A few days ago a boy came into the hospital after being hit by a car. Other than a busted lip and a broken toe, he was completely fine. BUT lips bleed a lot and as it would happen, so did the toe. He was covered in blood and pretty dazed, but I again, I reiterate, completely fine. I can say without a shadow of a doubt that he would live.
As he had been shopping in the market with his family when the, ahem, incident happened, naturally it drew a crowd. Twenty people followed him into the hospital. He was carried by a stranger with his family and the rest of Aweil close behind. It was hard to figure out who exactly was a relative and who was just along for the ride. Tension was already building.
We get him into triage and onto the exam table to get a better look at the lip and suddenly this lady is next to me having a complete conniption. She's screaming in Dinka and in her hand, upside down, with its legs tied together is a live chicken. Her arms are up in the air and she's waving her hands around going absolutely nuts. We look around for someone to translate. She's screaming a) because she thinks her kid is dead and b) because there's a woman in the room that she doesn't like and she wants her out of there, her husband's other wife. Dinka men almost always have more than one wife and they often don't get along. Can you blame them?
Okay. So we tell her that yes, that looks like a lot of blood and yes, the lady you don't like can go, but no, your kid is not dead. In fact he is also screaming this whole time. In my experience, dead kids don't scream. Not usually. So we get someone to take the chicken and find a quiet place for mother and child until we can suture the lip. American Emergency Rooms look pretty tame from here.
Man, oh man. And that was all before 10 am.
As he had been shopping in the market with his family when the, ahem, incident happened, naturally it drew a crowd. Twenty people followed him into the hospital. He was carried by a stranger with his family and the rest of Aweil close behind. It was hard to figure out who exactly was a relative and who was just along for the ride. Tension was already building.
We get him into triage and onto the exam table to get a better look at the lip and suddenly this lady is next to me having a complete conniption. She's screaming in Dinka and in her hand, upside down, with its legs tied together is a live chicken. Her arms are up in the air and she's waving her hands around going absolutely nuts. We look around for someone to translate. She's screaming a) because she thinks her kid is dead and b) because there's a woman in the room that she doesn't like and she wants her out of there, her husband's other wife. Dinka men almost always have more than one wife and they often don't get along. Can you blame them?
Okay. So we tell her that yes, that looks like a lot of blood and yes, the lady you don't like can go, but no, your kid is not dead. In fact he is also screaming this whole time. In my experience, dead kids don't scream. Not usually. So we get someone to take the chicken and find a quiet place for mother and child until we can suture the lip. American Emergency Rooms look pretty tame from here.
Man, oh man. And that was all before 10 am.
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