Chinese Whispers

There were five of us in the room altogether: a student nurse from Gulu up north, a mother with her 7^th child originally from Nairobi, the mother's mother, and myself. None of us speak the local Lugandan dialect or even share many in common. Still we undertake an entirely meaningful discussion that consists of Swahili on the mother's part, Acholi on the nurses, and gestures on mine.

By pooling our resources we speak excellent Lugandan.

The grandmother appears to be running the show. She is dressed traditionally in a one-piece Gomesi, a brightly coloured silk number that comes down to the floor with curious points over the shoulders. Like a number of things in Uganda, it looks just a touch Indian

The problem, from what I gather, is a previous miscarriage causing ongoing bleeding.

'What gestation did she miscarry at?', I ask, hoping that a touch of sympathy comes across in my exaggerated body language. On the third attempt the message reaches the target and gets passed back along the circle back to me.

'It was full-term.'

I blink. 'You miscarried at full term? As in 40 weeks'

There is more murmuring back and forth down the chain of command.

'Yes, at term but it wasn't a human baby.'

'Oh really'. After 4 weeks in Uganda I'm beyond being surprised. 'What kind of a baby was it?'

There appears to be some confusion. The mother frequently interjects and cuts off her daughter who speaks excitedly back. I, of course, can't understand a word of what is going on and resign myself to sitting back and letting the situation unfold. Eventually a hush falls

over the room. There appears to be a consensus. Esther, the student nurse, turns to me.

'It was a dead dog', she reports matter-of-factly.

I blink.

I shake my head. Something must be lost in translation.

There is more animated conversation. Excited but hushed tones. Dramatic gestures. I hear the word Simba pop up now and again. Finally the message is relayed back.

'No no, it was a dead lion.'

'Oh right. A lion. ' Good to clear this up.

The Chinese whispers pass back along the line to reach the young woman.

I don't have a wealth of experience in obstetrics but I have never actually come across this before. I wonder how many witchdoctors had been consulted before arriving in outpatients today, how many pacts with the devil had been exorcised en route to Kiwoko. Fortunately there is a rather simple solution. I take her file and write two blessed words. Gynaecology Review.

I look forward to the discussion in doctors meeting tomorrow.