Mixing business and pleasure in South Africa, and happily so

We went to the Cape Point, the southernmost tip of Africa, where we saw the confluence of the Indian and Atlantic Oceans. ILLUSTRATION | JOHN NYAGAH

What you need to know:

  • Marie and I had flown to Cape Town to attend the World Congress of Surgeons, held on the African soil for the first time.
  • We travelled the famous Cape route in a bus, seeing the many vineyards, where the world renowned South African wine is made.
  • One of the restaurants there served ugali, nyama choma and irio and was belting “Hakuna matata” tune while we were at the waterfront around lunch time.

Last year when Ahmed Kathrada, a staunch anti-Apartheid activist and close friend and colleague of Nelson Mandela died, it was mentioned in his obituary that he had been imprisoned at Robbin Island for 27 years.

It was also mentioned that when President Obama visited the notorious prison, Kathrada was given the privilege of showing him round. There were many pictures in the international press and TV of the President being shown Kathrada’s cell by its one time occupant himself.

Those pictures invoked memory of our visit to the Island, which attracts as many as 20 million visitors every year.

Marie and I had flown to Cape Town to attend the World Congress of Surgeons, held on the African soil for the first time and I had the honour to represent PAAS – Pan-African Association of Surgeons – at that important conference. This is a newly established continental organisation, representing East, West and Southern African Colleges of Surgeons.

It was our turn in rotation to be the flag-bearer of PAAS and I was invited in that capacity. There was also a surgical reason for my visit but more about it later. As usual, I was taking a busman’s holiday, mixing business with sight-seeing. One very sad sight we saw was the world famous Robbin Island.

HAKUNA MATATA

In addition, we went to the Cape Point, the southernmost tip of Africa, where we saw the confluence of the Indian and Atlantic Oceans. On the way there, we stopped at Cape of Good Hope, where in 1499 Vasco da Gama sailed with four ships and 170 men to our continent and opened up European trade with Africa.

Finally, we travelled the famous Cape route in a bus, seeing the many vineyards, where the world renowned South African wine is made. To revert back to Robbin Island, we had to board a ferry at the Victoria & Albert Waterfront. At the time it was a delightful new development around the seafront with shops, entertainment places, quaint cafes and ethnic restaurants.

There was one which served Kenyan dishes like ugali, nyama choma and irio and was belting “Hakuna matata” tune while we were at the waterfront around lunch time. The sea journey lasted about half an hour and we were happy to get off because the sea was choppy. On arrival, we were taken on a general tour of the Island by our pretty Cape Coloured tour guide.

“We formed a special category in the Apartheid era because of relatively less pigments in our skin.” She announced as she introduced herself at the beginning of the tour and then she added. “Millions of years ago, Robbin Island was part of the African mainland, until the Atlantic Ocean cut a swathe from the southern tip of the continent.

The Island got its name from the Boers, because in the Dutch language, the word for seal is robbin and the island was full of seals,” she continued wistfully. “Sadly they are a rare sight now because of human habitation!” She went on. “For many years the unnamed island was used to confine slaves, lepers, hard criminals and the mentally deranged until the Apartheid regime found a better use for it!

BANISHED HERE

From total oblivion, it shot up into limelight when the world’s most famous and longest serving political prisoner, Nelson Mandela was confined there.” Our first stop on the tour was a mausoleum, called “Karamat”, which with my meagre knowledge of Arabic, I understood meant a miracle. Our guide confirmed it and added.

“This is a mausoleum built round the grave of a Muslim Sufi who fought the Dutch in East Indies. He was banished to this Island by the colonisers and he died here.” I reckoned by East Indies, she meant Indonesia, which as we all know was colonised by the Dutch until Soekarno, the Indonesian nationalist and his colleagues drove the Dutch out in the latter part of the last century.

His daughter Soekarnoputri, literally meaning Soekarno’s daughter, a tradition of name in Indonesia, followed in his footsteps a few years after he was ousted by his deputy as happened in Third World countries at the time. We also saw a graveyard for lepers and a church built for them in 1863 by the Dutch Reformed Church.

In the town, there was also a primary school, town hall, a post-office and the Governor’s residence. We also saw heavy fortifications round the Island built during the Second World War to defend it against German invasion. Finally we arrived at the famous lime and stone quarry, when our guide referred to Mandela as Madiba, a name, by which he was affectionately called by his countrymen.

