Doctors Without Boundaries

"Jarrik, we all need a bit time to adjust to the jetlag. A bloke once spent the whole first week sleeping like a rat in cockayne."

The next morning, Jarrik stood at the entrance of the hospital at attention. He had his sneakers on. He wore a clean t-shirt and shorts. The backpack had three plastic bottles of water and two military MRE packs. The pickup truck from yesterday was idling again. Kyden gave the driver instructions. Namazzi was already sitting high on the truck bed. Her hair was braided back in little strings today. She wore jeans shorts that fully showed her long legs. Her top was an oversized t-shirt. In the back of it was a knot that took up excess fabric. Because the t-shirt was so large, the neck opening kept sliding over her shoulder to lazily hang there. Her brown feet were rapidly and alternating tapping on the truck bed to show her excitement.

Jarrik jumped on the truck bed next to Namazzi. He put the back pack down in front of him. The driver let the clutch drop in two hard. Namazzi brushed her hand on his thigh to steady herself. She turned over to yell into his ear, "Please, hold me. I am afraid to fall out." As she yelled into his ear, the jerky truck made her lips touch his ear once. He put her arm around her. He could feel her side touching his. He felt her height and strength. She was unlike the short girls back home, whom he had to bend down to. With Namazzi, he could be the tall man he is and stand up. The hand of the arm behind her back was touching her tummy through the t-shirt.

Occasionally, she would turn to Jarrik's direction to look at something that they passed. She'd comment that they had passed the fruit market or that a large civil war battle had happened there. Sometimes, when she turned, the side of her boob would touch Jarrik's chest. The firm, malleable pouch aroused him. The erection in his pants grew. At first, it was awkward. The penis had faced down the leg and was now evidently poking a tent. During another jerk of the truck, he pulled his pant. The penis snapped up. Now the erection was behind the zipper of the fly, much less visible. From then, Jarrik enjoyed the arm sexual erection in his pants. He soaked up Namazzi's energy. She was a bit tart with her tallness and hard rough fingers and feet. Yet, she was very beautiful as well with her laughter. Her small boobs and little female curves made her a bit asexual. Yet, behind her façade, it seemed that she was a raw sexual being. She promised to enjoy raw sex. Jarrik imagined her sex too large to be sexy, yet so ravenous to swallow his penis that he wanted to get in there.

The white truck dropped them off at the dead end of a dirt road. There were a few dry bushes and plenty pale footsteps in the dark hard-packed soil. The driver cautioned them to be back before sunset. Namazzi jumped off the truck. She half danced and half trotted the first steps. Her lanky calves were flying side ways as she tried to run a bit. Soon, they fell into a comfortable pace following the use trail up the mountain. Occasionally, a dry tree gave them extra respite from the hot sun.

Namazzi wanted to know about America. She wanted to learn more English words. They babbled back and force. Namazzi was leading the way. Whenever Jarrik looked in front of him, he saw Namazzi. He could not help but look at her ass in the cutoff jeans. The butt waddled left and right with her steps. The jeans were cut off rather high. Jarrik wondered, if he would be able to see part of her sex lurking through it. Every time that Namazzi made a large step over a boulder, he would involuntarily duck a little bit down to get a better view. Based on his medical knowledge, the labia must be close, yet he did not identify anything popping out.

"Penis," said Namazzi, "You have penis." She smiled like she had said something illegally. Jarrik snapped back from visualizing his penis, while looking at her ass. He realized that she was trying to show off that she had learned a bad slang word. She was teasing him by saying something naughty. He rolled with it and answered, "You have pussy." She repeated him with a bad accent. He smiled.

Around noon, they reached a rocky high ground. A slow mountain wind made them comfortable. The capital was behind them. It was not really that large of a city. The high urban buildings in the center quickly gave way to large plots of parking lots, fields, and abandoned lots. The famous Sheraton hotel was visible. A couple old European churches stood out. The other side of the view showed the vast plain. A few rivers cut through the plain. They were little strings of blue surrounded by wide bands of green. The rest of the land was yellow dried grass. In the distance was one of the tallest mountains of Africa. They had white peaks on this summer day.

