The Last Part Where the Exciting Stuff Finally Happens

Photo helpfully posted on Facebook previously by Moussa 

Finally the end of the saga, and if you made it this far -- nice work (I know it's you, Mom)! To remind you: we had just bought a new-to-us spare tire, and we were back on the road with another 350km to go at 5pm with an hour left of good daylight and the only good bit of road behind us.

I told you it is pretty out here.

About an hour later, I was braking for potholes or goats or something, when I felt the brake push all the way to the floor. I am not a car person, but on the giant Land Cruiser trucks that I have been driving, when the brakes are working, you push a little on the pedal and feel the catch pretty quickly. In this case, the catch wasn’t there, and I had to push all the way in, like how much you have to push the clutch in before there was any catch (pretty much all the way to the floor, which means Sister Short Legs here is almost standing), and it wasn’t a strong catch. I knew it was probably the back brakes, which we had just had fixed, but likely they hadn’t been fixed as well as we had hoped. A car person gave me his theory as to what happened because it has happened to him before--possibly someone forgot to tighten the thing when he was fixing the other thing and then the thing fell off and didn't do what it was supposed to do. I really appreciated his efforts at the explanation, which actually made sense at the time, but unfortunately all that remains of his attempt to educate me are that the thing wasn't tightened. Anyway, we were in the middle of nowhere. There was nowhere to fix the brakes or re-tighten the un-tightened things. There was nothing to do except convince myself to drive more slowly, which, along with remembering names of car parts, is not one of my stronger skills. I told myself to stay in 4^th or below, but you can go pretty fast in 4^th too. I told Nesie what had happened, and I asked him to pray.

About 20km outside of the last town before N’djamena, it was almost dark and hard to see. It was too light for the headlights to help much but too dark to see very well. I really wanted to get to Massaguet (the last town) by 7:00pm because it was a stupid goal that I had set for myself. From Massaguet there are only 80km left before N’djamena. I was hoping to get home by 8:30, and I remember thinking to myself, if anything happens, it will be way after 8:30 before you make it home, so try to drive carefully!

The aftermath. You can see that I had the lights on, but it's still light-ish out.
At this point everyone was really worried about me, but I was really worried about the chickens.

Clearly I don’t listen to myself because when I swerved to miss some tire-killing potholes I saw at the last moment because it was hard to see, I lost control of the car, it slid across the road and flipped on its side landing in the grass. I remember lying there for a moment listening to Nesie pray and Antani scream my name thinking, “Yeah, we aren’t getting home by 8:30.” And then I told Antani I was OK. And everyone else said they were ok. Two young men walking by who had run for their lives when I lost control of the car and it looked like I was heading for them, ran over to help us. They broke the passenger side window and helped pull us out of the car. That’s when I noticed my dress was ripped and my left shoulder and arm were dripping blood. My right hand was ripped up too, with one nail broken in half. Fortunately, no one else was injured. I did what I always do when I think I might need medical help: I called Claire.

I was pretty upset and not very coherent. We were attracting a crowd. I genuinely had no idea what we should do and how we could get out of there. Claire told me to get to Guinebor Hospital (where she works) if I could and they would help me get stitches (it was clear that I needed them) and clean the wounds, but that was another 100km or so away and we had no transportation. I looked over and found that a crowd of 15 men lined up by the truck and “one-two-three” pushed it back upright! Fortunately I got that on video because say what you want about Chadians, but this is the night before one of the big Muslim holidays, and they’re all dressed up and off to festivities, but they happen upon a tipped over car and they say, “Hey guys, let’s fix this!” They flipped it back over and went on their way like it was no big deal. Then a Chadian military car stopped to check out the situation. They were on their way to Massaguet. The “Captain” (the other guy called him that so I assume that was his rank) told us to get in his car with his driver and he got in our car and they drove us to the “hospital” in Massaguet, dropped us off and then headed on their way to their festivities. The Captain said, “The car works, but the engine seems to be getting really hot so you should probably fix it here if you can.”

My efforts at posting the video of the guys pushing the car back up.

Another effort in case the other one doesn't work. Likely neither one will work.

