Friend

I am sitting in the ward, knitting with Joanna, passing the time. Friend has moved over to the bed next to her. He casually lays on his side. Like Joanna, he had a skin graft from his thigh to cover a large area on his back. The wound on his thigh is intensely pink and fleshy, although over time, the black is coming back and he is healing.

'Tell me a story, Friend.' I said, as our needles clicked away.

Through his gap tooth smile, he tells me about a boy and a tribal chief. The tribal chief wife and the boy are making sleep together (having an affair). The tribal chief tricks the boy's wife into making sleep with him. Soon, everyone is exposed. Who is wrong in this situation? His eyes are beaming. Its a riddle, I'm guessing.

'Everyone?' I asked.

'No! Tribal chief is wrong. He is head of tribe. He should make no trouble!' Friend insisted. 'Tomorrow, I tell you one more story.'

The next day, I return. Before Friend launches into another morality tale, I ask him about the origins of his name, Tamba Friend.

'Tamba my birth name. When my people saw the growth on my back, they disown me in the bush. The white people came and take me. They name me Friend. So now I am Tamba Friend.' He smiled that smile of his, spreading across his face, his teeth so white and so square.



'Who were the white people?' I asked. The Swedish, he answered. He explained that they raised him into his teens. Then, they had to return to Sweden. Some time passed, and they lost touch. By some miracle, they got back in touch with Friend, after other Swedish missionaries sent them photos of Friend's back, the deformity by which he is known.

Then the war came and everything broke down.

The Swedish missionaries returned after the war and found Friend. Since then, they had lost touch after that last visit.

'Do you know the nurse, Kristina? She is Swedish!' I said. I share Friend's story with Kristina, who is delighted that her country-people helped Friend. She connects with him, and as big as this world is, it also seems to be small - she knows the missionaries! She took photos of Friend and returned to Sweden with them.

Tonight, I went to see Friend. He was doing an art project with the other patients.

'Friend, let's dance,' I suggested. He does this shimmy. It involves bouncing your heel, snapping your fingers. A sway to the left, to the right.

'No, only outside! Only upstairs, outside! Not here.' He grinned and laughed at my dance.

'Okay,' I agreed. 'Then I will come back and go outside with you.'

'Then we will dance.' He smiled again. That smile of his.