The great doctor

Corruption? You can taste it here in all its forms, sizes and shapes. One little example is the education sector where just about all professional degrees can, just like a driving license, be obtained with hard cash.

I will tell you what happens when you meet such a 'professional', just read on.
The other day, as Niko (four) and Remi (two) had been coughing for a while and as my throat was behaving strangely, too, I decided to visit an excellent doctor I knew. This nose-ear and throat specialist was a very elegant woman from Lebanese-Algerian descent, and her skill was well known to all in Abidjan.

This time, however, there were no hordes of people waiting to see her. This time, the room was empty. Wondering what to do, I decided to sit down and wait. Soon after, the door of the doctor's room opened abruptly and a tall African man came out. He ushered me and the girls inside and when I asked him about Dr Dessa he said she'd gone to a conference in Paris.

Expecting that I was dealing with an excellent replacement of Dr. Dessa, I briefly explained the problem. He grunted and told me he'd have a look at my throat first. So I sat down and opened my mouth, upon which he jumped on me with an iron device dangerously resembling an iron shoe horn, and forced that deep into my throat.
I started gagging and gulping for air, which made him exclaim "Madame is an alcoholic!"
"A what?" I asked.
"Yes, of course," he said, "your gagging reaction is typical for an alcoholic."
I stared at him, wondering if he knew more than I did myself. Then I asked him what he had seen down my throat.
"Oh, well, your tonsils are a bit swollen."
"Really? Are you sure? I thought they had been taken out when I was seven."
"What?" he snorted, "Why did you do that for?"
"Well," I continued, "that was the policy then, in Belgium, to take out all kids' tonsils. But they have stopped doing that now."
This seemed to puzzle the doctor. "Why did they stop doing that?"

Slowly it was dawning on me that this doctor might be an example of what I daily read about in the papers; the widespread corruption, even in the education system where people literally just buy their degrees, even a doctor's.
Meanwhile the 'doctor' proceeded to look at Niko's throat (who submitted herself placidly) and then at Remi, who, just like me, wasn't too happy with his shoe horn and displayed some signs of protest. At this he remarked off handedly 'Your daughters - the blond one is the prettiest, but also the nastiest'.
Too perplexed to answer, I just asked him what he thought about the girls' throats.
"It's all your fault," he snared, "it is your genes. They inherited this allergy from you, so now we will have to start them on a six month treatment with syrup."
"But doctor," I tried, "the girls have only been coughing for eleven days. I don't think it is something they are born with."
"Ok," he said, a bit indifferently, "I will write a prescription for three months then."
That is when I told him that he needn't do the effort to write the prescription, and that I wasn't going to do the effort to pay him either, because the shoe-shine-boy outside could have told me more than he just did.
At which the 'doctor' let out a snorting laugh and waved me to the door.

Voila, so far the situation in Abidjan. Hope that you find better doctors where you are!
All the best,
Griet, Kamiel, Remi and Niko