She is sitting at her desk working on her computer, when she sees a procession of her employees scurrying back and forth outside her window, carrying bags and packets and suitcases and various other objects. She knows immediately what’s happening and cast her mind back ten days to a week before Christmas when this all started......... .........She stands there holding the old woman Victoria's hand, trying to stop her pulling the drip out in her confused state. This a black employee named after a dead white queen. Actually appropriate as this old lady has an innate intelligence and regal bearing and presence, A wise woman who has lived a long life and learned much from her experiences. She feels the beat, the tempo, and the rhythm of the emergency room surging around her. Sounds so familiar in an unfamiliar environment. It's a long time since she was part of this world, yet the ghost of familiarity remains with her. Procedures and rules once learned, ingrained do not ever easily fade away...... "like riding a bicycle." Yet, she does not fully feel a part of this world either. It is a surreal quality, like she is on the fringe, she knows the thoughts and workings of all worlds, that of patient, that of staff, that of relatives, but only as if she is peeking in from the edge, not quite intruder, not quite belonging either. She has played this role so much over the last few years, of relative standing by waiting patiently for news good or bad. She has learned to disassociate, but cannot help absorbing the atmosphere at the same time. It excites and repulses her. She feels apprehension and fear, not just hers but the palpable fear of other victims................ no! not victims, patients, and relatives. She sees beyond the carefully constructed nonchalant masks of the medical staff. She can tell the healers and carers from those who are just collecting a paycheck every month. She knows which patients and relatives they are more concerned with. She knows when people are overstepping the mark, she can feel the staff stiffen, pull on the cloak of condescension and medical mystery. She likes to thwart this. To subtly introduce into the surroundings her knowledge and understanding, see the attitudes and atmosphere change as staff begin to realize that she is not just another idiot outsider. Yet she is wary today, this is her world yet not. This mainly a "black" hospital, she is the token "umlungu" (white person )here. A white woman standing beside the bedside of a very ill aged black woman . There is confusion, puzzlement a little annoyance and some reverse racism. But she can take it as it is not about her. It is about this old woman, half conscious, confused, frightened, not knowing quite what is going on. It is a battle to keep the drip in her arm. The nurses have put it in and had to go off to tend to others in the busy unit. So there, they stand a little group, she, and Victoria's best friend/ sister Effie the same age, also an old woman, her employee as well. One though, whom she calls "ma" out of respect and love, and Victoria's young nephew Vincent, in his early twenties, very frightened as he is the sole "family " here and is (for the first time in his very young adult life called upon to deal with such a situation), showing his fear and nervousness. A very young looking lady doctor comes and does an examination, she asks questions of the doctor about what is going on, and the black enigmatic face looks right at her, right through her assesses her finds her wanting and ignores her. She does not want to make a scene over the rudeness, she knows that it will just be taken as a white woman shooting her mouth off. They are asked to remove themselves to the waiting room, the atmosphere changes, there is an urgency now, the old woman is pushed into a room with a sign on the door that says "recovery.” The curtains are drawn, trolleys are rushed in and out in and out and suddenly there is a huge group of people surrounding the bed. They stand in the passage frightened now, holding onto each other. She knows they have to wait now until the drama taking place is over before they will be told what is happening , so she begins to look around her. A bed in a corner with a tiny baby not more than about a month old lying on it, drip in head and oxygen mask over face. The breathing is that of a croup chest, a tight difficult wheeze, and the young mother scarcely more than a child herself stands helplessly dabbing at her baby's face with a cloth, the only contact, as if she is too scared to reach out and stroke or touch the tiny little body. A stretcher is wheeled in, on it a man so gaunt, so thin he is literally just skin and bones. He looks peaceful almost, as if he has gone through the stages of denial and is ready now to begin the final journey. The young woman with him too radiates calm, a kind of serenity. They are at peace, in acceptance of their fate. Another bed in another corner, a stunningly beautiful young Indian woman with black hair beyond her waist lies staring at the ceiling. She too has a drip in her arm. She is alone and nobody attends to her or talks to her, every 10 /20 minutes or so she silently gets up from the bed , unhooks her drip and walks down the passage to the cloakroom. On returning, she just as silently hooks her drip up again, climbs on the bed and lies down again staring blankly at the ceiling. A young couple carrying a crying baby wanders in, they are the epitome of "yuppydom" designer labels, glistening gold jewellery, sunglasses propped on heads, mobile phones clipped to their waste bands, as they pass one can smell designer fragrances. They too may be black, but seem just as out of place in a place that caters mainly to the poorer of the working class. Yet, they are no less anxious about their sick infant. It is a common denominator here, the worry, and the fear. The lady doctor walks out of the resuscitation room, again she goes up to her to ask what is happening, and again she is ignored and sidelined. Just then, she hears her name called and turns around. A familiar face, that of another doctor who once worked for her and thus knowing her, engages her in conversation. They exchange greetings, He asks about her presence here and she explains, telling of their frustration at not just the beaurocracy, but at the fact that they are being ignored and do not know what is happening. Here she can give vent to her outrage at the shoddy treatment, and even promises a hissy fit the likes of which have not been seen for a long time if they do not get answers soon. He soothes her, playing peacemaker, he disappears into the room and comes out with another young doctor, Together they explain what has and is happening, that the old lady is so sick they need to admit her to do further tests as they are puzzled as to the symptoms with which she is presenting. But again the claws of beaurocracy grab hold of them, this is not a state hospital and a deposit of R1200.00 is required upfront before admission. The option is taken to transfer her to a state hosptital. This though is a manageable problem, this is the familiar territory of an Africa that hovers between rich and poor and first and third world. At least there is some action now, they know something is being done for Victoria. They arrange for an ambulance, a private one, emptying their pockets and pooling all their collective cash as they have been told that the state ambulance could take up to six hours to get to them. The ambulance arrives, they give over the money (in cash) first and receive a receipt. They walk with the ambulance staff and Victoria to the ambulance, see her loaded in and secured. The ambulance moves off and they stand stunned almost, not quite knowing what to do. She gently suggests they head for home as it is very late and they can do no more, there are doctors waiting at the other end to take over. As she settles into her seat at the wheel of the car, she momentarily closes her eyes, relaxes, and lets her intuition take over. This strange ability of hers , this instinct of knowing whether someone is going to live or die has in turn puzzled her and scared her. She doesn't tell people about the actual visions much, wary of sceptical reactions, although sometimes she will go as far as saying, "I have a feeling that “XXX” won't make it, but that is all. She envisions the sick person lying on an operating bed, soft lights just illuminating the bed. If the patient is going to survive, she sees what she calls stardust floating gently down onto the body on the bed. If she sees no stardust floating down, most times it means the person will not survive. She sees no stardust over Victoria. She says nothing but starts the car and drives off. Two days later old Victoria is dead, the cause of all things a massive asthma attack which she was too weak to survive. Thus, another long life comes to an end. She is mourned, she will be missed. So soon before Christmas too. Victoria had been intending to make her annual trip home to her village in far off countryside just a few days before Christmas. Now her family will be preparing for a funeral. ........ And so it is as she sits at he desk, looking at the activity outside her window, she knows what it is that is happening. The far off family has come to collect Victoria's belongings, leaving no trace of her behind except in people's hearts. Already in this over populated land where there is a waiting list for accommodation, enquiries are being made as to the possible renting of the room. They mean no disrespect, and Victoria would understand. It is just life and the practicalities that the living have to deal with. She pushes her chair back, and stands up to go and pay her respects.