Alexandria of Africa (21 page)

“How much longer?” I asked.

“We’re more than halfway,” Ruth said, “a lot more.”

“This is ridiculous! Nobody should be this far away from help. You need a clinic right near the village.”

“No money for clinic,” Ruth said.

“This shouldn’t be about money! People shouldn’t die because of a few crummy dollars!” I shouldn’t have said that … about dying … but it was what we were all thinking, anyway.

I slammed on the brakes, skidding the car sideways. There was a gigantic gorge in the road where a stream had washed away the whole side. I inched us forward, the bottom of the car scraping as we hit, and started slowly up the other side.

I wanted to pray, but I couldn’t close my eyes. God would understand.
Please, God, just let us get there safely. Let her be okay. Let the baby be okay. Amen. Please. Please. Please
.

“There it is!” Ruth screamed. “We’re here!”

The headlights bounced against the front of a building, small and brown and one storey tall, not big, and all dark. If this was
it
, what was it? I pulled the car up to the front door and leaned on the horn, hard and long. The sound broke through the darkness and bounced back off the front of the building.

Ruth’s father jumped from the car almost before it had
stopped moving. He ran to the front door and began pounding on it, screaming at the top of his lungs. Almost immediately a light came on in one of the windows, and then a second, and a third! Whoever was there was now awake!

“Let’s help get your mother out of the car.”

We climbed out and circled to the back. I was almost afraid of what we’d find. I opened up the hatch. Her eyes were open and she smiled—a sad, brave smile. I offered her my hand and she took it. Gently, slowly, she rocked to a sitting position, and we helped her get to her feet. The whole back of the car was covered in blood! Her red dress was stained with blood!

She was all hunched over, almost like she was cradling the baby inside of her. She shuffled forward, little steps, with one of us on each side supporting her. Ruth’s father was standing at the door, which was open. Light streamed out. He was talking to a woman. I hoped she was a nurse, or better yet, a doctor. They were talking. No, they were arguing.

“What’s going on?” I asked Ruth.

“She says my mother is not a patient at the clinic so she cannot help her. She is saying go to the clinic down the road.”

“There’s another clinic? Where is it?”

“Along the road. Maybe twenty more miles.”

“That’s impossible,” I said. “This isn’t going to happen. Let’s help your mother to sit.” We eased her to the ground, right at the doorway.

“You!” I demanded. “Do you speak English?”

She nodded her head. “I speak English. This man does not understand that his wife cannot—”

“Are you a nurse?”

“Yes, I am a nurse.”

“Good. Now we’re going to take this woman inside and you’re going to help her.”

“You do not understand. This woman is not—”

“No,
you
do not understand. This woman is in need of medical assistance and you are going to help her. And if you don’t, do you understand what a lawsuit is?”

I got the feeling that she didn’t.

“If you don’t help this woman right now and something happens to her, I will make sure that you will lose your job, that you will lose your licence to be a nurse, and I’m going to work to make sure you are put in jail! Do
you
understand
that?”
I yelled.

Her mouth was moving but no words were coming out. “I … I do not have permission to let her—”

“Permission? You’re a nurse! Did you train to help people or to send them away to die? Could you live with yourself if that happened? Look at the woman. She needs your help.”

The woman put her hand up to her face and rubbed it against her jaw. She looked at Ruth’s mother. She bent down beside her and placed her hand against the side of her neck, feeling for a pulse. She looked as though she really wanted to help.

“Where do you want us to bring her?” I asked.

“Inside. Follow.”

Ruth and I pulled her mother to her feet and started to lead her in.

“I thought you were going to threaten to kill her, too,” Ruth said quietly.

“That was next.”

We eased her through the door and followed the light down a corridor. Ruth’s father, spear in hand, followed.
There was no danger of me actually killing anybody, but I wouldn’t have made any assumptions about him.

“Here, place her here,” the woman said. She was standing beside a rusty metal table with a dingy brown pad on the top.

