We sold our furniture and packed our belongings into a quarter of a 20 foot shipping container to be stored until further notice. One more night to go and we’d be on the flight to Juba, the first stop in our journey.
And then I hit a speed bump. Literally. Flying through the air I landed on my knees on the gravel road. Hearing cries of pain my husband turned back to check on me. Flashlight in hand he noticed my torn jeans and bloody knees. Declaring I needed stitches, a nursing friend helped me hobble to her car as blood ran down my leg pooling on my flip flop.
That was the worst of it. Truly. It was not overly painful just shocking.
Once at the hospital a nurse led us to a room. I stayed as The Boy waited in the wrong line to pay. In Kenya the faster you pay the better service you receive. He finally found the right line.
Then we waited.
And waited some more.
A doctor eventually came, took a brief look, ordered x-rays and left.
So we waited.
A technician came and wheeled me to the x-ray room. On the pictures I couldn’t tell the gravel still lodged in my knee from the bone that was supposed to be there. X-rays in hand he wheeled me back to my room where we waited again.
After 4 hours and 8 stitches our hospital visit ended.
4 hours of minimal sleep later, bloody jeans and 15 kilos of luggage in hand we got into a taxi headed for the airport and on to South Sudan.