To Ethiopia and back in a hurry -- a consultant's story

By William Ainley, P.Eng., Chairman, The Ainley Group

"God knows, the villagers need water." - Bill Ainley.

In 1987, following the Sudan and Ethiopia famines, my wife Trudy and I volunteered to work in Ethiopia. HOPE International, a Non Government Organization (NGO), with its head office in New Westminster, BC, took a chance on us. HOPE International is a fairly small but very experienced NGO and they specialize in long-term rehabilitation projects in the Third World.

Although HOPE help with reforestation, village women community development, etc., they specialize in water and irrigation projects which suited me just fine. Trudy and I earlier had spent a year in Awassa, a small town located about 400 km south of Addis Ababa where we really caught the magic of Africa. Before we left we had dug 32 new wells (using a TH 60 Rotary Drill donated by a HOPE supporter in Western Canada) and established 26 water systems ranging from simple hand pumps to basic mechanical pumping, elevated storage and distribution systems. (The design criteria set by the government was 80 litres/person/day). It was a HOPE success story.

In 1993, I was again retained by HOPE as a volunteer (all expenses, no salary), to tour all the water sites we had established and report on their condition. This was a three week tour and the results weren't good in that only about 1/3 of the systems were still working, due to poor maintenance. During the 3,000 km trip, my two Ethiopian friends and I talked to the villagers at every site and came away with some strong ideas on how to rectify various situations.

Finally in 2000, HOPE gave me the chance I'd hoped for to revisit the area. I was retained to look into the possibility of developing a new well drilling and spring capping program and, most importantly in my eyes, establish a water system maintenance program which would empower the villagers and, most importantly, the women of the villages, to maintain the systems. This would have to include an educational element and some sort of long-term financing. Including women in village water committees is extremely important because it is traditionally women's duty to provide water for the family.

On Thursday, November 23, 2000, I left Toronto on a Lufthansa flight to travel via Frankfurt to Addis Ababa, the capital of Ethiopia. I checked into the Sheridan, built mainly I guess for Oil Sheiks' R&R because it is the most luxurious hotel I have ever seen. I was supposed to be met at the airport by a HOPE representative and taken to some more modest accommodation but, through some slip-up, I missed my contact and the Sheridan salesman at the airport made things so easy for me I finished up at his luxurious hotel. A lucky break I thought.

The next day we got back on track and Ato Tibebu, the HOPE agent in Addis, picked me up at the hotel and I spent the day being briefed on my itinerary and what was hoped for from my report. The itinerary scheduled me to leave Addis early to take a flight into the Southern region where HOPE was constructing water springs. Then I was to drive slowly back through the route just flown, visit the HOPE rotary drilling rig, and discuss the overall situation with Ato Tilahun Sarka, the General Manager of the government's overall drilling enterprise of which HOPE is a part. In the following days I was to meet with Ato Tsegaye (a HOPE donor and worker), in Nazareth and also with Mr. Maury Miloff of CIDA.

Drawing water is traditionally women's work, so a new well is a happy event for any village in Ethiopia.

So at 6:00 a.m. on Saturday morning I was trudging across the tarmac to board a small plane to Arbaminch in the south. The way into the plane was by standard aluminum steps and this is where my mission for HOPE was to end abruptly. I had reached the top platform of the steps when I missed my footing and tumbled halfway down until caught by other boarding passengers. My awkward fall, however, had caused a bad break in the upper femur of my leg. As I lay there, before any pain started, I remembered the prophetic words of Trudy: "Isn't it kind of stupid to be traipsing around Africa at your age?" Such is the speed of human thought and so powerful are the words of a faithful wife!

A few seconds after that incisive thought I started to yell as the ever-helpful Ethiopians began to carry me, limb by limb down the stairs. Speaking in a loud voice -- I think I even managed a roar -- I managed to get them to set me down in a crumpled heap on the bottom step while they fetched a wheelchair from the Airport Building.

In the lobby I placed my leg into a somewhat less painful position and dialed the cell phone of my faithful friend Tibebu -- HOPE's agent in Addis Ababa and my one lifeline.