We eased her up on the top and she laid back, her belly bulging out in front of her. There was a thin trail of blood making its way down her legs.
Maybe
, I thought,
we should leave
. As I took a step, Ruth grabbed me by the arm and I knew I needed to be there.

The nurse did an examination, moving her hands around, asking questions. She then turned to us. “There is nothing I can do.”

“What do you mean there’s nothing you can do? You promised you’d help.”

“I cannot help. The baby is turned and I cannot make it come out. We need the doctor.”

“Where is he?” I demanded.

“He is sleeping. In a house in back.”

“Then we have to wake him up. Which house?”

“More,” she said, “he needs to operate … open her … he needs medicine … antiseptic … anaesthetic, much,
much
money.”

“Money?” I said, and I started to laugh. They all looked at me like I was crazy. “You need money?” I pulled open my purse and pulled out a wad of bills. I threw the bills onto the counter and they scattered. “Is this enough?”

She looked at the money, then at the patient, and then at me. “I will get the doctor.”

I heard the truck before I could see it. Then I saw the headlights bumping up the road. I couldn’t actually see that it was them, but who else could it be? Maybe I should have gotten up and welcomed them, but I was too exhausted, too spent to even move. I stayed seated on the step of the clinic’s porch.

The gears ground loudly as the truck slowed down and it pulled into the spot beside the jeep, the headlights shining right into my face. I used my arm to shield my eyes. The lights clicked off, the engine died, and the two doors popped open. Renée and Nebala jumped out and ran toward me.

“Are you all right?” Renée yelled.

“I’m fine. Everybody is all right. Mother and new baby daughter. They’re inside.” I had an urge to say something about her makeup—she looked really good—but I thought this probably wasn’t the time or place.

Renée let out a gigantic sigh. “Thank goodness.”

“The baby was breech,” I said, trying to explain. “They couldn’t turn it and it couldn’t come out. They were both going to die. The doctor had to operate.”

“You should have waited for us to return,” she said.

“The doctor said they would have been dead if he hadn’t operated when he did. Ruth’s mother would have bled to death. Ruth is donating blood for her right now,” I said, gesturing to the door. “How much trouble am I in?”

“You shouldn’t have threatened to kill the
askari.”

“I didn’t mean that. I was trying to tell them I was going to get them fired, not kill them by putting them in a fire!” I protested.

Nebala chuckled.

“I thought there might have been something lost in the translation,” Renée said.

“I just didn’t have any choice. I needed to take the car.”

“Steal
the car.”

“Borrow
the car. It’s right there. It’s okay … maybe the suspension isn’t so good … I’ll pay to get it fixed.”

“It wasn’t good to start, and there’s no point in fixing it. The next trip would just knock it out of whack again. But Alexandria, you really went out on a limb here. You could have killed yourself, or all of them.”

“It wasn’t like I was out joyriding. What choice did I have?”

“Not much, I guess.”

“So, how much trouble am I in? What are you going to put in the report to the judge?”

“I’ve already written most of it,” Renée said. “I wrote about how hard you worked, how you connected to the local people, how much growth I’ve seen, and how proud I am of who you are in the process of becoming.”

“And now?”

“I hate rewriting things. Besides, now I have proof that what I was saying is true. I’m very proud of you … 
really.”

“Which part are you most proud of, stealing the car, driving without a licence, or threatening to kill those three men?”

“All three. Equally.”

“I hope the judge feels the same way.”

“Some things even a judge doesn’t need to know.”

The nurse appeared at the door. “They want to see you,” she said to me.

I stood up and my legs got all wobbly and I felt as though I might topple over. Renée reached out and steadied me.

“How about if I come along?” she suggested.

“I think that might be good.”

She held me by the arm and we walked into the clinic, along the corridor to the little back section. There were two beds—the clinic’s capacity—and Ruth and her mother were there. Ruth was lying in one bed giving blood, and her mother was in the other, nursing the newborn. I had never seen a baby so small. It was
so tiny
.

Her mother motioned for me to come closer. I walked to her bedside. She took the baby and offered it to me to hold. I hesitated.

“Go on,” Renée said. “Don’t worry. You won’t drop her.”

