There was a raging malaria epidemic in Burundi in early 2001 and, because I had worked with MSF before, and because there were no other water engineers available, I was asked to go. I agreed, not knowing much about Burundi or what would be expected of me.
I was routed through Brussels so that MSF could check that I wouldn’t die from the malaria prophylactic that they preferred to use – which is a weekly tablet but which makes a small number of people very sick indeed. Happily, I took the first tablet and because I didn’t have any adverse reaction, I was put on the next plane out to Nairobi and thence to Bujumbura.
As is usual with MSF teams, they are made up of people who are mutually supportive – necessary in my case since my spoken French is virtually non-existent, so English was used mostly, where I was involved. I was assigned water, sanitation and vector control duties.
The best memory I had of this time was trekking in the hills, going door to door asking who in the household had a treated bed-net, and how did they use it ? Interesting answers but sadly African and macho – in households which actually had bed-nets, the first person to sleep with one was the man of the house; and if there was only one net, only the husband/father slept under it. Children – who were far more likely to die from malaria, rarely were allowed to sleep under the net. In between interviews to find how the nets were being used, we walked in the bush.
I noticed some flowers that look similar to a flower I had met in Moçambique called ‘beijo duma mulato’ (kiss of a mulatto woman) which is said to be useful for treating certain cancers. I was told what it was called. A little later, we came across another, completely different and exotic flower. When I asked what this one was called, I was told exactly the same name as the previous flower. I queried this and had to consult one of our national colleagues who said that it approximated to the word ‘flower’. So much for Latin names . . .
Came the time when I was due to go home and I packed ready for the flight from Bujumbura but just as we were about to leave, word came that there was a sporadic firefight across the main runway at the airport, with government soldiers and rebels firing at what they perceived to be ‘the enemy’ whenever they saw the grass waving on the opposite side of the runway. That is, when they were sober. As we didn’t know when that would be, it was decided that we should exit the country through Rwanda (Kigali); thence to Entebbe; and finally to Nairobi where I would pick up a regular flight to Heathrow. Quite a long diversion, but decidedly safer in the circumstances.
After 5 back-breaking hours in the back of a LandCruiser; a short flight to Entebbe where we had to stay the night; we finally made it to Nairobi some 13 hours before our connecting flight was due.
While adventurous souls might want to explore Nairobi, I did not as I was bone weary from the very long hours we had been working, so I slept fitfully on benches in the Transit Lounge (if it could be called that) at Nairobi Airport.
Some time before I was due to progress through check-in, I decided that I should buy something for Mary as a memento from Kenya. They don’t make any wine there, as far as I was aware, so I opted for some tea and some coffee. These should be safe enough. I went and selected what I thought looked the best of the bunch and presented myself to the woman manning the till, who was traditionally built like a sumo wrestler. She took one look at the coffee that I had selected and said that I wouldn’t want it, take it back and get some Blue Mountain coffee instead !
When confronted by a mountain that looked capable of beating you to a pulp if she felt like it, one does exactly as one is told. I brought the Blue Mountain coffee back and was rewarded with a smile and a, “That’s better. You’ll like this coffee – it is the best !”
When finally I arrived home, I presented the two packets of tea and coffee to Mary, telling her of the instructions I had received and all she would say was that the Coffee Seller had been quite right. Why had I even imagined that I should buy any coffee other than Blue Mountain ? Somehow, I think there was a conspiracy here between the women . . .
Which explains how I came to buy coffee that I didn’t want by rebels at Bujumbura Airport.
Great story!
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