The Christmas Surprise
Page 18
Outside she smelled coffee and headed towards it cheerfully. Faustine was busying herself over the campfire with a coffee pot whilst their driver cooked some eggs.
‘Hey!’ said Stephen. ‘Hello, sleepyhead! Now this is why you want to be with the Frenchiest aid organisations. They care about their coffee.’
He handed her a cup, loading it with sugar even though she didn’t normally take the stuff. It was dark, strong and delicious. Rosie blinked in the bright sunlight, looking at the pale, barren landscape.
‘It is better when you get up earlier and you do not miss the cool of the morning,’ pointed out Faustine. Rosie looked at her suspiciously.
‘Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind,’ she said.
There was a little stream for washing – Stephen warned her not to drink the water – then they were on their way again, bumping along endless potholed roads, occasionally seeing old, overstuffed vans, crammed with thin cattle or large groups of men or sacks of flour, rumbling up the road towards them, often on the wrong side or straight down the middle. The roads got worse, and it was hot, and Rosie started to feel herself getting a bit tired, then told herself not to, but to keep her spirits up. Stephen was looking distant and faraway, which could be good or bad, she knew. She squeezed his hand and was reassured when he squeezed back.
‘Are you ready?’ she whispered.
‘As I’ll ever be,’ he said, his hand moving instinctively towards his injured leg, his jaw set.
Eventually the minivan turned down a smaller road, cutting through a forest, then a smaller one again, and finally, at least three hours since they’d seen anything that looked anything like a town, they came to a clearing at the end of a sandy sort of path.
All the way, Rosie had tried not to have preconceptions about what it would be like; but here, undeniably, there were huts with straw tops in a circle around an open area, and a fire with a huge old metal tin hanging over the top of it.
As soon as the van drove in, there was a roar, and a huge heap of children, yelling and shouting enthusiastically, ran towards them, seemingly unbothered by their own safety.
For the first time Rosie saw Faustine smile, as she stepped down from the vehicle. Earlier, Rosie had mentioned the sweets she had brought, and the Frenchwoman had frowned and demanded them, saying, ‘You’ll cause a riot handing those out. Give them to me and I’ll use them as vaccination bribes.’
At the time Rosie thought she was being bossy. Now she could see exactly what Faustine had meant. There were so many of them, all of them excited and delirious just to see the car. Handing out sweets would have been awful.
‘Bonjour, bonjour,’ said Rosie as she got down, and the boldest of the children flocked around her, chattering like birds and touching her hair. One little girl who must have been the same age as her niece Meridian clambered up on to her hip. Rosie looked at Faustine, who already had a child in each arm, and the Frenchwoman motioned that it was fine.
The children followed them across the open space. There were, Rosie noticed, children everywhere, and women wearing long skirts and headbands (she desperately wanted to tie back her own hair, but all she had was a spare pair of knickers and she didn’t feel it was quite the time or place). Some women had babies tied to their backs, not wearing nappies, just with a cloth between them and their mothers. The babies looked incredibly comfortable, Rosie couldn’t help noticing. And there were old men, with sticks and white hair and bare chests, wizened and bent over by the sun. But there were no young men. There were no fathers, no chaps to help with the work that was obviously going on – wood chopping, water carrying and fetching. Stephen had said they had all gone, to join the army, or to look for work in Dakar or Mali or Nigeria, but Rosie didn’t realise what that meant until she saw it: a place devoid of men. The women looked tough and strong. She imagined you had to be.
One old man came up to Stephen, looked at him for a long time, then burst out into conversation. Stephen nodded, and more came over to join in. It reminded Rosie of the Red Lion.
Eventually they were beckoned towards one of the huts. They passed one building, relatively modern, that Faustine indicated had been built by the charity. Inside, a heavy-set woman with extremely short hair was standing in front of a class of at least fifty children sharing a few slates in an airless, scorching room. The boys sat at the front and the girls were behind them, despite being much smaller. Faustine rolled her eyes but nonetheless waved cheerily at the teacher, who waved back.
A few feet from the hut they were heading for, the children stood back, looking anxious. Faustine was deep in conversation with the woman who had brought them there. Rosie couldn’t follow the language but could tell by the increasingly exuberant gesticulations that something was displeasing her.
‘What is it?’ she asked Stephen.
‘Ssssh,’ he said, face strained. ‘They’re saying she’s not well … Célestine.’
‘Not well how?’ said Rosie. ‘She’s only eight months along.’
‘They’re not sure about that.’
‘Faustine’s a doctor though, right?’
Stephen shook his head.
‘She’s had first-aid training, we all did, but no, she’s a regional manager. She’s got administrative skills.’
‘But it’s called Médecins Sans Frontières.’
‘Yes, that’s right. But you wouldn’t waste a doctor on managing everybody else, would you?’
Rosie’s brow furrowed as Faustine disappeared into the hut.
‘Well, I should go in,’ she said.
‘You haven’t been invited,’ pointed out Stephen.
‘No, but I want to take a look at her anyway.’
‘I suppose you could, though I’m sure she’s fine.’
‘I’m not,’ said Rosie. ‘How old is she?’
Faustine came hurrying back out of the hut, pulling out her phone. She was swearing.
‘What’s up?’ said Stephen.
‘There’s something wrong,’ said Faustine. ‘It’s been wrong for a while. And the nearest team is eight hours away. I’m only meant to be here to hand over money and sign some paperwork …’
‘Can I see her?’ said Rosie.
‘Are you a doctor?’ said Faustine rudely.
