The weekend getaway was a boon to the childless couple

“They must be husband and wife,” I said to Marie, when we sat behind the couple at the beach in Mombasa for a couple of hours, and noticed that they had not exchanged a word in that time. The man wore a sombrero hat, presumably bought from one of the beach boys to protect his Caucasian skin from the blazing sun, and a blue bush-shirt with bright beach designs on it.

The lady, who sat with him, looked Kenyan and donned a cotton dress with a floral design and a matching scarf, which covered her curly hair. Looking beyond this couple, we saw many tourists walking on the reef and picking sea-shells left behind by the ebbing sea. In the distance, we saw a glass-bottom boat filled with tourists.

We had flown to Mombasa by the midday flight on Good Friday to relax by the sea over the long Easter holiday weekend. On arrival at our usual hotel on the North Coast, we quickly changed and headed for the beach.

It was packed with holiday makers, both domestic and foreign. We managed to find two beach-beds behind the couple. After watching them for hours without saying a word to each other, I made my facetious remark.

I did so because in my experience, unmarried couples, especially the ones courting, are usually loquacious when together and can’t keep their hands off each other. They either talk or communicate with each other in more expressive ways.

After a couple of hours devoted to unwinding ourselves from what had been a busy first quarter, Marie got up saying. “It is teatime and I am sure it is being served on the lawns by the swimming pool. Are you coming?” She asked.

She has maintained her British fondness for tea, especially the afternoon tea which amounts to much more than a cuppa.

Just then, the man got out of his beach- bed, presumably with the same idea as Marie, and left without saying a word to the lady with him. As he turned his profile towards me, I recognised him.

He and his wife had been referred to me from Kisumu by my late friend Dr Somaia, my classmate at the Grant Medical College in Mumbai. He said on phone: “Karl and Rhoda have been married for three years and Rhoda has failed to conceive.”

He was very soft spoken and I could hardly hear him. “Can you speak a little louder please?” “I have investigated Karl; my gynaecological colleague has done the same to Rhoda, and we both have come across a blank wall.” He increased the volume.

“What are you sending them to me for?” I asked not hiding my acerbity.

“You prescribed ‘topping up’ tablets for the man I sent you a few years ago.” He sounded unruffled.”And the couple was blessed with a daughter. I thought, perhaps you could repeat the miracle.”

In due course, Karl and Rhoda appeared in my office with their medical records, saving repetition of investigations. It came out in my history taking that Karl was Danish, and he was in Kisumu for a malaria project, while Rhoda was a trained nurse and worked in what was popularly known as the ‘Russian’ Hospital. They met, fell in love and got married, but they had remained infertile. I examined Karl and found nothing wrong with him or his external genitalia. I had already seen his semen report, which was normal.

“You carry on.” I said to Marie in response to her question.”I will join you after saying ‘Jambo’ to my patients.” As Karl passed me, he too recognised me and I asked.”How is it going?” “No luck yet, but we are still trying. I must say your tablets are good because they are giving me extra goofoo!” He tried his Swahili on me.

“Watching you from the back, I noticed that you don’t communicate with each other.” I lamented.” And my science has not devised a method whereby conception can take place single-handedly!” As he laughed, I added.”I am sure you have heard the story of the punter who complained to God every time he didn’t win a raffle. One day God got fed up with his persistent complaining and said to him. ’To win a raffle, at least you must buy a raffle ticket!’”

Soon after he left, Rhoda strode up and walked to me. I asked her the same question and she replied.”No luck but still trying.”

“Babies are made out of these holidays, so make the most of it.” I advised.

As promised, I joined Marie for tea and noticed that Karl and Rhoda were still not talking to each other, provoking me to discuss their case with her, something I rarely do because of code of confidentiality. I did it in this case because it related to a couple and she could help. “Let’s invite them for dinner on Saturday and see if we can drive some sense into them.” Marie suggested.

DINNER TIME

“I will invite them while you book a table in the Grill.” I replied. “Being in Coast for the Easter weekend, I suppose they are free.” I added. On Friday evening at dinner time, Marie said: "During the day, I found from Rhoda Karl's favourite food and from Karl the wine which Rhoda likes.” “What are you up to?” I asked. “Wait and watch.” She replied, magnifying the mystery.

On Saturday evening as usual, there was a live band and dancing in the Grill. I took Marie on the floor while Karl picked up a female hotel guest. Seeing that I whispered to Marie. “The ice has not thawed yet!”

We saw the husband of the hotel guest bowing to Rhoda, a gesture which she accepted readily. Our starter was on our table when we arrived there after the dance. It was half a dozen oysters on ice. As we chatted, we noticed the sour atmosphere between husband and wife. They were keeping appearances in front of us. The main course was salmon steak cooked in coconut milk and with it came a bottle of South African white wine. The waiter poured a mouthful in my glass to taste as per the tradition. As I tucked into my large slice of salmon, I thanked my lucky stars that I also liked sea food.

'STUPID ARGUMENT'

We happened to be on the same flight to Nairobi on Easter Monday. Marie and I sat together while Rhoda and Karl did the same. As we were nearing Kilimanjaro, I walked where the couple was sitting and to reciprocate the gesture, Rhoda rose from her seat saying: “I think I will sit with Marie so that you men can have a natter.” She sat on my seat next to Marie. “How did you enjoy the weekend?” I asked Karl.

“We had a stupid argument on the flight to Mombasa and Rhoda went incommunicado and I thought it was going to be a lost weekend, but the wine on Saturday did the trick.” Karl suddenly stopped talking but I got the message.

As we were due to land, I went back to Marie and took the seat which Rhoda vacated to join her husband, and said to her. “I have heard from the horse’s mouth that your choice of wine was superb and it ‘worked’.

“I have had similar testimony from Rhoda. She said the seafood worked as an aphrodisiac as it always does and Karl had to make up; it was almost a necessity!”

SURPRISED

I was surprised and said to Marie. “I didn’t think women talked like that.”

“Things have changed since our time,” replied Marie.”Don’t forget, we are living in ‘Women’s Lib’ era.” As they say the proof of the pudding is in the eating. Three months later Dr Somaia rang me; his excitement was palpable from a distance of 200 miles.

"Rhoda has missed her period, her pregnancy test is positive and ultra-sound shows a tiny toto in her womb.” He told me excitedly.

“Your ‘Topping-up’ tablets have worked again.” He shouted in the mouth-piece.

“Congratulations and please convey the same to Rhoda and Karl from Marie and me. Marie and I met them in Mombasa during Easter and got to know them better.”

As I said it all, I remembered what my cynical professor of Medicine had told his class all those many years ago. “Doctors get credit for curing illnesses, which would have cured themselves if left alone!” I also remembered what I had read: “If you put all the medicines prescribed by doctors in the sea, it will be a blessing for the human race, but bad for the fishes.’ So much for my ‘topping up’ pills!

In this case, I am sure that Marie’s recipe worked to break the ice, resulting in the long waited pregnancy, for which my ‘Topping up’ pills got credit for. But I am not complaining!