A Court Of Fowls: Episode 41
Jamila, recovering from terrible injures received in a road accident, battles her way back to a full enthusiasm for life.
Michael Conrad Black continues his gripping tale set in East Africa.
To read earlier episodes of this novel visit
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Chapter 14
Test of Strength (continued)
Jamila’s rehabilitation was slow and painstaking. At first she was
surrounded by dozens of well-wishing visitors – people who were
on her party invitation list, for example. As time passed however, we
quickly learned who our real friends were. The insincere soon found
their excuses, and their visits to our home tapered off until the only
time I saw them was when I happened to bump into them in town.
At first Jamila would not hear of wearing a prosthetic leg. Gradually
the combined forces of her physiotherapist, and her loyal girlfriends
persuaded her that it would not look out of place once she
got the hang of using it. Everyone involved was great. For Jamila
though, it was hard work. A person with an amputation above the
knee is given a transfemoral prosthesis. But it takes more time to accustom
oneself to the artificial limb and to regain ‘normal’ movement
if the knee is missing, than if it were not. And patients typi-
cally expend almost twice as much energy as they struggle to re-learn
the art of walking. So apart from early physical discomfort and
chaffing, Jamila experienced a great deal of tiredness as well.
She was perhaps ‘fortunate’ that her accident coincided with significant
advances in prosthesis design. New plastics and carbon fibre
were making artificial limbs lighter yet stronger, thus helping to reduce
the extra energy needed to operate the limb effectively. In the
space of eight months, we twice went overseas, once to London and
later to Mumbai so that she could benefit from these improvements
in technology.
As the months ticked on our lives slowly returned to some semblance
of normality. The business had suffered at the height of Jamila’s
care but as her confidence and ability increased so I was able
to devote more of my day to the club. In the capable hands of her
nanny, Dalila was growing fast and had become less prone to tantrums.
To some extent she was therapy in itself for her mother.
Even Teapot the Terrier played his part. At times when Jamila was
reading on the living room sofa he liked to stand close to her and
nuzzle his head into her lap. He did so invariably with a long sigh,
inducing Jamila to stroke him. We felt sure that Teapot knew exactly
what he was doing – helping his mistress over her terrible trauma.
One happy day, Jamila walked through the club doors, unassisted.
With her hands on her hips and a broad smile she demanded to
know ‘what’s been happening here in my absence?’ It was tremendous
to witness our staff and many of our clients stand to give her
their spontaneous applause. I knew from that moment onwards that
things were going to be all right.
Okay, I left it a long time, but one year and three months after the
accident, I married Jamila in St Francis Church at Highridge in Nairobi.
The church thing was what she wanted. We honeymooned in
Lamu and wished we could have stayed forever. By the time we got
back to the city, Jamila was a different woman. Her joie de vivre was
fully restored.
