hallway instructing her to check on Lila.
***
They went down to the cafeteria on the first floor. His clinic was just two floors, funded by a combination of nonprofits including the Red Cross and Oxfam. The cafeteria was busy, full of children—some dressed in hospital gowns but most barefoot, clad in torn t-shirts.
“We feed a lot of hungry street children here,” Ayo explained. “Basically, anyone who comes in our doors, especially a child, is given a free, hot meal. It wasn’t our original intention for the cafeteria, it was just supposed to feed the patients, but that’s what it has evolved into.”
It was hard for Sylvia to think about all these other children when her own child was struggling upstairs, but she tried to concentrate on what Ayo was saying.
“How do you manage, I mean funding wise?” Sylvia said, searching her brain for some way to make conversation. She desperately wanted to connect with him. He was so noble, handsome, the modern-day hero, she felt herself falling for him.
“We manage. We get bits and bobs here and there. I do a big fundraiser gala every year back in London with Oxfam to raise money specifically for my clinic. I simply have to show up in black tie and tails and give a speech about the place.”
She thought he probably cleaned up nicely. The wealthy ladies in London would have no problem reaching into their pocketbooks on his behalf.
They ate toast, eggs, fresh pineapple, and tea. Sylvia couldn’t help looking at all the hungry faces around her, dark-eyed children with swollen bellies. The place, the children, the man—suddenly she felt like dedicating a part of her life to his cause. To him.
“When Lila’s better,” she said. “I want to come back here. To help you.”
“I would love that,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. She thought she saw something else there too—desire, longing, loneliness, the same things she felt. But then he stood up abruptly and said, “Right, we should get back to Lila.”
***
When they returned, the nurse looked slightly panicked. Ayo spoke in Yoruba as if to deliberately exclude Sylvia.
“What is it?” she asked, rushing to her child.
“She’s developing a slight fever. I’m not sure what from exactly. Perhaps from fighting the venom or even from the anti-venom itself. I’m going to add aspirin to her IV to bring the fever down and then we’ll watch her closely.”
“I shouldn’t have left her, I shouldn’t have….” She sat down on the chair next to Lila’s cot. She shouldn’t have been thinking of him.
He sat down next to her. “Don’t fret. It will be alright. Trust me.”
She felt his breath on her face. “Stay with me,” she said. He let her rest her head on his shoulder for a few brief minutes before leaving for his rounds.
***
A few hours later, he returned to the room.
“Good news, her fever is abating,” he said, examining Lila’s charts.
She sat next to Lila’s cot, staring out at the window. Beyond the clinic walls, she could see the town, clusters of rusty tin roofs and spirals of smoke in the sky.
“She was an accident,” she said, still looking out the window. “I didn’t want her at first. That’s why the spirits are punishing me.” She wanted to say more, but she didn’t.
“No one is punishing you. Least of all the spirits,” he said, sitting down next to her.
“You don’t believe in them then, the spirits?”
“Oh I believe in them all right. But I don’t think they’re punishing you.”
“Then how do you explain all that’s happening to Lila?”
“Sickness happens. Things happen. I’m in the business of fighting off these evil things however they come about. Science can explain it in terms of germs or dirty water. But I suppose we humans believe in spirits to fulfill this psychological need…this need to feel like we have some control in all of this.”
“And do we? Have control?”
He put his arm around her. “There’s a myth we
***
They went down to the cafeteria on the first floor. His clinic was just two floors, funded by a combination of nonprofits including the Red Cross and Oxfam. The cafeteria was busy, full of children—some dressed in hospital gowns but most barefoot, clad in torn t-shirts.
“We feed a lot of hungry street children here,” Ayo explained. “Basically, anyone who comes in our doors, especially a child, is given a free, hot meal. It wasn’t our original intention for the cafeteria, it was just supposed to feed the patients, but that’s what it has evolved into.”
It was hard for Sylvia to think about all these other children when her own child was struggling upstairs, but she tried to concentrate on what Ayo was saying.
“How do you manage, I mean funding wise?” Sylvia said, searching her brain for some way to make conversation. She desperately wanted to connect with him. He was so noble, handsome, the modern-day hero, she felt herself falling for him.
“We manage. We get bits and bobs here and there. I do a big fundraiser gala every year back in London with Oxfam to raise money specifically for my clinic. I simply have to show up in black tie and tails and give a speech about the place.”
She thought he probably cleaned up nicely. The wealthy ladies in London would have no problem reaching into their pocketbooks on his behalf.
They ate toast, eggs, fresh pineapple, and tea. Sylvia couldn’t help looking at all the hungry faces around her, dark-eyed children with swollen bellies. The place, the children, the man—suddenly she felt like dedicating a part of her life to his cause. To him.
“When Lila’s better,” she said. “I want to come back here. To help you.”
“I would love that,” he said, looking directly into her eyes. She thought she saw something else there too—desire, longing, loneliness, the same things she felt. But then he stood up abruptly and said, “Right, we should get back to Lila.”
***
When they returned, the nurse looked slightly panicked. Ayo spoke in Yoruba as if to deliberately exclude Sylvia.
“What is it?” she asked, rushing to her child.
“She’s developing a slight fever. I’m not sure what from exactly. Perhaps from fighting the venom or even from the anti-venom itself. I’m going to add aspirin to her IV to bring the fever down and then we’ll watch her closely.”
“I shouldn’t have left her, I shouldn’t have….” She sat down on the chair next to Lila’s cot. She shouldn’t have been thinking of him.
He sat down next to her. “Don’t fret. It will be alright. Trust me.”
She felt his breath on her face. “Stay with me,” she said. He let her rest her head on his shoulder for a few brief minutes before leaving for his rounds.
***
A few hours later, he returned to the room.
“Good news, her fever is abating,” he said, examining Lila’s charts.
She sat next to Lila’s cot, staring out at the window. Beyond the clinic walls, she could see the town, clusters of rusty tin roofs and spirals of smoke in the sky.
“She was an accident,” she said, still looking out the window. “I didn’t want her at first. That’s why the spirits are punishing me.” She wanted to say more, but she didn’t.
“No one is punishing you. Least of all the spirits,” he said, sitting down next to her.
“You don’t believe in them then, the spirits?”
“Oh I believe in them all right. But I don’t think they’re punishing you.”
“Then how do you explain all that’s happening to Lila?”
“Sickness happens. Things happen. I’m in the business of fighting off these evil things however they come about. Science can explain it in terms of germs or dirty water. But I suppose we humans believe in spirits to fulfill this psychological need…this need to feel like we have some control in all of this.”
“And do we? Have control?”
He put his arm around her. “There’s a myth we
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