The centre of Tunisia is a whole world away from the Tunisia where tourists flock to the beaches and posh hotels.
Poor soils, dry and barren, the people struggle to make a meagre living off the land. It’s got very little going for it.
The north has more rain, better soil, forests with wood and game – the south, albeit desert, has oases packed with date palms (yielding over £200 per tree in a good year), as well as flocks of tourists streaming forth for their one-day ‘desert experience’ dressed up as Lawrence of Arabia, but with baseball cap and trainers.
But the middle? Nothing.
So, ideal territory for SPANA.
We were at the souk in Sbeitla on Wednesday – with the team from Kasserine. Still hundreds of animals, bringing people and their goods to and from the market. We treat forty-nine cases in the morning – from the usual sores and wounds, to one with a touch of pneumonia, and several ‘old soldiers’ needing their teeth rasped. Sadly, there is no injection you can give to cure old age. (I know that only too well, after I’ve spent a few hours holding up legs for the farrier).
But the biggest problem for a lot of these animals is not old age – but youth.
That is to say, not their own youth, but the youth of the stockmen put in charge of them. And to call them stockmen, is to insult that noble calling.
I stood and watched, all morning, as sad, ill-educated, brutal and frustrated teenage boys took out all their bitterness on the poor wretched donkeys and mules in their charge.
Whipping them with steel reinforcing rods, or rubber tubing – it was a great pleasure to stand at the exit from the souk with the SPANA team and confiscate all the whips, one by one.
Was I being overly-sentimental if I thought I saw a wry smile on the faces of their donkeys and mules as they trotted past?
Monday, 2 November 2009
Thursday, 15 October 2009
LATEST BULLETIN ON TOMMY ,direct from the'horses mouth' in Marrakech 10.30 am ,15th Oct
Hurrah, hurrah, he's doing well.
The temperature/pneumonia worry is always there, but touch wood, he's fine at the moment. Still being fed by nasal-gastric tube, every two hours, day and night, but he's getting stronger every day. They hope that soon he will develop a proper sucking reflex, but of course nobody knows just how premature he might be. Sucking is much better for the digestion than a stomach tube - all the wee scrap's 'systems' will work better.
But he is getting stronger every day. I asked if he was standing properly yet, and Dr. Boubker replied, "Standing? He's running about ! We're having a problem keeping him in his hospital quarters". He promised some more photos later today
Good news then, but please remember everybody, he's still very much 'at risk' - he's very fragile.
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Tuesday, 13 October 2009
STOP PRESS : MEDICAL BULLETIN ON TOMMY (SPANA clinic, Marrakech).
Well, the good news is he's still going, the bad news - it's a bit of struggle.
No surprises there I suppose - the poor wee scrap's got a lot of challenges to face.
Main problem, he's probably quite premature - though hard to be accurate as to just how much. But it translates into he's got no sucking reflex. So, to feed him we've had to do it by naso-gastric tube, every two hours.
Now, you can imagine, feeding the tube across his trachea as often as that, it would be very, very easy to get a drop of fluid down into his lungs - a potential disaster. Pneumonia is the last thing he needs, and last night he had quite a temperature. So, he's on antibiotics anyway, and they decided to give the feeding a break (we can always give hime a glucose drip so he doesn't get dehydrated), and this morning his temerature was back to normal again.
But you can see, his grip on life is still pretty fragile, though I've always felt he was a fighter. And that's worth a lot. Without that spark, it's very hard work. And he's up and walking around - good for the systems, breathing, digestion etc.
Fingers crossed and hope for the best.
Watch this space.
Monday, 12 October 2009
Tommy's Story - A tale from Marrakech
You always know when something awful is happening in our animal hospital in Marrakech.
There is a sudden kerfuffle, perhaps with a certain amount of yelling – then some histrionics – usually involving grown men and women weeping copiously.
So it was last night just as darkness began to descend. Oh, but I forgot to say, at the same time as the histrionics our team goes into overdrive, while at the same time depicting a stony-faced professionalism.
