Hallucinations In The Sun

The beginnings of craziness:

The swelter of a summer’s day stirs a sudden desire to perform regrettable acts, to disregard values that have governed life. As I strain to make my way home after a day at work the sun beats down with relentless pressure. I force one foot in front of the other and resist the urge to remain motionless - to shrivel up under its burning gaze. Concerns and frustrations coupled with the need to fit into a different culture, to be accepted and understood boil within. 

I straighten a paper clip and fix it in the Nissan parked in the car lot. I want to get in and drive away. The alarm goes off but I don’t care. I don’t care for the consequences, my instincts are not motivated by the need for a car. I just want a little attention. Sweat oozes from my pores. The reflection from the sun irks me. I want to scream. Now I understand why Camus’ Stranger pulled the trigger. The rays unravel crude instincts buried under frustrations and nagged by egotistic living and self-promotion. The sun messes with my senses, it melts my social conformity's, toasts my dignity and allover a sudden, nothing matters anymore. I turn the corner and see a man, the only other human being for miles. He is tall and fit, dressed in a light lavender shirt and black pants. I walk up to him and suggest something. A disconnection between what I believe and what I feel. I don’t care for his race. I don’t care that he doesn't know me. He says yes and we go our separate ways, forget it ever happened, we are strangers. The tension is released until another scotching sun roasts all my concerns in its flame.I won't see him again, he will move to a different city, use a different route and probably forget we ever met.

It has been 3 years since I saw familiar strangers on the street. We looked alike and spoke the same language even though our dialects were different. We crossed paths daily. On occasion we exchanged smiles. We were comfortable in the little city of Kampala. We shook our heads at the government’s lack of credibility and laughed at the same comedians on the taxi radio. Here, genuine smiles are few. We are permanently hypnotized by our gadgets; we download the latest apps, respond to office mail after midnight, advocate for animal rights, human rights, gun rights and the right to be wrong.

Cars whiz by, I come to a traffic light; red, yellow, green - it's my turn to walk across. The sun continues to play on my senses. I snap back into the present, my feet firmly on the ground - I keep walking.

Dentists and Poverty

Every time I walk into a dentists office, I'm reminded why I should have listened to mom. She told me sweets were not good for my teeth but it didn't register - Big G, toffees and tropical mint were essential to life. I insisted and look where it got me - constant sessions on that dreaded chair opening my mouth wide, sweating profusely as huge needles pierce my gums. I have cut a few inches off my waist and strengthened my stomach muscles in that chair.
The doctor drills, fills, cements and crowns and all the while thoughts of building sites and house construction flash across mind. My stomach feels like one big pool of cold porridge at the sound of those machines. I imagine the doctor might drill through my skull, or pierce through my lower jaw. When silent machines are invented perhaps I will be a happier patient. If  teeth were on our elbows perhaps it would not feel so life threatening, one could then choose to look away while the doctor poked and pulled. But because the teeth are attached to the head with special organs such as the ears and brain close by, the trauma is doubled. See,  my visits are not the 6 month routine checkups - they have increased to every 3 weeks or so (depending on my finances) it's a filling, a root canal, a crown or something similar.

In America once you have teeth trouble that is the beginning of bankruptcy. Dentists rub their hands in glee each time you walk through their doors. They scheme on how to squeeze every last penny out of you. They have always been on my "not so liked" list but the ones in America have quickly graduated to avoid at all costs. I'm inspired to floss and brush with extra gusto or else they will be the death of me. Each tiny problem is doubled in size and depth, cosmetic procedures are presented as essential.
I knew it was time to look up my dental insurance cover when one of my teeth started giving me trouble. In this country no doctor will touch you with a ten foot pole without insurance.
In Uganda by the third visit the dentist knew enough to go beyond the pleasantries and ask about the family and work. Here even after the 4th visit the doctor is still asking which country you come from and if you have family - the same questions he asked the first time you walked into his clinic. With his instruments in your mouth, the best you can do is roll your eyes.
I chose the closest dentist under my insurance cover. The first order of business was choosing what treatment he would provide - the cheap vs expensive . He let his assistant do all the negotiations while he listened in the background. Once the decision was made he put on a big smile and introduced himself with a handshake.  Every visit after that was like placing a down payment on a car which I would never drive. Sam had to intervene as the quotes were getting out of hand. Sometimes I didn't quite understand what I was paying for. We approached the accountant to ask about the overall bill which she printed. Sam began to ask line by line what the different charges were for and by the end of the visit it turned out I had paid $1,200 more than was necessary. By coincidence, on the day I decided to end the unhealthy relationship the dentist asked me to write him a review. I said I would and before I knew it and while still in the dentist chair he presented me with his own ipad - I was pressured to write the recommendation under his breath. That was the end. Lets just say I wouldn't want to meet him in a dark alley - his stern facial expressions and clear thirst for money still give me the chills. Money hungry doesn't even begin to describe him. I guess they are instructed to put up photos of their kids so that patients feel comfortable with them but I'm beginning to suspect, those kids were on loan.
I found a more pleasant dentist who explains the procedures before hand and gives you an estimate before he starts any kind of treatment.
Oh why did I not listen to mummy?!