“Simi … oh, hello.”

Simi turns to see who Marybelle is greeting. She expects it to be the doctors coming back to their seats, but it’s not. It is Jen, Hansie and Katania who approach the sofas.

“There you are. We’ve been looking for you,” says Hansie.

As they come closer, Simi sees Katania twitch a patronising smile towards them. “You ladies were marvellous,” she says. “Mind if I sit down? My feet are killing me.”

“Sure,” says Ruan, pulling up a chair for her.

“And you are?” she asks before sitting, looking first towards Dr Miriam, and then turning to the pilot.

“I am the pilot. Douglas Makanda. That young lady is Dr Miriam Muzenda.”

Katania acknowledges the information with a nod. “I am Katania Stone,” she says. Her bangles jangle as she raises her right hand and places it briefly on her chest, before gesturing towards Jen. “This young lady is my daughter, Jennifer, and her new husband, Hansie van Graan.”

“Congratulations,” says Douglas Makanda.

Katania sits down on the chair Ruan has provided. She crosses her legs slowly, turquoise trousers clinging. Simi wonders wearily how she manages to look so pristine every time she sees her. The white of her blouse is ghostly in the dark, and a broad gold hairclip gleams when she turns her head.

Simi adjusts her kaftan, aware suddenly of the lingering smell of sausages. Carefully, she raises her good hand to check her hair wrap, and is relieved to find that it is still holding its position, at least as far as she can tell. She tweaks it slightly, just for the sake of doing something, and as she does so notices the newly-weds slipping away to join the smokers sheltering outside, under a remaining patch of roof.

She swings her attention back again and hears Katania questioning the young doctor. “Are there more of you? Someone told me there were four of you.”

“Three of us,” Dr Miriam replies.

“And one pilot,” adds Douglas Makanda, grinning.

Marybelle chips in. “The other two doctors have just left. They were telling us how terrible it is out there.”

“Awful, simply awful,” agrees Katania. “So sad that I won’t be able to help any more tomorrow.”

“Why? Are you off somewhere?” Marybelle asks.

“’Fraid so. Desperate shame, but Jean Jacques can’t stand the thought of me stranded in this chaos. He’s sending a helicopter to take me to Harare. His driver and car are waiting there.”

Simi tries to hang on to the conversation, but her mind starts to spin, mulching ideas into fragments and then scattering them just out of reach. She is vaguely aware that Aneke and Ruan are chasing helicopters, hoping for a ride. That Marybelle is talking about Jean-Jacques. Jean Jacques? Simi ponders, then connects. Katania’s man. Somewhere remote. Africa. Mining. Something. Simi struggles to focus. She wants to know. How did he hear? How did he arrange a rescue? She sits forwards, clutching the wrist of her sore hand against her chest.

“I just know …. wouldn’t like me to be stuck … he’d want this. Hansie and Jen sorted it …. insisted. He’ll pay … don’t want him worried.” Katania’s smile, sweet as a slice of lemon, holds until Aneke asks the question again.

“Any space for us?”

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

“Is that it?” asks Dr Jabu Ndlovu.

“Is that what?” Aneke replies.

“Nothing else? No injury? Not trying to save anyone? Arrange a lift for them perhaps? You just want to get to Harare by helicopter to sort out your passport problems?”

“Ja,” says Aneke, folding her pink-jacketed arms. “Of course. We’re visitors … foreign nationals. Australians. We didn’t ask to be caught up in this cyclone. Our embassy will want to make sure we’re okay. To help us.”

“Oh.” The doctor lets the word fill the space for a few seconds, then he turns to his colleagues. “I’m not sure these good people know what’s going on out there.” He turns back. “Do you know what’s going on out there? Do you understand why we’re here?”

“Ja, of course,” snaps Aneke. “We’re not stupid. And we know that you’ve been sent up to help.”

“Sent up by who?” asks the doctor, his voice getting curter by the syllable.

“How should I know? The boss we’re looking for maybe. Anyway, it doesn’t matter. Here we are. Your first customers, hey?” She tries a laugh, but it doesn’t catch. Silence hangs like a guillotine.

In the end the first response is from the doctor at the furthest end of the sofa. Comfortably round, he heaves himself upright, and begins to speak so softly that Simi, head and hand throbbing, has to sit forward to hear him.

