Moses (of bible fame) was a very interesting bloke. His ability to cast
asunder large bodies of water would be particularly useful to many an
outreach expedition. Whilst his namesake, as far as I’m aware, is unable to
do this he did manage to save both the clinic and my frayed nerves!
One of the staff, David, had mentioned that there was a health worker who
lived not far from the clinic. He hadn’t worked for a few years and had been
doing other things (attending theological college for one) but he was
currently not working. David hadn’t finished his sentence by the time I had
written the letter to this man inviting him for an informal chat.
Moses, the health worker (Not the bible bloke, otherwise I really would have
something to write about!) strode through the early morning mist. He greeted
me with a bone-crushing handshake. He was a tall man, with a short beard and
voice ten octaves below baritone. It wasn’t so much as voice as a low
rumble. The sort of tone that could really put fire and brimstone into any
sermon.
As we spoke the sun broke through the clouds and cast the clinic in a
brilliant white light. A heavenly sign? I hoped so. A few moments later all
was well, the clinic had a new supervisor and I had stopped at least some of
my hair turning charcoal grey. We had been eight hours from closure. I never
want to be that close again.
Moses started the next day and whilst there were a few bits that had lodged
somewhere near the back of his brain they seemed to jump easily enough into
his working memory. I am sure he will be fine.
Very pleased with ourselves we half walked half skipped back to base, where
I am now, chilling. The next few weeks’ movements are a little up in the
air, but a holiday is defiantly on the agenda.
