stick and stone

A couple of Mondays ago, a primary student broke her wrist while doing a high jump. Though I arrived to the school just as this happened, there was no sense of urgency among the teachers who were around, so after they filled me in, I didn’t push on the subject, assuming that it has been taken care of properly. Then after about 20 mins of us sitting around our usual ‘faculty spot’ (under the mango tree), they started to have a serious discussion, and formally asked me to join. I had no idea what they were talking about, but as some started to switch to English during the discussion, it dawned on me that they were talking about the injured student.

It turned out, that the problem at hand hadn’t been taken care of at all. I found out that they simply just took the girl back to her parents’ house, and were now discussing the next step. I asked whether or not she received any medical treatment at all during this time, and the answer was, they took her to a local healer, and there was nothing he could do, which was why they took her to her parents. By this time, it would have been close to an hour since the girl injured herself—and had yet to received any proper care. Freaked out, I brought out my loud and rude self and urged that they should at least take her to the clinic, which is across the road from the school, a mere 30 feet away. Pretty sure I said something along the line of, “You are all teachers, not medical professionals, take her to the clinic! There is a nurse there!”

After another 5 mins of pondering, the group dispersed, and I am told that they would take her to the clinic. While they went to get her, I walked over the clinic since at this point, sitting idly under the mango tree lost its appeal. The teachers and the girl arrived shortly afterward, and she is about 12 years old. Her wrist was wrapped in an old t-shirt, and though she didn’t show it on her face, it was very obvious that the past hour has not been pleasant for her.

To my disappointment, the nurse didn’t look at her injury at all, rather, she gave her some medicine, and 2 shots, which I later found were pain killer. My irritation didn’t subside, so I urged them to take her to the hospital. Some more discussion in the local language went on, and the girl is picked back up on to the moto to leave the clinic. Since I wasn’t sure what they were talking about, the sight of them leaving gave hope that they were taking her to the hospital. However, I soon learned that it wasn’t true once the moto turned to go to the opposite direction.

Loud and rude again, I asked my Counter Part (CP) about what was going on. He told me that instead of the hospital, they were taking her to a bone setter in the next village. Another teacher, J, saw my disbelief, and reminded me that here in the village, not everyone has insurance or money to go to the hospital, so they go to local healers. I have never felt more useless in Ghana.

I couldn’t bring myself to go back to the mango tree, but I also didn’t know what else to do, so I just sat outside the clinic for a while. My CP left, but then came back and told me that J would take me to the bone setter. He wanted me to see what were going to happen.