Carefully, slowly, I took the little girl, all wrapped in a rough blue blanket, and pulled her toward me. She was so little it was like holding air. She was so small. So precious. So alive.

Ruth’s mother spoke. I couldn’t tell what she was saying.

“She said that the baby is yours,” Renée explained.

“Mine? But I can’t bring a baby back with me!”

“Not to bring back,” Renée said. “She’ll stay here, but as far as the family is concerned, she’s yours.”

“Okay … 
asante sana.”

“My mother also asks how you spell your name,” Ruth said.

“Do they need it for the hospital forms?”

Ruth shook her head. “They need your name for the birth certificate. My baby sister, her name is Alexandria.”

I was stunned. I looked down at the little baby in my arms.

“What do you think?” Renée asked.

“I like it. Alexandria … Alexandria of Africa.”

I pulled my suitcase off the conveyor belt. The rest of my luggage and the remainder of my clothing had stayed behind. I could always buy more here, if I wanted to. There were at least two or three stores that must have been close to going out of business without me around for the last few weeks. I’d fix that as soon as possible. I’d call my friends and we could go out shopping—of course, I’d warn them that they were going to have to hear some of my stories first.

Everybody around me seemed to be moving so quickly. I wasn’t in that big a rush. Don’t get me wrong, I was really looking forward to seeing my parents—I just wasn’t in a big hurry. I stopped at the doors leading out to Arrivals, where everybody waited. Some other passengers just breezed through the doors and I could see throngs of people waiting just outside, just past the barrier. It was time.

I pulled my bag along. There seemed to be thousands of people standing around, staring, craning their necks, holding signs, hoping and waiting. Some had already connected and were hugging or shaking hands. Where were my parents? I’d expected my mother would be here, at least … and hopefully my father was able to get off work to meet me.

“Alexandria!”

I turned, searching for the voice, searching for my mother. She—
and
my father—were rushing toward me, waving and yelling! I ran toward them and we met in a big group hug. I could feel my mother sobbing and knew I wasn’t far from tears myself.

“It’s so wonderful to see you!” my mother cried. She then tilted her head to one side and looked at me strangely. “Poor dear, you look so tired.”

“I’m not. I slept on the plane.”

“No, your mother’s right, your eyes look tired …”

“I’m just not wearing much makeup, that’s all.”

“Then you
must
be exhausted,” my mother said.

I tried not to laugh. “I feel fine, honestly.”

“And your hair, what happened to your hair?”

“Nothing happened to my hair. I just tied it back like this for the flight.”

“Well, it looks quite … 
different
that way. And that bandana … it looks so … so
quaint.”

“I’m glad you like it. I got one for you, too.”

Her eyes widened in shock.

“Just kidding,” I said, and she looked relieved.

“Don’t worry, we’ll just set up an appointment for you with Mr. Henri. I’ll tell him it’s an emergency.”

And I realized that my mother had no idea what a
real
emergency was.

“That’s okay, I really don’t … well … maybe that would be good.”

“That’s my baby!” she said.

I was and I wasn’t, but there was no point in trying to explain it. There was so much I had to explain, so much I wanted to tell, so much I was still trying to understand myself.

“Where’s the rest of your luggage?” my father asked. “Don’t tell me the airline lost it.”

I shook my head. “I left the other bags behind, along with most of my clothes.”

“Alexandria, those were all new clothes. You can’t expect us to just run out and buy you—”

“I don’t need anything new,” I said, cutting my father off. “I’ve already got more clothes than I need.”

My father and mother exchanged a stunned look. I almost laughed, just looking at them. I didn’t know how I could explain it to them, but I’d try. In time.

“I have something you do need,” my father said. “Your mother wanted me to wait until your birthday, but I thought, what the heck, it’s only a week away.”

He held out his hand, dangling a key and a keychain with a Mercedes emblem in front of my eyes. He dropped it in my hand.

“It’s a CLK 350 … Cabriolet … a convertible … white. Very stylish, like the girl who’ll be driving it!”