Working in a leprosarium 1968-74

I have posted before about our first day in the hospital on our first spell overseas. An introduction to Life in Africa The establishment had a large complex of programs run by a Christian mission. It was on land given by the Emperor’s daughter and it’s distinctive feature was that it was to have a large leprosarium. This was in a period where the concept for many including the government was to keep people suffering from leprosy (Hansen’s disease), certainly those with the infectious variety, apart from the general populous.

The government gave a grant to the mission to help treat 700 patients residing on the land already granted to them. Nearby there was another parcel of land given for the mission to produce food to feed the leprosy patients living on the leprosarium.

The mission took this work very seriously and expanded way beyond just keeping lepers off the streets and treating them in the relatively limited ways available at that time. The work of Drs Cochrane, Brand and Fritschi, basically in India, with their teams had made much progress but treatment was not as available nor efficient as it is today. India was much more developed. I had some time in India with Drs Cochrane and Fritschi on my way to Africa.

The local tribal language was what is now called Oromepha. The greeting was ‘Nega, fiya, urga’ roughly translated ‘hello, how are you? It’s nice to smell you.’ The last bit sounds nasty. But the verb really had broader meaning, including to sense, and I think the intent was something like ‘it’s good to sense your presence’. But because of the use of rancid butter smeared on clothing to make it waterproof, added to smokey fires in houses without chimneys, there was often a fairly powerful smell. When I had been working in the operating room where, in addition to the above, we used a lot of ether for anaesthetics, I personally collected some of the odour. Many times when I got home to greet my wife, with a loving kiss, I got told ‘You stink, go and have a shower.’

Early in our stay, I remember introducing my young son to a lovely bright young man who had come to visit me. The man knew good English. The boy greeted him politely then turned to me and said ‘Dad, do all Ethiopians smell like this?’ The guy was very gracious saying something about kids being like that everywhere!.

The compound had 2 parts. That devoted to leprosy treatment and that for general service to the surrounding community. Today I’ll write about the leprosy part of the work. The general service to the community aspects were almost as extensive! Continue reading “Working in a leprosarium 1968-74” →

Solomon – the third teenager

Solomon has been introduced previously as one of the teengers in the post A house full of teenagers. As a double orphan we decided to adopt him. Solomon is a common name there, as Menelik I, who the first king of Ethiopia’s long dynasty ending with Haile Selassie, is claimed to be the the son of the Jewish king Solomon, from an intimate moment with her, when he was visited by the Queen of Sheba.

We were planning to bring the 3 boys with us on a holiday to Australia, and that made us put his adoption plan into actIon. We needed to get a passport and a visa for him and there was no one who could legally sign for his application papers. So we made an approach to the Australian adoption agency. They denied us permission because of our age. We were older than 45. (That age has since been raised to 65.) So we went to the Ethiopian adoption agency who said that we could but it had to be by Australian rules. Which meant we couldn’t.

So I, in desperation, went to the Ethiopian Immigration Authorities and asked if they would give me special permission to sign the application paper for a passport. They said “No. Adopt him, and then you can.” I explained the above and was told to forget them officials and to go to a down country regional court and adopt him.

We did that. We were interviewed. They asked sensible questions, and about an hour later we had adoption papers signed and in our hands. It had cost me the equivalent of about $1.50. By local custom he was my son. Although my wife had been questioned in the meeting she wasn’t mentioned on the adoption papers. He was now ours (well mine at least). If he was ever naughty I was told that your son had …. etc.

When we flew down for this adoption, we were in a small plane. It was his first flight. Looking out the window he asked what the black dots scattered around were. We told him that they were Kraals (local mud huts). He said, “they look like cow shit”. A word he must have learned from his mates at school!

If he was to come to Australia we needed a visa for him. There was no Australian Embassy in Ethiopia but there was a High Commission in Nairobi. I was to bring him to Nairobi for an assessment, a medical check etc and if all was ok to get a visa for Australia. Ethiopians don’t need a visa to get into Kenya.

Before Ethiopia would allow him to leave the country to pick it up in Kenya we had to have a letter from a lawyer verifying that he was in fact an orphan and that we had adopted him legally.

I had previously operated on the Minister of Justice, a lawyer, under local anaesthetic for a large lump on his thumb. He didn’t trust the sterility of the government facilities. I hadn’t charged him. He was prepared to sign such a letter for me but had never written one like that before. If I wrote it he would sign and stamp it. So I did that and took the draft to his office for translation into Amharic, signing and stamping.

I had a call telling me that I could pick it up, but it would cost me US$100. In the 90’s that was a fair bit of money. At any rate my/his letter worked.

In Nairobi he passed his medical and we had an interview with a very nice lady. She was thorough. Eventually she said to me “are you telling me that he is 16?” I replied “No, I’m saying that I want him to be 16.” If over 16 he wouldn’t have been given a visa. She told me that she assessed him as older than that, and that if I had answered “yes” she would have made him have X-rays to accurately age him. (He already had wisdom teeth), but as I had been honest she would give us a visa.

Australia still doesn’t accept him as our son. He was allowed in, because there was then (now removed) a condition of entry if a child had been living with you for more than 4 years that he could get an australian visa. Solomon met that condition.

We all came for a holiday but soon after returning to Ethiopia I was expelled from the country and we returned with just him to live. Several years after he arrived in Australia he applied for citizenship and it was granted. Whilst not academic he has a strong work ethic. He is an Australian citizen. He and his wife both work in an aged care facility.

