Doctors Without Boundaries

He felt invigorated from the love making. She felt accomplished for having cured him of his depression. She dressed him in a rough tribal hem poncho. It was simply a rectangular fabric with a hold in the middle to stick the head through. She gave him drawstring pants with an imitation puma logo. They walked barefoot to the porch, where the elders had dinner. He joined them. He started talking. They proposed to him a hut as a medical station. He contemplated the setup and inquired on the kinds of conditions to expect.

Mangeni and Jarrik led a near married life. They screwed in the morning, for lunch, and in the evening. Jarrik's happiest moment was discovering the true look of her freckle. He enjoyed the moment that he spit his white bubbly saliva on it. He rubbed it around. He softly and rhythmically knocked his dongle against her freckle until it willingly surrendered to the rhythm and wanted to feel more. If he had to pick his best African memory, it was looking back and force between her freckle and her face to gauge her comfort. His spunk inside of the ass of the black woman felt so much whiter than it had ever been.

Outside of his erotic escapades, he helped the villagers with his medical services. After the urgent conditions, people came with more chronic conditions that were a lot harder to treat. Fixing a broken leg is easy. Asthma is something very complicated and long lasting. A key component is the use of inhalers, which the poor Africans cannot afford. Yet, he made the best out of the limited supply and enjoyed furthering his skill in field medicine.

Mangeni loved bringing him new fruits and flowers to learn about her world. She was an excellent botanist. On another continent, she would have been a biology scientist. Her playful and joyous nature raised his humor to experience he best days of his life. Only looking at her youthful body kicked hardwired biological reactions in his brain to trigger instant happiness.

One day, all of that changed. In the morning, an albino African arrived. He had traveled for two days to see the doctor. Albino Africans are almost completely white. Yet, they retain the features and everything else of a black person. So nobody would mistake them for a Westerner. The freckles (dots on the face, not anus) were off a strange pinkish hue. Jarrik's academic curiosity was pleased seeing the gentleman. However, Jarrik was sad to inform him that most albinos died before reaching thirty. The chronic issues that plagued him would only get worse until they would finally kill him. Jarrik promised to do the best to improve his situation no matter how dim the prognosis was.

The albino man took the news well, because he had been through so much hardship. Albino black people were ostracized by society, ridiculed, and haunted for superstitious beliefs. The elders welcomed the endangered man on the porch for lunch. He told them the story of constantly being on the run and evading attacks. Some people tried to kill him as a devil. Other people tried to eat his skin to cure HIV. Among raping virgins eating albino people was a widely held African myth for a cure of HIV. The man was overly hungry having slept in hiding away from the roads for days.

Sadly a few hours later a dilapidated Toyota truck charged into the town center to gun fire. A villager was hanging strangled from a tall four by four piece of wood that had been jury rigged next to the radiator. The dead man was a morbid banner to lead the armed gangsters. The villagers were hiding in their huts. The village was utterly silent and motionless to the guns fired into the air. The gunmen demanded the albino. Apparently, the dad villager had given the gunmen the tip and received death instead of the promised reward.

A green bottle filled with petrol and an old lit rag served as a Molotov cocktail that was thrown on the roof of the first hut. The hiding inhabitants ran scurrying to the next hut. The gunmen aimlessly shot in the general directions struggling with the pushback of the shots. Their smile gleamed after they regained their balanced and composure.

A second hut went in flames sending the inhabitants running for another hut. A man was hit in the leg this time. He still made it to safety pulling his leg behind him. A moment later, the albino man panicked and ran for his life. No matter how aging the Toyota truck was, it easily pulled up next to the albino man running at full speed. A gunman on the truck bed hit the albino with another four by four on the back of the head. The body was dragged over the ground back to the center of the village. The gunmen stood around the albino protectively for a while to demonstrate their superiority. Then, they announced that they would make anti-HIV potion out of the albino. The price for a serving was going to be one dollar or a boy placed into their service.

Jarrik stepped out into the sunlight. The gunmen immediately pointed all their guns and rifles at him. They seemed more scared by a white man than all the gun power could assure them. He offered that, as a doctor, he could extract the essence of HIV cure much better out of the albino than eating his flesh ever could. The gunmen were curious and came closer. They poked him with nuzzles of their gun.

He got them to follow him to his medical hut. He rifled through a medical bag for a clear vial. He pretended to rifle a little longer, as he secretly pushed the label 'saline solution' away from the vial. He raised the vial high into the air and showed a handful of hypodermic needles. They eagerly received a shot each without even suspecting that he could have poisoned them they danced happily outside the cabin and shot into the air. They said that the real Western drug was way better than the African folklore. "Oh the irony," Jarrik thought to himself.

Real trouble started happening, when other villagers demanded the HIV cure as well. Very reluctantly, he injected village people with the drug. He saw one man clearly suffering AIDS leaving the hut to sleep with his wife. Jarrik's face nearly fell off for guilt that he was physically feeling. He secretly asked a village elder for help to avoid more HIV infected people in the wrong belief of a cure infecting and thus killing people. The wise elder raised his arms to have all listen. Tomorrow night during full moon, a healing festival would be organized, when everyone would get the HIV cure.

Word spread and the ruse only attracted more people for the miracle cure. Jarrik's life was in deep peril. Everyone close the gunmen camping out was in danger of being killed once the gunmen's eyes would be lifted to see the truth. They would likely go berserk in enraged madness. Jarrik continued the cover as long as he could by taking a bit of blood out of the albino man's vein. He filled it into little bottles. He mixed it with more saline solution to make it seem complicated. He would intently look at the clear color of saline solution, while the crowd observed him even more intently to learn his secret. He begged that Kyden would come soon to safe him. A village elder had summoned Kyden on a satellite phone.

By sundown, Mangeni pulled on his clothes. She asked him to come and see another plant at the river. She was very insistent. He mocked her for being a little girl. The crowd roared benevolently in laughter and excused them. Jarrik could really not think about plants right now. He started to become very standoffish about following Mangeni any further. Near the turnaround point for him, Kyden stepped out from behind a tree. The albino man was standing shaking next to him. The Jeep was a little further. The quartet left under the cover of the night at high speed.

Kyden chided Jarrik for being the most troublesome MSF doctor that ever sat a foot in his clinic. However, he complimented him for the ruse to safe the albino man's life. Jarrik barely registered the hour long return trip. His mind had been exhausted from the tension in the village. It could no longer take new memories. Kyden dropped Jarrik off at the US embassy. He said that his life was no longer safe on the soil of the country without an armed escort. His passport had already been expedited and was waiting at the embassy.

The first thing that he clearly remembered again was the neatness and politeness. The napkin was folded two times. The paper of the napkins had three layers. The border of the napkin was stamped with a precise pattern. The logo of the American airline was printed with a pale color onto the napkin to barely disturb the sparkling whiteness of it. The water in the glass was not from the well next door, but a faraway island. The ice cubes were carefully counted to three. The lemon was neatly sliced and pressed onto the rim of the plastic cub. The stewardess smiled at him with a wonderfully tailored stewardess uniform that fit her body and the current fashion trends. Her lipstick was of a natural seeming, yet way too stunning color. The makeup carefully blended with her natural skin to be barely noticeable as it enhanced her face. Jarrik's adventure with Medecins Sans Frontieres was over.