I drove around the hospital block and asked 3 different people for directions to the main entrance.
One security guard led me to the medical faculty and yet another to the “old” HF Verwoerd which is now the Tswane hospital.
One man asked if it was “the old one or the new one?” Well, how would I know – so I used my clue – "the hospital with a nineth floor……………..?”
Aaaah the new one!”
I eventually drove into the gates of the Steve Biko Academic Hospital which had the Pretoria Academic signboard just inside the gates?
I was early for visiting hour but made my way to the entrance anyway.
The lady official behind the door shook her head and said “No, you must wait outside because it isn’t time yet.”
What? “Outside the hospital you mean?!”
“Yes” she nods “until it’s time”.
What are you talking about! Since when can’t you walk into the foyer or wait on the ground floor or go to the chemist.
“Well, can I go to the canteen for a cup of tea?”……….and this gets me entry!
“Yes, she announces, I can, I am allowed to enter if I’m going to have a cup of tea!”
If my eyes weren’t as big as saucers already, they were now.
The coffee shop looked as if it’s been looted!
There were crumbs and papers all over the floor and the shelves held a few scattered sweets .
After trying to work out what exactly was going on , I eventually find someone to answer me, but “No there is no tea Madam”.
Apparently the shop will be under new management on Monday and all I could get was a very dusty looking chocolate bar which I bought while longingly looking at the urn on the counter.
I felt duped.
There IS no chemist or flower shop and now there is obviously no coffee shop.
The Ward held yet more interesting developments.
I was apparently STILL too early and was asked to wait in what felt like a holding cell filled with black plastic chairs.
The obese woman opposite me struggled to get out of her seat with a sigh and a loud fart!
When I asked where my Uncle was I got a grunt from a mouth full of KFC and a long pointed finger on the end of a disinterested arm.
I found him and I was thrilled and grateful.
Sitting on his bed my Uncle told me that he had given his supper to his ward companion who had obviously a large appetite that was in contradiction to his thin frame.
We couldn’t help smiling when the man’s visitors arrived with packets full of food.
He received this with gusto and polished off a pile of Pap and meat.
The visitors then presented three large mangos.
We had to look down and hold our heads as they nibbled and suckled on the mangos making all the appropriate noises chewing through skin and all.
We couldn’t help smiling.
A rattling came through the door and a happy and smiling and wrinkled lady served us all tea in polystyrene cups.
The tea was a sweet prize.
We declined the inch thick slices of brown bread wrapped in cling wrap.
Our hungry compatriot definitely wanted a snack and eagerly dipped his bread into his tea.
I was interested to ask if there was a filling? Was this a sandwich or dry bread?
“No” replied his girlfriend confidently – “it is dry because they aren’t sure - you may be a vegan”.
Hey?
I say my goodbyes.
I look back to wave and see that the visitors are lying all over the man’s hospital bed taking photos, happy snaps of their happy time together in the hospital ward.
I walk out of the ward and pass the ward sisters dipping their arms into greasy bags, pulling out fistfuls of “slap chips” and talking loudly through mouths full of putty.
I think I need help to process this picture.
Everything has slowed down.
I’m speechless.
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