“I am Dr Jonathan Hove. We’re here to help the injured. Not you. Out there everything is broken – hillsides, bridges, roads, all broken. Rivers flooding. Homes flattened. And more rain coming. Tomorrow our job is to help those we couldn’t reach today. To help them. Not you.”

Simi stares at the sweaty glisten on the doctor’s forehead, shining in the semi-dark. Nobody says anything. The doctor takes off his glasses and polishes them on his shirt, then he puts them back on, tweaks them with one hand and edges out from between the table and the sofa. With his eyes averted he walks past Aneke and Ruan, and Dr Jabu Ndlovu follows him. Neither of the doctors says a word.

“It’s terrible,” Marybelle whispers to Simi. “Terrible. Poor Tonderai.”

Simi thinks about Tonderai. Images from his story about a girl merge with memories of the storm and its neverending, pouring rain. She looks outside to see if it is still raining, but it is too dark to tell, and her view is obstructed suddenly by Aneke crossing over to take a seat on the sofa next to the pilot, who moves down hastily.

“Agh Ruan man, what are we going to do?” Ruan does not provide an answer.

Simi closes her eyes. She has no idea what they’re going to do. What any of them are going to do.

Must be about twenty-four hours since that cyclone hit, and only progress I’ve seen is the lights flashing on, just now. Don’t know who managed that. Brilliant, except they went out again. At least the doctors are staying. They’re our big hope. I like them.

She feels a hand on her arm as the sofa cushion dips beside her, and Marybelle leans over.

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023

 

Simi, numb and burning at the same time, sits down. She slips her aching feet out of her sandals, and leans back against the soft red cushions. Next to her she hears Marybelle telling one of the doctors about the splinter, and how it happened. The doctor is young with beautifully braided hair, and a vivid tiger on her t-shirt. Simi is too exhausted to listen properly, but she does learn that the doctor’s name is Miriam. She tries to follow the conversation between Dr Miriam and Marybelle, but all she can do is drift in and out, her head resting on the back of the sofa. Then suddenly a new voice jolts her awake. Familiar and unsettling, it cuts through her dosing. She opens her eyes, and tries to sit up.

Aneke.

“Hi. We’re looking for the doctors?”

“Well, you’ve found us,” the young doctor replies, her smile wide and generous.

“You’re a doctor?”

“Yes.”

There is a lingering pause. “You are the doctors?” Aneke asks, eyes sweeping around the group.

“Yes. Us three,” says Dr Miriam, pointing to herself, and the two men opposite her. “On the end there, he’s our pilot.”

“Really? Is this all of you? I mean, where’s your boss?”

Simi winces. The pilot leans forward. “Our boss?”

“Ja, the guy in charge,” confirms Ruan, standing slightly behind Aneke.

“In charge? Well, I’m the pilot, Douglas Makanda. If you wanted a ‘boss’ … maybe Dr Jabu Ndlovu here should be your man. It’s his private clinic that’s paying for the helicopter.” He grins at the large man sitting next to him.

“No. Not him,” says Aneke impatiently. “I mean your boss boss. We need to tell him that we need a lift back to Harare on the next flight.”

“Really?” says Douglas Makanda, as Dr Jabu Ndlovu gets to his feet.

“Who might I be speaking to?” the doctor asks, looking down at Aneke.

She waves the passports at him. “Mr and Mrs van Wek. From Australia.”

“And why do you need to be uplifted with such urgency?”

“I’d rather tell your boss. Your manager,” Aneke replies.

“Really? Well that’s going to be difficult. We don’t have a manager. We left our office manager, Miss Maria Marimo, in Harare. She can order stationery for you, or find you the next appointment if that’s what you need? But if you have any other kind of problem you need to tell us.” Dr Jabu Ndlovu speaks slowly, his eyes rock solid. He is a tall, broad man in his late fifties. His voice is deep.

“No manager? ” Aneke persists.

“No. We have no boss. We’re colleagues. We organised this mission together.” Simi, exhaustion put to one side, hears Dr Jabu Ndlovu’s measured patience thinning.

Ruan also hears this, and tries to manage the mood. “What’s happened is that our passports are damaged,” he says quickly. “They got soaked in the rain and we need to get back to Harare to get new ones. We’re only half-way through our holiday, and we want to sort this out so we still have time to get to Vic Falls.”

(Thanks to Pixabay for the image)

Copyright Georgie Knaggs & The Phraser 2023