They stood there tracing the elements of the view for a while. Namazzi grabbed his hand. He felt her hand cooled by the mountain wind. Her hand was mostly hard, yet her finger pads were these little spots of soft on it. She said coyly that she liked him. He confirmed that he liked her as well. She added to her admission that she liked him a lot. He half turned and leaned forward to kiss her. She welcomed his lips. He tasted her tongue. Her teeth were taller than other women's whom he had kissed. He hugged her body close. He could feel her boobs against his chest. He let his pelvis come forward, so that she cut feel his erection as a confirmation of his love for her.

His heart started palpating. A strong burning sensation on his chest reminded him how long it has been since the last kiss. All that physical anguish, he channeled by tasting her mouth even more, licking her tongue and her lips. He was eager to taste the flavor of her saliva. And, he liked it. When they broke the kiss, Namazzi sheepishly said, "You are my boyfriend now. If I find you with another woman, I will cut off your penis."

She walked away to sit down on a rock. They had the military MRE (Meal Ready to Eat) for lunch. It may have been a plain meal back in America. Here in Africa, anything American was exotic and special. That's probably how she viewed him as well. He quizzed her about her favorite movies, food, color, and so on. She was equally patient and coquet about answering his questions. He painted out in his head, how he would cherish and romance her.

At the end of lunch, he asked if he could have another kiss. She affirmed his request. As he started kissing her mouth, she drew him on top of him and lay down on the ground. His whole body was resting on top of her as she devoured her mouth. His penis was pressing against her pubic bone. Her mouth was more passive this time. Her hands were fingering their way under his shirt and into the back of his pants. She struggled a little at the intersection between getting her hands on top or under his underwear. She found her way under. She squeezed the bare skin of his ass. It made him more conscious of his hips. He felt the pressure of his body weight on her hard pubic bone sexually stimulating him. Her fingers at his butt cheeks felt so fresh. For one, she was new to that region on his body. For the other, it was a long time since he was touched there. So, his mind followed every motion of hers and made him feel delicious.

He smelled the skin on her neck to imprint the memory of recognizing her again. He got up and helped her stand. She looked at him with a luscious loving face. They walked back down the use trail. Walking down was like descending into the bottom of a soup bowl. The city was the soup and the bowl the surrounding mountains. The return seemed faster. Of course downhill travel is faster than uphill. Also, the mind is more tired and takes less in. The driver was waiting next to the truck. He had been smoking cigarettes as evident by the cigarette butts lying on the ground next to him. The cigarette butts had been neatly smoked down the last millimeters.

During the drive back to the clinic, Namazzi out of nowhere reached up both arms into the air and stood with her legs white screaming: "I have a white boyfriend." Jarrik was equally happy about having snatched an African queen, yet he felt rather uncomfortable about pronouncing such luck and racial context so loudly. He put his hand on her hip half to assure her and half to get her to come down. They arrived at darkness. He had expected more, yet she gave him only a peck on the lips before she hurried away.

The second clinic day started the next morning. Kyden had kept the illegal abortion accidents hidden from Jarrik the first day. Most women in the country bore about eight children. Rape in the rural areas by rebels was common. Business men would learn basic field techniques to induce abortions and often budge the procedure. Two women arrived febrile and bleeding at the clinic. Jarrik and Kyden had to work together. Kyden worked fast and adept at field medicine. He did not use general anesthesia unless absolutely required. They neither had the monitors or breathing machines to properly support the patients. The Africans seemed to care little about it. They were glad enough to get some help.

After the rush, the burn wounds and immunizations offered happy boredom. It was amazing, how many children, or ankle biters in Kyden's Australian slang, got burned every night by open heating or cooking fires in the house. The boredom offered him a chance to check out Namazzi. Her cart was on the other side of the street straight in view of his window. She was wearing a long purplish dress today. She waved him a cheery good morning. A little later after carefully looking left and right, she squeezed her boobies together in her dress. She expectantly looked at Jarrik's reaction. He laughed with his eyes to not alert the young patient and his mother.