Tibebu responded immediately and quite soon an ambulance arrived and I was placed on a stretcher and whisked off to St. Gabriel Hospital -- Catholic I think and certainly private. There I was well looked after with lots of morphine shots and tender loving care. Eventually an ex-army doctor arrived from the big Black Lion public hospital and calmly picked my foot up, pulled at my leg a bit and twisted it into the straight line he preferred. Amazingly this didn't hurt, either I was too far gone on morphine or by pulling my foot he separated the bones in my upper leg and thus allowed him to twist the flesh. Anyway it turned out he'd done lots of wounds during his service in the war. He offered to set mine but my heart was in St. Mike's in Toronto and I wished my broken leg to go too.

The doctor agreed there were more advanced techniques in Canada so after straightening my leg to his satisfaction he placed it in traction by tying one end of a piece of rope to my ankle and the other to a bag of sand which he hung over the end of the bed.

I was now more or less comfortable thanks to the skills of my Ethiopian surgeon, lots of drugs and wonderful care from many nurses. They had an endearing habit of coming into my room in the middle of the night and, after miming the universal need for sleep (with their heads resting on their clasped hands) throwing themselves on the spare bed with a sigh of content where they'd sleep for an hour or more.

Meanwhile, poor Tibebu was desperately trying to arrange transportation to get me home and out of his busy life. He had to arrange -- with a very bureaucratic Lufthansa -- to take out six seats to make room for my stretcher. He also had to arrange for a Registered Nurse to travel with me (Lufthansa rules) and this wasn't easy. Eventually, through the combined efforts of the Canadian and British embassies, we managed to hire a fully qualified, English speaking, Ethiopian nurse with a valid passport and a German visa.

Finally, four days after my fall from grace, my surgeon came in proudly carrying a Thomas Splint which the hospital mechanic had made up for my transportation. This contraption consisted of two metal rings, one about 12" in diameter and one about 6" in diameter. These rings were connected together by straight metal rods to form an elongated cone (or cage). For relative comfort the two rings were carefully wrapped in a sponge material which was secured by medical tape. To keep my leg rigid whilst in transit this splint was firmly pushed over my leg with the large donut jammed into my groin and the small donut firmly tied to my foot. This ingenious device was especially appropriate for a wounded man in my profession.

At 10 o'clock on Tuesday night, I was carried downstairs by about a dozen willing helpers. As there were no wheels on the stretcher and no rails in the ambulance this apparently excessive manpower was probably needed to get me safely into the vehicle and then into the plane.

Finally we arrived in Frankfurt to confront the German method of handling stretcher cases. Two enormous attendants, both young and both very strong arrived with a contraption that looked as if it had been invented during the Spanish Inquisition. It consisted of a metal stretcher split longitudinally but with prongs instead of straight edges.

The technique here is to roll you partially over and jam half of it under, then you are rolled back whilst the other half is jammed in -- then the whole unit is locked in place, hopefully without any of your skin in it. I made what I felt was a brave little joke but I was sternly ignored and quickly picked up and carried easily out through the plane to a stretcher outside. From there I was taken to the "holding" room at the airport.

There, wonder of wonders, my wife Trudy and daughter Sue were waiting to meet and help transport me the rest of the way. Trudy is a Registered Nurse, albeit a bit rusty, so she was able to take over the job of caring for me. My trusty Ethiopian nurse gave her a quick refresher course on how to inject morphine (a key element of our relationship!) and dutifully stayed with us until our plane left for Toronto.

One last hitch in my medical travels; when we arrived at St. Mike's emergency department we were not expected. Frankly, at this point I didn't care. I was pushed into a corner and I heard the comforting sound of my wife and daughter's voices raised in controlled anger and knew nothing could withstand them. It was only bureaucracy's last gasp.

Within minutes I was wheeled into the emergency room and my faithful Thomas Splint was mercifully removed (leaving behind bruises I cannot describe for our gentle readers) and the hospital machinery began to smoothly lock into place. My Thomas Splint and the X-ray I brought back from Ethiopia, plus the work done by my Ethiopian doctor were duly admired by my Toronto surgeons and they even called me a stout fellow as they twisted my foot one last time, then off to the operating room and road to recovery.

What happened to my report which HOPE was depending upon for CIDA financing? Well the package had to be sent in without my contribution. I regret that very much; however, we at HOPE have a lot of faith and we added an extra prayer or two. God knows the villages need the water.

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