More equal than others
Ellen’s house is in one of the better neighborhoods. Kennoba’s upper class huddles together. The office has been using this house as temporary housing for years. Expats need to feel at home. And safe. And be able to enjoy the swimming pool in the garden, if there is still time for that. And network with their equally privileged neighbors. Ambassadors, bankers and a handful of lawyers.
Further down the street is a markunbiki, a kind of kiosk built from four poles, some canvas and a zinc plate. The local convenience store. Aspirin, beer, chocolate, mosquito repellent, cigarettes, vitamin pills - a selection from the assortment.
Mutombo, the owner, is seriously ill. Ellen visits him in the hospital. A packed ward. Clammy heat, a penetrating smell of disinfectants and perspiration. Ellen hesitates. Then she steps inside. Visiting hours. Twenty-five people in a room with ten beds. Some feed patients food they brought with them, others dab a sick man’s face with water. Further away lies a patient groaning in misery. A fan blows the stuffy air around uselessly.
Mutombo lies in a corner. Ellen hardly recognizes him. He no longer recognizes her. Hollow eyes stare into the distance. Next to him sits his wife, crying. Ellen gives her some money. Insurance is rare and the hospital costs money. Even the lowest class.
After half an hour Ellen leaves. She wishes the family strength, no longer dares to mention the words ‘get well’. At the cashier she withdraws money for a week in a room with air conditioning, and for the medicines. “God bless you, ma’am,” the doctor says softly, as she puts her hand on Ellen’s arm. “He will die in peace. Die without pain.” Ellen looks into the doctor’s hardened face, in which she sees her eyes getting moist.
***
Sooner or later, everyone is careless. After a year in Kennoba, it’s Ellen’s turn. She is taken to the hospital. In the first aid clinic, an extremely professional space, they know what to do with food poisoning. A doctor and three nurses surround her with all the care. Temperature, blood pressure, blood test and stomach examination – all arranged in no time. An IV, just for sure. She stays the night in a spacious private room, equipped with air conditioning, TV with movie channel, and internet.
The next morning Elen already feels a lot better. Her stomach protests for a moment when a nurse comes in: What does Mrs. Ellen like for breakfast? Roast chicken, fried fish perhaps? No, thank you. Fortunately, there is also bread. Then it is time to go home. Please sign here. That's it. The taxi is ready.
***
Yesterday Ellen bought a few cans of drink. Mutombo's wife and daughter now run the markunbiki. Ellen carefully asked how things are going. "It's OK, ma'am." A tear. Life goes on…
Yeah...
George Orwell once wrote about equality for all…
…but some are more equal than others.