In die hospitaal / In hospital

(English follows after the photo)

Ek is in die hospitaal, weer eens.  Dieselfde plek wat in 2009 geopereer is en in 2013 en in 2015, het nou weer probleme gegee.  Littekenvorming was die laaste twee kere die oorsaak en nou is dit weer.  My huisdokter het my die laaste keer bekyk en sy dun blou diagnoseboekie uitgepluk.  Jip,  jip,  jip het  sy vinger teen die simptomes afgehardloop.  Dis jou skouer het hy verklaar.  Ek het trane in my oë gekry.  Hoekom vorm net hierdie een plek in my lyf littekens?  Nope, hy het nie ‘n verklaring nie. 

En hier is ek nou.  In die bed met die portier wat gereed staan om my teater toe te stoot.  Die angs klim in my keel op.  Dis baie seer, onthou my lyf die vorige kere.  Jy het covid gehad en jou longkapasiteit is aangetas, skree my brein. 

Did you say your prayers? vra die vriendelike manlike verpleër.  Hy is van Zulu afkoms.  Nurse practitioner Sukoluhle Khanyile. Yes, but I’ scared.  Would you please pray for me?  Hy vat my hand tussen syne en begin saggies bid.  Die portier staan doodstil.  Ek spits my ore maar kan nie hoor nie.  Tot die laaste woord my tref:  Nkosi. 

Hy het in Zulu gebid.    

Don’t worry, sê hy, I will be here when you get back. Kalmte bedek die bang in my.

Khanyile grew up with his grandmother in KwaZulu-Natal.  He told us how he got to be confused for his very young mother’s boyfriend.  That’s why he stopped carrying her bag for her.  He left KZN  to look for places where he can improve his career advantage possibilities.

On Monday I asked him about the narrow piece of skin around his wrist.  What a story he told me.  I recorded it.

These are his words.  The band around my arm is called isiphandla.  When I  left my  home in 2017 to advance my career in Cape Town, I asked my ancesters to look after me and give me all I want.  So I managed to get a job.  So I had to go back home and slaughter a goat to tell them that I got everything  that I’ve asked for. When we perform a Zulu ritual ceremony, we must always slaughter something and make a Zulu beer.    The  band around my arm was made from the skin of the slaughtered goat as a reminder.  

En tog het hy vir my gebid.

Once again I’m in hospital. The same spot that was operated on in 2009 had been giving me problems. In 2013 and 2015 scar tissue had been removed from that spot. My GP checked his blue book of diagnostics and ticked off the symptoms one by one. Thorasic outlet, he declared. I had tears in my eyes. Why on earth does it happen in only one spot in my body? No explanation available.

Still, here I was in hospital. The porter stood waiting, ready to take my bed to the theater. Fear clogged my throat. My body remembered the pain of the previous time. My brain remembered the breathlessness after covid because of reduced lung capacity.

Did you say your prayers? asked the kind male nurse practitioner of ethnic Zulu decent. Nurse practitioner Sukoluhle Khanyile. Yes, but I’ scared.  Would you please pray for me?

He took my hand between both of his and murmered. The porter stood still. I tried to listen but could not hear a thing. Then the last word registrated: Nkosi (thank you). He prayed in Zulu.

Don’t worry, sê hy, I will be here when you get back. Calmness slowly covered the fear.

Khanyile grew up with his grandmother in KwaZulu-Natal.  He told us how he got to be confused for his very young mother’s boyfriend.  That’s why he did not carry her bag for her  any more.  He left KZN  to look for places where he can improve his career advantage possibilities.

On Monday I asked him about the narrow piece of string around his wrist.  What a story he told me.  I recorded it.

These are his words.  The band around my arm is called isiphandla.  When I  left my  home in 2017 to advance my career in Cape Town, I asked my ancesters to look after me and give me all I want.  So I managed to get a job.  So I had to go back home and slaughter a goat to tell them that I got everything  that I’ve asked for. When we perform a Zulu ritual ceremony, we must always slaughter something and make a Zulu beer.    The  band around my arm was made from the skin of the slaughtered goat as a reminder.  

And yet he prayed for me.

Published by appeltjie

Ek is 'n mamma, 'n juffrou, 'n geliefde. Om woorde te gebruik om kreatief te wees, is 'n nuutjie. Maar wat 'n fees.

10 thoughts on “In die hospitaal / In hospital

    1. ek raak nou net haastig. wil verf en dinge doen maar die handspiere is gekonnekteer aan die armspiere is gekonnekteer aan die nekspiere. linksom tik en werk met die muis gaan nou al heel vinnig. maar hierdie doenmens raak nou kriewelrig

      Like

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