You will probably know that I am not left handed so this title deserves some explanation. I am going to try to put stuff on more regularly than before but I doubt any future piece will reflect such stupidity on my part.
I am having to type this with my left hand because I have single handedly (forgive the pun) invented a new sport for Rwanda and in the process I have disabled myself temporarily. Pavement diving is well known to all of you I suspect but I doubt you have heard of Drain Ditch diving. For this you need a concrete ditch of at least three feet in depth, a really stupid player and a dark night without street lighting. All these prerequisites came into play on our first night in Rwanda.
I was truly knackered having flown with Ethiopian Airways and spent four hours sitting on the floor in Addis Ababa airport waiting for our connection. It is quite frankly a shithole (the airport I mean, I am told that the city is very nice). We were given an excellent welcome by the in-country staff and taken to our home for the first two weeks and although I could have slept for a long time we agreed to go out for a drink because it was one of our parties birthday. Oh silly me!
We started walking to the venue but the street lights went out (well This Is Africa) and I was without torch and dreaming as I do. Quite suddenly the ground denied me access and, leading with my left leg, I fell into an abyss with what can only be described as a perfect half turn, slamming my right hand into the concrete wall and landing squarely on my arse. There was no head involved in the collision so concussion was not an issue but there was enough blood to keep the transfusion service happy for a while had they been able to collect it.
Now you can imagine that the sort of people that do VSO have an abundance of concern and empathy and, bless them, they showed it and as there are 25 of us here I was overwhelmed with it. Sensible suggestions were made, like going to hospital but I was determined not to let a little blood stop me having a beer. I wrapped my hand in a handkerchief and manfully, without complaint, walked to the bar.
Needless to say, the first beer did not touch the sides (and by the by the beer is cheap and very good). The manageress of this fine establishment noticed I was having some difficulty pouring my beer. This was fairly obvious at this point because I was bleeding all over her floor but her concern was genuinely for me and not her decor. She sent out for first aid stuff, dressed my wound with iodine that stung like shit and wrapped it in a bandage. So I got a bit pissed but not very and slept like a log.
Next morning I was ‘invited’ by VSO to go to a clinic to have my hand checked out. I was provided with a driver and got to the clinic in no time at all. Let me say now that the treatment that I eventually received was without fault. I say eventually because after being registered very quickly I was shown into the doctor’s room. I expected him to be concerned and to look at my injury immediately. This was not the case and we had, at his behest, a very long conversation about? Yes indeed, Manchester United, that just goes to prove that Phil is not alone in being a fan with absolutely no connection with the town. Eventually and after a further long conversation about the difference between Irish and Scottish names he gave me a prescription and told me to go and see the nurse without even looking at my wound. He was however a very nice chap.
The nurse spoke no English and we got by in a sort of French. He was very thorough if without finesse but would not have won prizes for embroidery as the dozen or so stitches I had to have have made my hand look somewhat like spaghetti junction.
So here I am, stitched, badly bruised but not broken in body or spirit and do you know what, I already like this country. Stay well you all. Next instalment from our house, (Yes, we do have one this time. J)
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