Neene lost her sight one day.
Her blindness wasn't a sudden, frightening BLINK and suddenly all you've ever seen disappears. It came about slowly and steadily, but probably just as scarily.
After three days of darkness, it is decided that Neene will visit the hospital in Basse to see what the doctors there can do. Our own hospital can only provide some eye drops, but in Basse they might be able to operate. I tell the family that as I am going to Basse on Wednesday anyway, Neene can come with me.
Two evenings later, Amadou tells me that, actually, they will not need to go through with the operation. No-- he has consulted with a man at the market who has explained the problem: every night a devil has been flying to Neene and causing her eyes to spoil. If we give two candles as charity, the devil will go away.
Me, trying to keep from screaming out that this is the absolute most ridiculous thing I have ever heard, because even if I accept your assumption that devils exist, I cannot accept that two candlesticks will make one disappear and I can't believe that because if two candles is all that's needed to make a devil go away then why on earth didn't you take care of this problem months ago, before Neene lost her sight completely?!: Oh.
Amadou: Yes, it is a devil that is causing the problem.
Me: So the charity will cost how much?
Amadou: Just the two candles! We just need to give the man two candles.
Me: And the operation will cost how much?
Amadou: One thousand dalasis.
Me: One thousand?
Amadou: Yes, it is five hundred for each eye. And also there is the cost of the transportation to Basse.
Me: But I will pay for the operation; I can buy Neene's pass to Basse.
So then some thank-yous were said and everyone forgot about the devil.
Early that Wednesday morning, Neene, Amadou and I head to Basse. We've learned the operation will not take place this day, but the doctors will need to examine her eyes before a date for the operation can be set.
We arrive at the hospital and wait outside the eye doctor's office. There are a few other patients ahead of us, and many more arrive by the time the doctors do, several hours later.
There are two doctors. One is working mainly inside the office while the other is working outside, giving preliminary examinations with an eye chart. The eye chart is interesting because not only is the first letter E, so is every letter afterwards. The E's are facing in different directions but I am still confused because all I can think is, "these people don't know what an E is!" But the mystery is soon solved. Turns out, the patient doesn't need to know what they're looking at, they need only indicate, by motioning with his or her hand, which direction the "legs" are facing.
For patients whose eyesight was too poor for the eye chart to be of any use, the doctor used the classic, "How many fingers am I holding up?" test. Well, I always thought of it as the classic "How many fingers am I holding up?" test, but for one of the women, this was a new concept. No matter how many fingers the doctor held up or how near or far he stood, she always answered five. Eventually, the doctor gave an exasperated sigh and said, “How many fingers are there?” The old lady, equally exasperated, replied, “Five. A hand has five fingers.”
Ah-ha! The other patients rushed to explain, "He wants to know how many fingers are out; tell him how many fingers are out, not how many fingers the hand has!" The lady gives a "Well, how was I supposed to know" look combined with a "I couldn't have been the only one who didn't know" look and the doctor tries again. This time her answers vary, and are mostly correct.
Neene's appointment proceeds without problem; luckily Amadou could translate the doctor's Mandinka for Neene, who only knows Pulaar. One eye is determined beyond repair, but the other is scheduled to for an operation the following Wednesday.
I am still in Kombo when Neene goes in for the operation, but I return a few days afterwards. Neene, eager to prove its success, points out my facial blemishes.
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