When the patient had left, he walked up to the window and raised his t-shirt to show his man boobs. Sure, there was a bit fat, yet they had a manly shape and a fluff of manly hair in the middle. Namazzi bent her body back laughing and her hand slapping the surface of the cart. Satisfied with himself, Jarrik waddled to the door to get the next patient. The elder man had been laughing liquid all night. Jarrik had started to think in Kyden's Aussie speak. Laughing liquid meant to vomit. It was a simple food poisoning. He assured the man that it would be over in 24 hours. If not, he should return.

While Jarrik finished talking, Namazzi got antsy on the other side of the street. She was bending down and toiling around with something behind her cart. It made Jarrik stop in odd places of his sentences. She made Mickey Mouse ears with her hands. Her hands were against her head with the fingers splayed in all directions. She wanted is attention. As Jarrik looked over the patient, she stepped on something high behind her cart. She leaned forward, so that her back was horizontal. Then, she pulled down the top of her dress, so that Jarrik could look down deep into the middle of her breast. She did not pull it down far enough to reveal the whole boob or the areolas, yet he got a good look.

The elder food poisoning patient was quickly whisked out. Jarrik pulled the swivel chair with the stickers near the window. He kicked off his shoes and stood on the swivel chair. His hands reached for the ceiling to steady the swiveling motion of the chair. With a swift motion, he pulled down his shorts and mooned Namazzi with his naked butt. His hands still near his ankles, the door opened.

"Aw, you dropkick, you can't be a drongo already on the third day! I know the country drives people batty."

Jarrik came down the swivel chair and shuffled his feet into his sandals: "I am not even going to try to explain this one."

"Mate, we have to make a trip to a rural outpost soon. I believe your girl has already shown you the general area yesterday. Before we can go, the local rebel leader mister Kon has to give us permission. We will meet him at a bar tonight. So, don't make any plans with your girl or leave. The place is very dangerous."

Kyden left the room. Jarrik caught his run away emotions of physical teasing with a girl and being chastised. Then, he wrote on a paper pad "can't play anymore." He held the sign to the open window. Namazzi read the sign and mockingly rubbed her eyes to suggest that she was crying. They both laughed and went back to their occupations.

Not being able to play, Jarrik got absorbed in his patients. A young painter had fallen off a roof and broken his leg. A police man had failed to stop a tuck-tuck two stroke bike. He had large bruises on his chest. A waiter had a strained wrist, because he protected his head from the swinging chair of an angry customer. Mostly Jarrik was focused organizing the white boxes of medical supply better. He seemed woefully short of anything. Yet over time, he ran into about anything tucked into the corner of an unrelated box. He was squatting over his white boxes on the floor, when a knock on the window stirred him.

Namazzi was looking in. Her lips were painted starkly red. Her cheeks had circular red rouge applied. Jarrik was at first shock to notice what he had missed at the distance. Yet, he felt charmed that she would try to woe him so obviously. It was a bit of a turn on to be coveted in such a savage way. Namazzis finger were moving between her cupped hand and her mouth to signal 'eating.' She was asking him out to lunch.

Jarrik meet Namazzi upfront. They invited Kyden to come along. They found a café a block down the street. A few ramshakled plastic chairs with broken pieces served as the sole restaurant furniture. People were sitting on the chairs. They were holding the food in one hand and the fork in the other hand. The white paper plates had two piles of food. The yellow paste was matooke, steamed plantains. The other pile was familiar millet. Some people also held piece of bread with the thumb on top of the plate. The cook, a fat woman, was standing in the corner of the lot. She was stirring two large pots over makeshift fires of discarded wood, plastic, and paper. Every once in a while, she'd kick a can of leftover something into the fire. Sometimes, the flame hissed a little higher. Sometimes, the liquid simply ran on the ground without catching fire. Other times, the liquid created a blue, red, or green flame. The patrons cheered, when that happened.

Kyden told us about his recent trip to the Impenetrable Forest National Park. He insisted that the name was indeed the official name. He told us about mountain gorilla tracking. Apparently, the gorillas can eat seventy pounds of foot a day. So, they leave plenty of broken branches and feces behind. Their gorilla tracker had driven them to the last known location in a Jeep. From there, they followed the tracker signs to the current location of the gorillas. Kyden stressed what a sight it was to see one of them life in front of you. Because they are mostly vegetarian, except for a few insects, they are pretty safe to get close to. Kyden offered Jarrik that they might be able to make an excursion there.