On first arriving in Sydney he was walking down the street with one of our sons. He saw an elderly lady walking a chihuahua and audibly exclaimed “Do they have pet rats in Australia?” Eventually our son by birth calmed the lady down by explaining that this was almost Solomon’s first day in Australia and they had no such dogs over there. I think she had planned to hit him over the head with her umbrella. Pet owners can be like that!

A sixth child legitimately ours. We found another later!

A protesting crowd — a quiet protest in the capital. The procession was about a kilometre long.

Dominic Cartier

Like a son

kids galore

In 1968, when we first went to Ethiopia, we had a lady W/ro (weysero – mrs) Balynish. She was separated from her husband and had four children – 2 girls and 2 boys. We didn’t see much of the girls but the boys were often at our place playing with our boys. Tadessa the younger of the two was almost always at our place. He was confident, cheeky and lovely. He and our oldest son used to ride around on our two horses as bosom pals. We kept in loose contact with him until sadly he died recently. We helped send one of his sons to University. We were friends.

A couple of memorable moments.

Ethiopian food is more spicy than most of ours. I guess maybe this is not so true now as many other nations (eg Indian) foods have become part of Western food. This particular day Tadee (as we called him) was carrying on about how there were no very spicy spices in our ‘ferengie’ foods. “Are you sure about that,” I asked him. “Certain” he replied. So I went to the pantry and gave him half a teaspoon of Tabasco sauce. With great superiority he opened his mouth wide, confidently swallowed all of it; dropped the spoon and ran outside screaming for water. Lesson learned.

He was attending a nearby small church school where they had full day lessons. One Wednesday he came to our place, at lunch time, and was talking to his mother in the kitchen. We could overhear the conversation. He was boasting about how he had bested his teacher that morning. Apparently he had obtained 1 out of 20 for a maths test. The teacher at the end of the lesson asked the students to call out their marks to have them recorded. When asked to give his mark, he replied 11. 1/20 sticks in a teachers mind, so he was called out the front for lying. In spite of knowing that the punishment was a caning, he confidently went to the front and told the teacher that the teacher couldn’t cane him, because his name was Tadessa Cartier! He got away with it.

Calling him into where we were eating he, smiling broadly, verified the story. “What do you think I would do to your very good friend, my son, if he lied like that?” I asked. As the sentence came out his smile quickly disappeared. “You’d give him a hiding?”. “Yes I would. Are you sure your name is ‘Cartier’?”. He clung to our really very tenuous relationship. So I told him that I would give him a hiding but at school in front of his class, as if I gave it in our home no one else would learn a lesson.

After lunch we went to school together. The teacher said the facts were true. So I took off my belt and applied 3 good whacks to the seat of learning. He fled screaming and neither his mother nor we saw him for 3 days. I went off to review the hundred leprosy patients we had on the compound with severe foot ulcers, as I did every Wednesday afternoon. He came back without grudges and carried on as if he was Tadessa Cartier.

I loved that kid and still love the memory of him.

Dominic Cartier

Easter this year.

There was a stage when the local church head office had to deal with 4,000 displaced people. Displaced because nearly 100 churches and many homes had been burnt down by a group of fanatics. The University abuted the church property and our home was one that had previously been built for foreigners working with them. We weren’t directly involved until a friend in Australia sent a sizeable gift which he wanted us to equitably hand out to the needy; with stipulations we did it through the church heavies.

Ministers of every Christian denomination must feel that Easter in their calendars has been dealt a similar blow this year. The people got together and rebuilt their churches and I was asked to be present at the re-opening of several of them. They were rejoicing – because having suffered for their faith they were now in better shape than before. In one instance they even built a school for the children of their persecutors!

Easter means something to everyone! Travel, holidays, sport, religion.

There are always school and maybe university breaks. There are major sporting events; many go camping; it is a major holiday period.

The breaks have extended this year into areas where no one wanted them to go; people stood down from their jobs; many businesses, leisure spots, sporting events being closed! No travel permitted! And it’s no holiday at all, with the 2 person and 1.5 metre rules in place. There are resultant extreme financial problems for many.

This is all very sad, and affects us all, some very severely. It is not to be belittled, but it’s not the fault of Easter. It’s THAT virus!

Let’s remember, however, that Easter was not originally meant to be primarily a ‘holiday’ but a ‘holy day’. A time free from work, an opportunity to worship. The heart of ‘Easter’ is a religious thing. I think many will miss the services of the Holy (Passion) week – Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Sunday. We’re told that many go to church just at Easter and Christmas. Well this year they’ll miss out on Easter.

When I was young I wondered why they said that Jesus rose on the third day. He died Friday and Sunday is only 2 days later. It all made sense after I went to Africa. If I made the mistake on, for example, a Tuesday of telling a patient to come back in 14 days (there was no word for a fortnight), they always came back on the Monday. If I said come back for a check in 4 days they always (to my counting) came back in 3. You had to get used to it! Today was counted as day 1. Thus Friday, He died day 1, Saturday, in the grave day 2, Sunday – He rose on the third day.

The government can, and probably correctly, has cancelled public gatherings. They cannot cancel history, so our house will meditate and rejoice!

And I remember those in other lands who all year, every year, face Governmental restrictions and persecution, and I am glad that I can at least celebrate without fear in my own home.

Damien Cartier