‘I’m an emergency nurse,’ said Rosie, forcefully rather than apologetically as she usually did. ‘But if that’s no use …’
‘Hey!’ said Stephen. ‘Hello, sleepyhead! Now this is why you want to be with the Frenchiest aid organisations. They care about their coffee.’
He handed her a cup, loading it with sugar even though she didn’t normally take the stuff. It was dark, strong and delicious. Rosie blinked in the bright sunlight, looking at the pale, barren landscape.
‘It is better when you get up earlier and you do not miss the cool of the morning,’ pointed out Faustine. Rosie looked at her suspiciously.
‘Thanks, I’ll bear that in mind,’ she said.
There was a little stream for washing – Stephen warned her not to drink the water – then they were on their way again, bumping along endless potholed roads, occasionally seeing old, overstuffed vans, crammed with thin cattle or large groups of men or sacks of flour, rumbling up the road towards them, often on the wrong side or straight down the middle. The roads got worse, and it was hot, and Rosie started to feel herself getting a bit tired, then told herself not to, but to keep her spirits up. Stephen was looking distant and faraway, which could be good or bad, she knew. She squeezed his hand and was reassured when he squeezed back.
‘Are you ready?’ she whispered.
‘As I’ll ever be,’ he said, his hand moving instinctively towards his injured leg, his jaw set.
Eventually the minivan turned down a smaller road, cutting through a forest, then a smaller one again, and finally, at least three hours since they’d seen anything that looked anything like a town, they came to a clearing at the end of a sandy sort of path.
All the way, Rosie had tried not to have preconceptions about what it would be like; but here, undeniably, there were huts with straw tops in a circle around an open area, and a fire with a huge old metal tin hanging over the top of it.
As soon as the van drove in, there was a roar, and a huge heap of children, yelling and shouting enthusiastically, ran towards them, seemingly unbothered by their own safety.
For the first time Rosie saw Faustine smile, as she stepped down from the vehicle. Earlier, Rosie had mentioned the sweets she had brought, and the Frenchwoman had frowned and demanded them, saying, ‘You’ll cause a riot handing those out. Give them to me and I’ll use them as vaccination bribes.’
At the time Rosie thought she was being bossy. Now she could see exactly what Faustine had meant. There were so many of them, all of them excited and delirious just to see the car. Handing out sweets would have been awful.
‘Bonjour, bonjour,’ said Rosie as she got down, and the boldest of the children flocked around her, chattering like birds and touching her hair. One little girl who must have been the same age as her niece Meridian clambered up on to her hip. Rosie looked at Faustine, who already had a child in each arm, and the Frenchwoman motioned that it was fine.
The children followed them across the open space. There were, Rosie noticed, children everywhere, and women wearing long skirts and headbands (she desperately wanted to tie back her own hair, but all she had was a spare pair of knickers and she didn’t feel it was quite the time or place). Some women had babies tied to their backs, not wearing nappies, just with a cloth between them and their mothers. The babies looked incredibly comfortable, Rosie couldn’t help noticing. And there were old men, with sticks and white hair and bare chests, wizened and bent over by the sun. But there were no young men. There were no fathers, no chaps to help with the work that was obviously going on – wood chopping, water carrying and fetching. Stephen had said they had all gone, to join the army, or to look for work in Dakar or Mali or Nigeria, but Rosie didn’t realise what that meant until she saw it: a place devoid of men. The women looked tough and strong. She imagined you had to be.
One old man came up to Stephen, looked at him for a long time, then burst out into conversation. Stephen nodded, and more came over to join in. It reminded Rosie of the Red Lion.
Eventually they were beckoned towards one of the huts. They passed one building, relatively modern, that Faustine indicated had been built by the charity. Inside, a heavy-set woman with extremely short hair was standing in front of a class of at least fifty children sharing a few slates in an airless, scorching room. The boys sat at the front and the girls were behind them, despite being much smaller. Faustine rolled her eyes but nonetheless waved cheerily at the teacher, who waved back.
A few feet from the hut they were heading for, the children stood back, looking anxious. Faustine was deep in conversation with the woman who had brought them there. Rosie couldn’t follow the language but could tell by the increasingly exuberant gesticulations that something was displeasing her.
‘What is it?’ she asked Stephen.
‘Ssssh,’ he said, face strained. ‘They’re saying she’s not well … Célestine.’
‘Not well how?’ said Rosie. ‘She’s only eight months along.’
‘They’re not sure about that.’
‘Faustine’s a doctor though, right?’
Stephen shook his head.
‘She’s had first-aid training, we all did, but no, she’s a regional manager. She’s got administrative skills.’
‘But it’s called Médecins Sans Frontières.’
‘Yes, that’s right. But you wouldn’t waste a doctor on managing everybody else, would you?’
Rosie’s brow furrowed as Faustine disappeared into the hut.
‘Well, I should go in,’ she said.
‘You haven’t been invited,’ pointed out Stephen.
‘No, but I want to take a look at her anyway.’
‘I suppose you could, though I’m sure she’s fine.’
‘I’m not,’ said Rosie. ‘How old is she?’
Faustine came hurrying back out of the hut, pulling out her phone. She was swearing.
‘What’s up?’ said Stephen.
‘There’s something wrong,’ said Faustine. ‘It’s been wrong for a while. And the nearest team is eight hours away. I’m only meant to be here to hand over money and sign some paperwork …’
‘Can I see her?’ said Rosie.
‘Are you a doctor?’ said Faustine rudely.
‘I’m an emergency nurse,’ said Rosie, forcefully rather than apologetically as she usually did. ‘But if that’s no use …’
