8 September 1984
The hospital was a giant white compound resembling a prison right in the centre of Malabo city. To witness such an ostentatious building, with its many storeys, was a culture shock for Santiago. In his home settlement of Riaba, there were no such big buildings. There were the dwellings the fishermen lived in, there was the river, and that was it. This almost fort-like structure was bigger than all of the homes in Riaba put together. It felt like something that would be in Portugal or Italy, and not on the humble island Santiago had been born and brought up in. It was also different from the other buildings in the capital, which were either colonial in the Spanish style or working-class hovels. It was big and grand, like it was trying to say something about itself.
It was in the middle of the eighties. Teodoro Obiang had been in power for only five years. It was the start of what would soon be rapid economic development and expansion. This hospital was one of the many buildings built as a promise to that future, that under Obiang’s rule, Equatorial Guinea was going to know a lot less hunger and a lot more growth.
Santiago wanted to be a part of that future. He had left his village knowing he would be sending a lot of money back to his mother and his brothers, making sure that their lives in the hovel would improve. It was a grand honour to be working at the main hospital of the capital. Though it was very far from the suburb where Santiago’s uncle lived, requiring Santiago, who was temporarily staying with his uncle, to hop on many 504s to reach it, Santiago made it a point to arrive an hour earlier than the start of his shift. He wanted to greet his supervising doctor before he got too busy, introduce himself, and provide a good impression to the rest of the staff.
When Santiago went to register himself, he eagerly announced his name, but the nurse whom he spoke to practically threw his name tag at him and barely looked at his face. He saw her strained eye bags and them on the faces of everyone: patients, nurses, doctors. Seeing their stress tired him a bit, but he tried to not let it get to him. He had a lot of money to earn to pay back his uncle for all his help, he was freshly married, and he needed to find a place for him and his wife.
He couldn’t let any of them know this. He couldn’t let them know he was from a village, drowning in debt, commitment, and responsibility.
He saw his supervisor across the hall. He cleared his throat and put on a smile.
« Hola señor, un placer » he said, offering a handshake. « My name is Santiago Ondobama. I will be working with you. I am looking forward to hearing your advice and learning as much as I can. »
The supervising doctor looked Santiago up and down. His eyes were full of red cracks. At the time, Santiago thought it was exhaustion. Over the years, he would come to know it as something else. But in that moment, Santiago just saw this man as a respected doctor and a senior.
The doctor must have seen the respect in his eyes, and he wanted to test it. That must have been why he shouted the way he did.
« Santiago? Who are you to come here talking like this? I am not here to give handshakes and kisses. I am here to give you work. Where is my coffee? And where is my file? And did you find out who your patient is? What is your first patient’s name? »
« Perdona, señor, but… »
« Pero… pero… you aren’t a little girl. Get to work. Get my coffee, and get my files. Get them now, or I’m sending you back home. You don’t need to work at this hospital. You can go work in the fields of your village. »
Santiago rushed to find the coffee. Of course he didn’t know where the coffee was, just like he didn’t know where his supervisor’s files were, either. It was his first day. He had no idea how his patients would be assigned, and he didn’t have the courage to ask.
Santiago found the break room and adequately served his supervisor. Later that day, Santiago saw not one but almost thirty patients, more than triple what he had been expecting. They suffered from a lot of diseases that he had read about or discussed in medical school but had never treated. He was afraid he was telling them the wrong things that would result in their untimely death.
At the end of the day, Santiago was yelled at by his uncle who was angry at Santiago for keeping the faucet turned on before leaving home. Santiago lay in bed thinking he would keep his eyes open, anxious about all the things he had messed up, but sleep came quickly.
His first day had been rough, but he’d come to realise that every day for the next thirty years was going to be equally as rough, if not rougher.
1 October 1984
It was Santiago who detected it.
« It is her blood pressure. It is going too high and too suddenly. »
He hadn’t used a machine. He could tell from putting his two fingers against her neck and noticing how much quicker her pulse had become. The nurse didn’t believe him, but it was also because she was too much busy changing the channels and wondering why the remote was slow to respond. He was annoyed at her negligence. He shouted « Dime… ¿What will you do if it’s a heart attack? Tell me what you will do. »
Before the nurse could respond, the patient started taking long gasps. The nurse checked the pulse and noticed it was out of control. The patient was put on a breathing machine. A scan was done. She was having a heart attack. The doctors intervened quickly with CPR. They gave her medication to control the beating in her chest. She was on the verge of a cardiac arrest, it appeared, but it was stopped just in time.
Of course the doctor supervising Santiago, who was an Obiang, got all of the credit, but it was Santiago who knew he had saved the patient’s life. It was the first time he had done so by listening to his own instincts instead of what his supervisor or the nurses had said. For that, he didn’t win an award or a medal or recognition, but a confidence started brimming in his chest, one that reminded him each and every time whenever he saw a patient that he knew what he was doing. He was meant to be a physician, he was realising. He was good at it.
