go to my room. She led me up some stairs and showed me in to a room. It had an ordinary bed, a few chairs, and a night stand. By that point it was past midnight and I immediately went to sleep.
I woke up a few hours later with my head pounding and I was feeling disoriented; I just wanted to see another human being. But I had no idea how to call a nurse. I turned on the light in the room and saw a button by my bed. I pressed it; nothing happened. I pressed it again; nothing happened. I looked outside my room to see an empty space and realized that I just had to calm myself down and go back to sleep; no one was going to come.
At 5:30 the lady (who by now I realized was a nurse) woke me up and said it was time for my bath (did I mention I only got about 4 hours of sleep). She opened a door in my room to show me an elaborate tiled bathroom with a tub, shower, flushing toilet. But I had no overnight items with me and asked her if she had soap and towel. She was able to find a small towel I could wash my face with but that was it. So no bath.
I was brought breakfast and the nurse turned on the TV (yes, there was a TV). But after eating I turned it off and just went back to sleep. The doctor came some time later to see how I was doing. During all this time I had heard nothing about my friend, where she was, or how she was doing. Around this time there was apparently a shift change and there were new nurses all wearing white silky blouses and black skirts. I asked them about my friend and they led me to the X-ray room where they were going to x-ray her hand and leg. Fortunately she had not broken anything. She did have to get some stitches though which the nurse in Mohale’s Hoek had not done. She was also given crutches to help her walk since she was not able to put weight on her foot. The PC doctor had joined us by then, discharged us, and took us to his office. He told us that we needed to go to Maseru hospital to get chest x-rays, CT scans, and ultrasounds.
So there we were, to see a part of Maseru we had never seen before. This hospital also looked very much like America but, as I have realized many times, looks can be deceiving. We went to radiology and went up to a man at the front desk, giving him our paper work from PC. We assumed he’d know the drill since he must have dealt with other volunteers in the past. He told us that they could not do the ultrasound until next Friday since they got their ultrasound tech from Bloemfontein (a large city in South Africa 2 hours from Maseru). He then insisted that we pay even though we insisted that it would be paid for by PC. Frustrated, my friend called PC who then called the man at the desk. At this point (without telling us) he decided to take his lunch break (it was 2 o’clock in the afternoon) and ignored PC’s call (there was no one else at the desk). Finally he did answer the call and took our CTs and X-rays. He gave us CDs with the information (very high tech) and we stayed the night at a bed and breakfast.
Friday PC brought us to the medical office again and we found out that not only were the CDs he gave us reused from something else but that the doctor could not find our scans on them. So we were going to be driven to Bloemfontein to get everything done again. Bloemfontein looks like America. The traffic lights (they call them robots here), the streets, the customer service. We got to the radiology department and the lady at the front desk told us that our doctor had called but he had only specified trauma patients, not volunteers. As my friend and I looked at each other thinking, who’s gonna call this time, the secretary told us that they’d take care of it and gave us paper work to fill out. Efficiently they took us to each station and at the end gave us a CD with all of our scans (this one was not being recycled). We got back to Maseru quite late not sure what to expect that weekend.
On Saturday the PC doctor told us that she was going to look over the scans that day and let us know if anything was wrong. Fortunately everything looked fine. We were able to relax that weekend and get some of our energy back. On Monday the doctor told me that I could go home if I liked. Unfortunately my friend has had to stay in Maseru longer since she is not very mobile.
The reason I share this story is not to concern my readers with my health (which by the way, I am fine) but to share my experience. It was eye opening to me to see what kind of health care most of my students rely on (my teachers are able to afford better health care and often go to Bloemfontein for medical needs) and to see the extremes of medical care in one small area.
I had a friend die a few months back. Rumor has it that she had HIV/AIDS but all I know is that she went to the clinic a few times and even went in for a chest x-ray A few weeks later she passed. She died in her bed, in her village. As far as I know she was never admitted in to a hospital. The experience shocked me and made me realize how different health care is in Lesotho but now I have had a first hand experience with it. And this is coming from a person who was able to afford the bast Lesotho/South Africa could offer. I don't want people to take this entry as a sign that Lesotho's health system doesn't work because that is definitely not what I got out of this experience. As far as I'm concerned I think Lesotho is a very lucky country where at least basic health care is available and affordable. But rather I'd like people to take this as one person's personal account of her experience with the system. I can guarantee one thing though; I will always wear my seat belt (as long as I can).