“Dr Marubu, we have two new patients in casualty in need of a maxillofacial review,” said the firm feminine voice.

“I’m on my way,” replied James, and with that, duty had thrown a spanner into our Saturday night plans. You see, my friend was on his last day of call week, which essentially meant that he was charged with the responsibility of handling all manner of emergencies that landed on the hospital’s doorstep, a grueling task that had transformed my pal into a zombie.

The consecutive long-hour shifts had taken their toll on his lanky frame.

Looking at him, I was convinced that the sandbags unsuccessfully concealed behind his rectangular spectacles could build me a small house; anyway, the good doctor suggested I tag along and get a glimpse of the world that lay in wait for me after graduation. I jumped at the opportunity.

The sea of humanity stretching from the entrance to the farthest corridor of the casualty clinic is an emotionally taxing sight, a vivid reminder that the human body, though a marvel of creation, is still as fragile as the clay from whence it came. Some patients lay writhing in pain while others kept shouting in delirium in their mother-tongue.

A few lay quiet and tranquil, lost in their own universe of suffering.

The accompanying relatives and good Samaritans were also among the multitude. Some looked on helplessly, unable to offer comfort to their loved ones, others had eyes hardened by anger and fatigue: they had been there for over 12 hours, and were yet to be attended to.

The whole scene seemed chaotic, a re-enactment of the biblical tower of Babel.

In the examination room, gory wounds and illnesses greeted my eyes; this was not a world for the faint-hearted. I remember one teenage boy whose face had been so badly slashed, it was difficult to discern his mouth from the gaping wound whenever he talked.

PERPLEXED

Next to him lay a woman lost in sad soliloquy, the scalds on her puffed up face and arms evidence of the harrowing experience she had endured at the hands of her husband, who had poured boiling water on her during an argument.

For a moment as I stood there in a perplexed daze staring at the two victims, the words of Shakespeare rang true in my mind, hell is indeed empty, the demons are truly among us.

The night progressed quickly, as my friend and I went into auto-pilot reviewing, stitching and medicating patients one after the other, ignoring the fatigue that was slowly crippling our bodies.

The consultants from other specialties also on call looked as if they were suffering from severe jetlag, nevertheless, red-eyed and drowsy, they carried on with their noble duty with diligence as did the nurses and potters.

At around 4am, we were treated to a light moment when two very intoxicated lovebirds who had been victims of a mugging began to profess their undying love for one another, oblivious of the stab wound on the man’s side.

Dawn found me squatted in one of the corridors, my legs having finally caved from the fatigue. It was at this time that Dr Marubu came to me and said, “I think it’s time we call it a call,” signalling the end of our nightshift.

As we hobbled to our beds, watching the sun’s glow slowly lift the veil of the night sky, my heart went out to all the selfless men and women who have dedicated their lives to alleviating pain and suffering. Yours is a noble cause, and I salute you!