23 June 1986
« Pues, Santiago, ¿qué dices? »
« Pues, Ana Maria, I saw what I saw. There’s a water leakage on the third floor. It’s small now, but when the rains come it’s going to inundate the whole floor. I think it needs to be fixed. And, ¿if Señor Ono doesn’t fix it, who will? »
Santiago saw Ana Maria turn to Claudia. They looked at each other, and then looked down at the leak. Ana Maria wrote some notes, and she said « We will tell Señor Ono you came to visit, and we will see what we can do. »
The next day, Santiago was called in to meet Señor Ono. Señor Ono gave him a firm handshake but was equally quick to yell at him. He didn’t like being told how he should run his hospital, and if Santiago were to say anything of this sort again, he would be fired. Santiago apologised, his forehead starting to sweat profusely. He tried to choose his words as well as he could, that he just wanted the leak fixed, and he didn’t mean to stir any problems. As he spoke Señor Ono’s face remained blank. Santiago couldn’t tell if he was really angry or if he just enjoyed watching Santiago sweat.
Santiago left the office, and as he did, Ana Maria and Claudia smiled at him. Santiago smiled back but wiped it off his face the moment he went down the stairs. For many years after, he made it a point not to say anything to the administration. Though he knew deep down that what he was doing was wrong, he had lost his courage. It would take him some years to get it back.
17 February 1993
« Gracias por ayudarme. »
« Really. You don’t have to say that. »
« But I say it because it is the truth. My stomach feels a lot better now. That massage you gave, it helped, a lot. »
« Gas causes a lot of pain, but in reality it’s easy to solve. »
« But it’s not just the gas. You really took the time to observe my stomach, and then you helped. Not a lot of doctors do that. They are quick to give medications, but they don’t listen to their patients. I feel better now, and it is because of you. So, I said thank you. I thank you, de verdad. »
23 June 1997
It wasn’t just that the X-ray machine wasn’t working. It was that the X-ray machine had been bought a few days ago, and already it wasn’t working. Santiago was convinced it had already been broken when it came. But when Santiago told this to the administrative manager, who was at that time Señor Lima, he got angry.
« This is not your problem. You do not work in the imaging department. »
« Pero… »
« ¿Pero… pero… que? »
Santiago saw the ire in Señor Lima’s eyes. At least Señor Lima was open to listening. He wasn’t threatening to fire him then and there like the previous administrative managers. But giving that little bit of his attention was the most he did. And Señor Lima was volatile. He put his coffee in the pot and paced around, not looking Santiago in the eyes, looking rather like he wanted to find something to hit.
« If the people in the imaging department complain, we will listen. You are here to help your patients. There is nothing for you to complain about. I don’t want to listen. »
Señor Lima saw the coffee was only partially filled, so he came to Santiago’s side by the wall and smashed his fist onto the painted surface above him.
« ¿Me entiendes? You are here to work, not to ask questions. »
« Pero, Señor… »
« ¿Me entiendes? » Señor Lima barked as he pounded the wall, causing pieces of paint to fall onto Santiago’s head and the room to rumble. His eyes bulged. Santiago avoided eye contact, only because he knew he’d be physically hit if he were to engage.
« Yes, sir. » Santiago said. « It is not my place to say anything. I understand. I will go. »
Señor Lima didn’t seem to have anymore to say, and Santiago left calmly.
But when he got into the lift and he saw no one else was there, he couldn’t help but bang his own fist against the door. He shouted some curse words, raising his voice in a way he wished he could have done in front of Señor Lima.
Things were supposed to be different after ExxonMobil discovered oil in their country. The newspapers had written long praising articles about the government and how rich the country was becoming. A lot of growth lay ahead, though it was mostly seen in the buildings that were being built up and in the estates of the people who owned these companies and buildings. At the hospital, things were about the same. Santiago treated a lot of patients who were dying of hunger or thirst, or who were just coming to get free meals. He guessed three out of four people of his country were living with next to nothing. It was just the few key families starting to get rich.
The families of senior doctors, his supervisors, and the hospital managers.
Santiago had said what he had said because he wanted things to be better for the people who lived here. That was all. He had meant nothing amiss. Quite the opposite. He loved his hospital, he loved living in the capital, he loved his people. He just hated seeing how little things were improving for the regular people who didn’t have any connection to the government or big companies.
He wasn’t trying to make a statement about them at all. He just wanted the equipment in the hospital to work.
He banged his fist against the lift one more time.
Why was it such a sin to want something better for his country? Why was it so wrong to want things to benefit those suffering from negligence, instead of seeking out benefits for himself?