During the stroll back to the clinic, Namazzi gave Jarrik a bracelet. It was made from a simple, rough cord. There were two wooden pearls tied into it. A few special knots in the middle gave it an interesting texture. Jarrik happily accepted it. Namazzi tied it to his wrist. She kissed both Kyden and Jarrik on the cheek and crossed the street to her fruit stand.

That evening, Kyden was dressed rather dapper. He had a luxurious green shirt. It was cut to fall wide and make him seem a bigger man. He had a real jungle hat. It was white with a band running over it. His pants were pin stripped. His leather shoes were shining. He had a large ring on his finger. Jarrik had to go back and change to match the style.

The driver of the pickup truck drove them into another suburb. The otherwise sullen neighborhood with low dilapidated houses had one impressively large multi-level house at the street corner. Two guards were left and right of the entrance door. The guards were holding metal pipes with both hands. They had an eager expression on their face to use them. Perhaps, if a pedestrian did not cross the streets, but pass in front of them, they may have hit him for no reason. The entrance led a few steps up to a door. The strong wooden door with iron bracing was half ajar. A smart looking man with glasses was holding a book in his hand. It was a photo album with photos of people.

When the maitre recognized Kyden, he opened the door a little bit more. He took a photo of Jarrik with a Polaroid. He put the Polaroid in his photo book. The two walked up the steep, wooden stairs. The second floor was made with heavy exposed wood beams. A warm cantina was to Jarrik's right side. Beyond the cantina was a European looking bar with drinks. To Jarrik's left side was a balcony. Driven by curiosity, he stepped forward to look down.

The courtyard held another level of the establishment. The furniture was simpler and older. Kyden explained that the lower level was for the regulars. The upper level was for the elite and Westerners. The clientele was louder and more rowdy. A woman was cowering on the floor. She was wearing a dirty tank top. Jarrik doubted himself for thinking that she was wearing nothing else. Yet, it seemed like she was naked around the bottom. He looked closer and followed her movements. She lurched forward at a dog. The dog had been looking bewildered all around him. The dog was now running away from her. She went after the dog on her knees. Her feet would completely stretch out as she would push herself forward. She went under a table. He thought that he saw her bare bottom before she disappeared under the next table.

The crowd was roaring. They had tied the skirt of the woman to the dog's tail. The woman was desperately trying to regain her modesty. The dog simply ran confused in a circle, because everyone was cheering and shooing the dog. The African woman being so debased in front of the men was disgusting to Jarrik. Yet, the naked bum turned him on a bit, especially when the pink soles of her feet were squatting right next to it. A couple times, he glimpsed one of her boobs as her tank top disheveled. It was sexy to catch that moment. It was abhorrent to see another human being so demeaned.

Kyden warned him to not frown on the show, but like it. He should cheer along lest he get in trouble. Kyden screamed, "She is so hot, fucking assholes." Kyden pointed Jarrik to look at a table that was shielded and a quiet oasis from the tumult. There were two soldiers in fatigue standing around a man with his pants at his ankles. The man was sitting. They were showing him a magazine. With each flip of the page, they would touch an electrical contact to a car battery. The man with the pants down would cringe. The cables were attached to him. Kyden finished, "Yep, homosexuality is illegal here. In their savage ways, they teach him to dislike the naked men in the gay porn mag. Never appear gay to these animals."

We left the balcony to sit down in the cantina. On the way, we passed tall African women. They were dressed especially luxurious. Yet, the clothes did not fit. Neither did their demeanor and behavior measure up to the elegance of the clothes. They were unsure and childish. The luxurious clothes looked like bad costumes of a high school theatre play on them. They had their little purses. Perhaps, that's where they put the money from doing their tricks. They sure had the look of a hooker. They had the highest high heels that Jarrik had seen since leaving Boston. Their tall legs wobbled unsure like bambi as they attempted to strut.

One of them lost her balance. The towering ebony beauty came down while giving gravity a good fight. She landed straight on Jarrik. Her face dug into his groin. Her fingers grabbed his butt cheeks like the handles of a rickety public bus bouncing threw potholes. Someone flashed a photograph. Jarrik politely helped her up. She strutted on.