It took a while to find out what was going on.
Apparently, a female donkey had been brought in on a cart, in the last stages of tetanus induced paralysis.
It is sometimes possible to help animals with tetanus, especially tough old donkeys (horses have got almost no chance), but you’ve got to get to them early. And this poor old girl had been left far, far too long – when the only possible and humane treatment is euthanasia – and as soon as it can be administered..
But sadly, this case had a slight complication. She was also in the last stages of pregnancy.
So, there was an immediate emergency caesarean-section, before the poor old girl was put out of her misery, and before our vet, Dr. Boubker, was able to carry the little bundle of uncertain life into the ‘intensive care’ ward – that had been set up about thirty seconds earlier.
A little grey colt foal, all legs and tummy, but at least breathing, was laid on insulated matting, wrapped up in towels, and rubbed and caressed to encourage his fragile hold on life. Not surprisingly the volunteer vets and every other female in sight or earshot rallied to his aid.
But what could we do? Does tetanus cross the placenta? Apparently not, but the toxins from the infection might.
We managed to telephone our long suffering and patient Chairman and veterinary mentor and advisor Professor Derek Knottenbelt at the Liverpool Veterinary School, for some very welcome advice.
The mother’s colostrum would be toxic, but we could take a blood transfusion from another young donkey to extract the plasma which would help his seriously challenged immune system. And tetanus anti-serum would be good, just in case. But what on earth were we going to feed the poor little scrap on? There is no artificial
mare’s milk substitute in Morocco – the best we can do is UHT with a spoonful of honey (Heh, that could make a good title for a song, couldn’t it ?)
Every two hours, day and night. We’re determined to keep that little flickering flame of life alight.
We thought we’d call him Tommy.
Wednesday, 30 September 2009
China
Well, here I am, writing this at about forty thousand feet on BA 38 flying back from Urumqi, Xinjiang (where they've been having the little misunderstandings recently - ie hacking each other to death) via Beijing, back to jolly old blighty.
The plane is packed - and I'm in the middle of a group of French tourists. Amazing - they're never going to get the Legion d'Honneur - they're knocking back the Australian Chardonay (even though there's Bordeaux on board) and stuffing in the beef stew. Two even ordered gin and tonics. Quel horreur !!
Mark you, after ten days in North China, even BA's food looks pretty good.
Now, don't get me wrong, I'm nromally the one holding out for a Chinese rather than an Indian on a Saturday night. But Chinese food in Britain normally means Cantonese (Hong Kong) stuff - a very different kettle of fish.
Unfortunate metaphor really, because that's actually what you get. At least in some places it's still popular to have a glass of tadpoles (live) poured out from a little kettle or teapot. Perks you up no end.
In most good restaurants, the walls are lined with aquariums, and they net the poor things in front of the customer. And food's no good unless it's got the bones still in it, so fish and chickens are just hacked up. You just grab bits with the chopsticks and try your best not to skewer your lips or tongue.
Same thing for breakfast even - no fruit or bread or cereal (or even coffee), just rice or noodles with veg, and so much chilli you mouth goes all numb as if you 've just had root canal work at the dentist.
All the time alongside a table full of business men chain smoking and hacking up the night's phlegm.
Great start to the day.
Yet it all has its compensations.
We head out of town (our base is at the University) and drive through a gap in the Tianshan Mountains to a little town called Shanshan, right on the edge of the Taklamahan Desert. Breathtaking - Bactrian camels plodding across the sand - forty foot high dunes in places.
These are Uygur people around here - that worked and guarded the Silk Road two thousand years ago. They love and value their animals, and when we'd treated a couple of donkeys, I had to go and sit on a stone sitting platform (with a fire underneath to keep you comfy in winter) and drink tea, surrounded by humour, friendliness and warmth.
Not bad really.
But I think I'll still have one of those little bottles of white Bordeaux.