Meanwhile, I was ushered into the “hospital” by my very concerned passengers (none of whom had even a scratch) who had been traumatised by my stupid driving but were all mostly concerned for me, as I was dripping blood all over the floor. It’s ok because the floor was already covered in mud and bugs. I use quotation marks around the word “hospital” because it was one room with a man in a lab coat, a table with some medicines on it and a few beds pushed around the corners of the room. One light bulb lit the room, and that wasn’t sufficient to see the wounds, so one of the ladies standing around who was presumably a nurse, but could also have just been a friend of the guy in the lab coat, whipped out a nokia phone and held the tiny flashlight over my arm. Another lady helpfully snipped off a chunk of my dress, along with a bit of my hair, so that I could pull my arm out. The doc and another kid in a lab coat start rubbing down my arm with betadine (?), which I think is iodine in English? (Red stuff that burns.) They dug the cotton swabs in my wounds and marveled at my ability to speak Arabic. In between my groans I told them my life story, and they were excited about all my time in the Arab world. Then I noticed the doc grab a large syringe, and I figured things were going to get worse. He poked the needle down into one side of my jagged elbow wound, then twirled it a bit and poked it up out of the other side of the wound, like he was trying to sew it shut. At first I thought he was starting the stitches, and then I realized it was the local anesthetic as he squirted the liquid all over the outside of the wound. Then the young kid in the lab coat popped over and started sewing. I’ve been told that proper procedure is to give the local anesthetic a bit of time to start working before sewing up the wound. Also, I’ve been told that usually it’s given before they start swabbing out the gashes with burning red stuff. And I think that generally when medicine is administered by injection, it is supposed to go inside of the body and not be squirted on the outside, but I'm no medical professional. Anyway, I definitely felt the stitches, but later while I was sitting on one of the beds waiting for Urbain to show up, I noticed that there was a bit of numbness in my arm.  I also noticed that the guy who wrapped the bandages around my stitches did not wear gloves, though the others had, and he also tore strips of tape and gauze with his teeth. I don’t want to blame him for the infection I developed later, but he is on the suspect list.

They have gloves on!

It’s 80km from Massaguet to N’djamena, as I’ve mentioned previously. It took Urbain nearly 2 hours to drive that distance to come pick us up, which is not because the road is terrible (it isn’t great, but it is not terrible), but because he doesn’t drive fast at night (a lesson that some of us should take into account, I realize), and he didn’t crack 60kmph even once. Covid curfew at the time was set at 10pm, but we had a doctor’s note from the doc in the lab coat, clearly the most official person present (so why did they let the kid intern do the stitches?). He wrote a nice note on fancy doctor paper, declaring that I needed an xray ASAP. It is possible that he really believed that. To me, a non-medical person who does not own a lab coat and has been known to use candy as medication and the power of positive thinking to cure headaches, it seemed fairly clear that no xray was needed, but whenever we were called upon to produce that permit to drive after curfew (3-4 times actually), the fact that I hadn’t been given any actual pain medication this whole time and the fact that my dress was covered in blood and blood was soaking through the bandages as well, really sold the medical emergency. It did not spur Urbain to faster driving, which is probably good, though I was pushing the gas pedal for him in my mind.

Don't say I only post photos of me when I look good.

We made it to my house at 1am. Because they wouldn’t have my pained facial expressions to convince police that we were ok to be out after curfew, everyone stayed over at my house that night. The men slept on beds and mattresses in Henry’s house (since Henry is back in Kenya now and Victor was in Dourbali), and Antani slept on a mattress in my house. The next day, everyone headed to their respective homes, and Claire came to pick me up, fill me with drugs, drive me to her hospital (about 20 minutes out of town) to have me checked over by Dr Tom of Guinebor Hospital, bought me lunch and escorted me to an Art Show with Tea put on by the Guinebor Kids (so classy are these multicultural little TCKs), and then drove me home and then went back out to Guinebor. If you have a friend who is that caring, selfless and wonderful, you are pretty blessed, aren’t you? I know I am.

Claire told me that she looks serious in this photo because this is serious business.
She helpfully wrote out everything for me about the meds
because I did not pay attention when she was talking. 

