A Story of Hate, Faith and Love
“DOCTOR,” a voice called softly.
Dr. Salima looked up from the patient’s chart she was reading at the young woman lying on the hospital bed. She grimaced a little in pain but the joy and expectations of motherhood glowed on her face, lighting a spark in her eyes. She had given birth to triplets early that morning, two girls and a boy.
“How am I doing?”
“You’re doing great Kavita,” Dr. Salima answered her. “Your daughters and son will have a healthy, strong mother to take care of them.”
“Thank you doctor.” She reached out and held Salima’s hand, “Your hands are blessed, I’ll pray for you so that your life will always be filled with God’s rich blessings.”
Dr. Salima smiled wryly and touched her patient’s hand lightly, thankful no complications arose during the delivery of the babies. She had spent almost half of the night with Kavita during the labour pains, talking to her comfortingly, wiping sweat from her brows because the unbearable pain had sent a fear in the new mother’s heart, sending her pressure high. As a gynecologist, Dr. Salima worked with pure dedication, bravely and untiringly, her expertise solving the many challenges in an expectant mother’s life as she helps her to bring forth a new life into the world.
She was still in her office that night, looking through medical reports when there was a knock at the door.
“Come in.”
It was her friend from medical school, Dr. Laurel Simmons, a paediatrician attached to the same hospital.
“What do I owe this pleasure, Dr. Simmons?” Salima asked, a tease in her voice.
“I haven’t seen you in a while doctor,” Lauren answered.
“I’ve been very busy at work and with visitors at home from the Middle East.”
“Oh no,” Laurel exclaimed with some measure of fear, “They’ll find a groom for you then I’ll never see you again!”
“Relax Laurel, I’m not marrying anyone, they’re my father’s colleagues.”
“Oh thank goodness,” she sighed in relief, “This hospital couldn’t afford to lose a good doctor like you and I don’t want to lose my best friend to some place in the Sahara Desert.”
Salima laughed and shook her head, always amused by Laurel’s humour.
“So I have to stay here for life?”
“Something like that, given you have become like an angel of mercy in this hospital.”
“I love what I do and I always strive to do the best,” Salima said in her usual modest manner.
“Who knows that better than I do,” Laurel said, sitting down and handing her colleague a report.
“There’s new medicine for Crohn’s Disease in children and I need your expert advice before I make recommendations to the administrator.”
They spoke for a long while on the topic and when Dr. Simmons left her colleague’s office, she felt more confident the new medicine could be more effective for the Crohn’s Disease patients.
Salima reached home late and, closing her bedroom door behind her, she took off her hijab, a symbol of her deep religious beliefs. She had a long refreshing bath and fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow, a strand of dark hair falling softly over her face.
For Salima, every day began with God and ended with God, never mind she sometimes missed morning prayers. The visitors, religious learned men she had some interesting conversations with, her mind always thirsty for new knowledge. They were impressed with her high level of intelligence and they said to her father, “She should marry an Arab.”
“That decision,” her father said, “I would leave to her, because in this South American country, we give our daughters a certain form of independence.”
The men shook their heads, recognizing the vast cultural differences between the societies but were heartened that faith and prayers kept the bond of that religious belief unbroken.
Salima said, ‘Goodbye’ to the guests and left for work. She was running a little late and as she exited the elevator, she almost collided with a young man walking hurried to get in.
“Sorry,” she apologized.
He looked at her sternly and said in a haughty voice, “Watch how you’re walking.”
Salima paused to look at him, noticing his official outlook and striking good looks, but she got close to a deadly stare as the elevator’s doors closed.
“Wow.” She muttered to herself, “Talk about a bad mood and manners.”
She did not know that was the first encounter of many she would have with him that would test her patience and challenge her religious belief.
She had two emergencies that day for surgery, two deliveries, one that developed complications and during a short break she had to deal with a report of a delayed supply of medication for the maternity patients. In discussing the issue with the administrator she was told, “The manager of the Pharmaceutical Company is not pleased with the report you sent, Dr Mohammed. He says the lapse did not come from his company.”
“I signed those orders,” she said with certainty, “How could the paperwork go missing?”
“I’ll have this matter investigated while you send through a new order and I think you should have a talk with the company’s manager. This hospital has been doing business with them for decades.”
“Okay,” she consented, “But later. I’m needed in the ward right now.”
It was late in the evening when the pharmaceutical company’s manager came to see her.
“Come in.” Salima answered.
“Dr. Salima Mohammed?”
She looked up and standing in her office was the handsome, ill-mannered young man from the elevator this morning.
“Yes?”
He seemed a bit surprised that she was the doctor he had to speak to.
“I’m the manager of Jaffarally Pharmaceuticals and I think your report against our company is baseless and has no merit.”
Salima was a little stunned by his bluntness.
“Is that the way you discuss an issue in someone’s office?” she asked in a cordial manner.
“I’m a very busy man, I have a company to run and I don’t have much time for pleasantries.”
“Nowhere in my report did I accuse your company of any lapses.”
“It’s between the lines.” He said, “and I take offense to those strong words because I’m sure this is not my company’s fault.”
“The investigation,” she said firmly, “will determine whose fault it is because women and unborn babies lives depend on those medications.”
“Good, we’ll wait for that report and I’ll come to your office personally for an apology.”
He opened the door and turned back, giving her a hard stare, there was a strange look in his eyes, something deep.
“Why do you wear that?”
“Pardon me?”
He was gone without an answer and Salima shook her head, wondering what was his problem. One week later she was working at night when he stopped by her office.
“Dr. Salima Mohammed, the name has a nice sound to it.”
His face was unsmiling but his tone was not harsh. “Young doctors like you need to be more careful with your reports.”
“Oh.” she said, putting down her pen and sitting back in her chair, “It means the investigation cleared your company.”
He nodded and waited expectantly for her apology, something she didn’t have to do, but the Administrator had asked her to consider apologizing, given the fault was the hospital’s, so the matter could be closed. She stood up and said sincerely,
“Mr Jaffarally, my apologies to you and your company.”
For the first time, she saw the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
“Accepted,” he said, but still stood there, looking at her.
“Is there anything else?”
“Why have you chosen to wear that headwear?”
She looked at him surprised, “Why would you ask me such a question?”
“Just curious.”
She hesitated a little then answered him,“Because of my traditional and religious beliefs.”
“I don’t like it,” he said in his blunt manner.
He left before she could respond and Salima stood looking at the door for a moment, perplexed at his sentiments because he was a Muslim.
On Sunday evening, when she had some time to relax, she asked her father,
“Do you know the owner of Jaffarally Pharmaceuticals?”
“Yes, we went on the Haj pilgrimage together, he’s semi-retired.”
“Who manages the company now?”
“His two daughters and son, Rahim.”
“Oh..” she said, “so that’s who he is.”
“Have you met him?” her father asked.
“Briefly, at the hospital.”
Her father sighed deeply, a worried look crossing his face.
“That boy is causing his father a lot of grief. He has become a rebel, turning his back on his religion.”
“What caused that change?” Salima asked.
“That,” her father said, “is a long and sad story.”
TO BE CONTINUED
Maureen Rampertab