She said, “Madiba and his fellow prisoners dug lime and stones here every day between 7 am. and 3 pm. in the scorching sun. When they asked for sun-glasses to protect their eyes from dust and flying debris, they were told that goggles did not form part of the prison uniform!” As I saw a cave-like opening at the far end of the quarry, I inquired what it was and our guide replied.

MADIBA'S POSSESSIONS

“That is a toilet for the workers in the quarry and there are buckets inside for them to use because even leaving the quarry for toilet purpose was misconstrued as an attempt to escape and could invoke the shoot to kill rule.” Eventually we arrived at the highlight of our tour which was Cell No. 5. “Here is where Madiba was held,” said our tour-guide.

“There are 40 tiny isolation cells here where anti-Apartheid prisoners were confined. You can see preserved for posterity in Cell No.5 a drum used as latrine, two small wall cupboards where Madiba kept his meagre possessions and three blankets to protect him against the howling cold breeze at night.”

We were then shown the actual prison, a sprawling complex dotted by watch-towers, searchlights and kennels for vicious wild dogs patrolling the prison, day and night. Final scathing comment from our guide was. “The prison is divided into Section A for common law criminals, convicted for rape and murders and Section B for political prisoners. Needless to add that the inmates of Section A were treated better than the residents in Section B.”

After this sad sobering account of our visit to Robbin Island, which reminded me of my visit to the Genocide Museum in Kigali, Rwanda, and the Auschwitz Camp in Poland where millions of Jews were eliminated in the holocaust, let us revert to the surgeon’s diary part which has a happy ending.

CHILDLESS COUPLE

It relates to a childless couple, Nancy and Andrew Muturi, who went to see their gynaecologist, my professional colleague Anne Mungai after the wife tried to conceive unsuccessfully for five years.

Dr Mungai referred the man to me, with her usual introductory call in which she said: “I have this lovely couple with me, hankering after their own flesh and blood. Before I subject the wife to numerous tests, some of them invasive, I would like you to rule out any medical problem with the husband.”

I did that and certified the husband “Not Guilty”. His potency, as verified by the wife was like that of a bull in season and his semen analysis was normal. So Dr Mungai embarked on a full battery of investigation on Nancy and found blocked tubes as the cause.

“Good thing she did not conceive in her tubes, because tubes as you know can’t accommodate a growing pregnancy and burst at some point causing severe intra-abdominal haemorrhage, which can be fatal,” Dr Mungai said to me and added, “Her salpingogram, X-rays of her Fallopian tubes after injecting a dye proved that both her tubes are completely blocked. I have done repeated insufflations of the tubes to open them up but I have not succeeded,” she concluded.

“So what’s the remedy?” “IVF or in-vitro fertilisation,” she replied, “popularly known as ‘test-tube babies.” “Can it be done locally?” “We haven’t got a well established Fertility Clinic, though one of my colleagues has just returned from the UK, fully trained there and is trying to set up one.” Dr Mungai replied.

“It is routinely done in South Africa, more specifically at Groote Schuur Hospital in Cape Town.” “Isn’t that the hospital where Prof Chris Barnard did the first heart transplant?” “Precisely,” said Anne, “But I have no contact there. Have you any?” she asked. “Surprisingly, I have,” I replied. “There was a girl from Uganda, a Dr Senabulya, doing her M Med. Gynae at KNH here and did her six-month surgical term with me.

“As you know, it is mandatory and you did your term on my unit too. She moved to Cape Town after qualifying because her country was still unstable and she works in the IVF department at Groote Schuur. Fortunately for the Muturis, I am going there next week to attend a conference and can help them.”

“How fortuitous!” Anne sounded very excited. “That would kill two birds with one stone.” So there we were, mixing more business with pleasure, attending the World Congress, sightseeing and overseeing an IVF.

Not to keep my readers hanging in midair wondering how the human drama ended, I want to bring the Muturi story to its happy end. Dr Senabulya personally handled their case at my request.

The IVF was successful second time round and after the pregnancy test was positive on Nancy and pelvic ultra-sound showed that the baby was growing inside her womb, she was sent back home to the care of Dr Mungai, who regularly kept me informed. At eight months, Anne decided to do a Caesarean Section on Nancy and delivered a bouncing boy.