Dr Tom was actually fairly impressed by Kid in a Coat’s stitches, so I felt bad for doubting him. He did say that he should have stitched up the cut at the top of my shoulder though. I don’t blame Kid in a Coat for that—the nokia phone light was just not powerful enough, but that could have been a cause for the infection too. Fortunately, due to double doses of antibiotics from Claire, Pharmacist Extraordinare, that didn’t last long. It maybe lasted a bit longer than it would have since the pain meds made me barf up everything for two days. Claire drove in AGAIN to bring me anti-nausea meds, which I later misplaced, and when I couldn't find them, I immediately assumed that the dogs ate then (which was unfair to them, but they do cause a lot of mayhem and destruction in my house). Later I found them in my bag (where I had put them and promptly forgotten), so it was all good, as I was really worried that the dogs had eaten them, but I would never find out because they wouldn't be able to barf them up--because anti-nausea. Claire is very kind to put up with me. I will say that a convenient thing that happened this year is that I have learned how to throw up. It took me a long time, but it is amazing how much better you feel after. All it took was a year of consistent trauma, pain, and frequent medical issues to help me re-learn a skill I presumably was born with.

Doc Tom and I in our super-cool Chadian facemasks.

A fun thing about being in an accident or in hospital for any reason here, is that people will come to visit you and check in on you. When you are alone, as I am, you are then responsible for dragging yourself out of bed, sitting in a chair and smiling awkwardly while hoping you have something in the cupboard to offer them. Fortunately, I always have cookies, and since I wasn’t eating due to nausea, there were still plenty to offer to my guests.

Céline came by to fix my bandanges.
Yes my house is unorganized and the couch cushions are like that
so that the dogs don't mess them up and the mattress is in there
because Antani slept there and I couldn't move it out with only one functioning arm.

Observe the beauty and order of Claire's house in contrast to mine.
She only has one cat. Also she's better at interior design than I am.
Also I have no interest or abilities in interior design.

Moussa showed up with Victor on Saturday to pick up some supplies and check in on me. He took some videos and photos, which he diligently posted on Facebook on my behalf (thus informing many surprised people who I'd not told that I had been in an accident). He also tried to give away my dogs because he says there are too many. He is right, but I haven’t given any away yet, though I have locked them out of my house a few times. He actually called Emelie and told her to come take the one he calls Kakilé, which I actually decided officially to call Kwach in honor of Henry, though in reality I still call her Puppy even though she's now bigger and fatter than both Flip and York because she is a glutton. Anyway,  Emelie knows me too well and didn't follow orders to pick up her new puppy. She does want Kakilé/Kwach/Puppiko (that's what she calls her) though, and I'll probably cave and give her the dog, but right now Antani's kids and myself love her too much.

How can I give up this puppy who so graciously steals my laundry
off the drying rack and then wears my bra around her neck because she knows it makes her look good?

Moussa was so proud to help Nadji cut the bandages for me.

Nadji and Céline (both nurses from Guinebor and friends of mine) came in alternate days to change my bandages. Nadji insisted on doing it even when I thought it could wait because he was worried about the infection.

Gross photo also courtesy of Moussa

And finally the end to the saga: Céline took the stitches out. She invited me over to her house for lunch and stitches removal (Claire was invited too). Lénaëlle (Céline’s daughter) put on a “spectacle” (the Guinebor kids are artists and performers for sure) and decorated the table with flowers in honor of our visit. Stitches came out fairly easily. I do not have to drive out over the bumpy dirt road to Guinebor for a while, though I can now because I have a big truck. And I did the next weekend to make cinnamon rolls with Claire. I had to learn the trick of turning the key, warming up the car system (turn key to light up dash but not start engine, then wait until the squiggle on the dash goes out), and get the horn fixed (I cannot drive in Chad without a horn), and fix the windshield wipers because it’s rainy season. I also learned that in order for the driver’s side door to stay shut while you’re driving, you must lock it (see the last post when I nearly took out a motorcycle driver when my door swung open while I was driving). Anyway, all’s well that ends well. And I’ll be off on another trip soon, and this time I will drive a bit slower. And bring more food. And leave as early as possible. And refuse to run any more errands for passengers. And make sure the brakes are working.

Stitches are out grâce à Céline and flowers in my braids are grâce à Lénaëlle.

And I was back later that week to make cinnamon rolls with Claire!
While they were baking we took many timed geography quizzes online
 because we are nerds who know how to have a good time.

They turned out well, don't you think?
Not pictured: cream cheese icing

Oh-and one important thing I forgot to mention: the chickens survived the crash! And then somehow they survived the night in my compound full of dogs--they are truly impressive creatures that will probably taste really good when Antani cooks them up.

  

This is not a photo of the chickens that survived,
but this is a photo I took on a previous trip to Bitkine
when we stopped to buy some chickens to bring back to N'djamena.
Clearly chickens here are tough birds.