2 August 2010
« Hola. »
« Hola. »
« Forgive me for talking too much. As you can tell, I am new here, and you are going to be my guiding doctor today. »
« Yes, yes, I know. You are the new nurse. ¿What is your name? »
« Ana Maria. »
« ¿Ana Maria? »
«. Yes, Ana Maria. ¿Why are you making that face? You look angry all of a sudden. »
« Pues, there used to be an Ana Maria who worked here, and she bothered me. »
« I am sorry. I know Ana Maria is the name of people who tend to be bitches. »
« ¿What? That is not what I wanted to say at all. »
« But it is the truth. I mean, I am kidding, but it is also the truth. I am sorry this other Ana Maria hurt you. »
« You are nothing like her. You are half her age. You have all these strange colours in your hair. And tattoos… most of the nurses here don’t have tattoos. »
« ¿Ya lo ves? Not all Ana Marias are the same. There is no Ana Maria disguise. It is not a conspiracy. We all have different personalities. What a surprise. »
« Okay, okay, te entiendo. »
« ¿ And what is your name? »
« Santiago Ondobama. »
« ¿Santiago? ¿Do you know the first person who tried to rape me was named Santiago? »
« ¿And now what are you saying? »
« I’m joking. But also I’m not joking. Really, his name was Santiago. He was only thirteen. He didn’t know anything. He was from my village of Cupapa. There, the men think they can use women for anything. But me… I’m not that kind of woman. I stood on his penis and almost pulled it off with my foot. »
« ¿You are from Cupapa? »
« Yes. »
« That is on the way to my home village. »
« Oh, that is nice. It looks like they are bringing in the patient now. »
« Yes, we should stop talking. »
« But, Doctor Ondobama ¿do you want to know something? »
« ¿What? »
« This was nice. I enjoyed talking to you. I’m not just saying it. And I’m not flirting also. You look old enough to be my father. But as friends, I like this. Let’s talk more. I’d really like to get to know you, if you’d let me have your time. »
27 August 2024
« You are the best doctor I have ever had. »
« Gracias. »
« I am not saying it to be polite. I am saying it because it is the truth. You are the best doctor I have ever had, one of the best in this hospital. ¿Did you know that? »
« No. »
« I have had many doctors before you. I know how they are and how they think. But you are different. You are a great doctor, and you are a good person, one of the few I have met who are genuine, and honestly so. I will try my best with the doctor who will take up my case after you are gone, but please remember me, and visit me when you can. »
27 September 2024
« And so, it is official now, ¿yes? ¿You are retired? »
« Yes. »
« Perfecto » says Angela Mokuy, the director of the hospital. She gets up and shakes Father’s hand. Then the other people from the administration come to shake it, congratulating him and giving their smiles, which dissipate from their faces the moment he looks away.
Last month he said he was retiring, and today is his last day. Father is just two years away from completing thirty years at the hospital, but he doesn’t mind it. He doesn’t have to reach milestone numbers for the sake of it. Earlier in the day he saw his last patients, he handed over his files, and now he is meeting the board and the directors and the managers to receive his last paycheck and some final words of wisdom. The meeting is quick and easy. Most of what they discuss are procedural, like how much they appreciated his service over the years, and when he’ll start to receive his pension. Father mostly spaces out and tries not to fall asleep as they speak. They are just as boring as the pastors Mother forces Father to listen to when they go to church, which also reminds Father that he is going to have a lot of free time after today, and he will have to do bothersome things like attending sermon again.
Father sits there for some time, really feeling the wood of the chair against his back. Time and time again he has visited this office over the years, and nothing about it has changed. Dust still stubbornly clings to the wood of the table. The portraits of Obiang and his family decorate the walls, as well as the various directors and managers who once worked here. Father starts to remember all of these managers. Most of them got on his nerves, but they met their comeuppance in the end. Augusto Lima was involved in a corruption scandal. His old supervisor, Doctor Ndongo, died in his sixties from a sudden heart attack. He thinks about the random managers who tried to find ways to fire him, and the others who shot him down each and every time he tried to start any inquiry involving the maintenance of the hospital. He gave it one good try last year, but nothing came out of it. It is official. No matter whether or not Father remains at the hospital or leaves, things aren’t going to change.
It is going to be over. It isn’t going to be his problem anymore. Father’s eyes still linger on the wall, but he’s not really looking at these photos anymore. What’s flashing in his mind instead are snapshots of himself from when he was younger. The impressionable junior doctor, Santiago Ondobama, his head shaped long and rectangular like a cricket bat, his skin so pitch black it was clear he was from the village, and his wide, naïve, tooth-filled smile.
That was him. That man was Father. And that man is always going to be Father, no matter where he goes next. Just because Father is retiring doesn’t mean he is going to stop trying. It just means he is going to start focusing his desire to improve the world and help the people who live in it through a different set of actions. He is going to be there for his family, and that is a service, too, just as valiant as treating patients.
Father gets up, ready to leave. He wonders how his mother is doing and what his wife has cooked for the three of them.
