Games Tchadians Play

The woman is in the OR for emergency surgery. Sarah comes to inform me that the family has only paid 15,000 francs ($30) of the 25,000 francs ($50) required. I tell Samedi and Abel to hold on. I'll see about that. I slip off my OR shoes and into my crocs, slide my mask down my face, push open the screen door and put my game face on.

As I approach the beacon of light coming out of the pharmacy window in an otherwise dark ad building I see a tall, lanky Tchadian in a dark tan matching pants and short-sleeved button down shirt. He slowly turns at the noise of my entrance and looks me up and down. His face is familiar. He's one of the former teachers at our elementary school. His name is Amos (pronounced Ah-moh). I can tell he's sizing me up. Let the games begin.

With a look of disdain on my face I march up to Amos. "What's the meaning of this? I hear you haven't paid for the surgery yet!"

Amos looks at me with a shocked and hurt look on his face. "What do you mean? I've just paid 10,000 francs."

I look at the pharmacist, Koumabas, who nods with his goofy half grin. He's enjoying the match.

I turn back to Amos in feigned disgust. "Do you realize that you should pay 25,000 francs. Do you think 10,000 is equal to 25,000? Aren't you a teacher? That's basic math!"

Amos responds coolly without blinking. "Oh it's ok. I'll just pay the rest tomorrow. Go ahead and do the surgery. You can trust me."

I laugh caustically. "Everyone says that but we've found that if they don't pay before the surgery they never pay after. Find a solution!" I pretend to turn away.

"But we're different. Maybe other people don't pay, but we will. You know us."

"Yes, I do. That's why you need to pay ahead of time. Look, we want to save your sister's life. We're ready to operate. We're only waiting on you!" I've played my trump card. Out of the corner of my eye I see Koumabas nod approvingly. He's enjoying this immensely.

"Ok ok." Amos pretends to concede defeat. "I have my bicycle outside. Can I just leave that as collateral to prove I'll pay later?"

"Let's see it." Amos quickly drags in a rusty, bent and twisted carcass of a bike with missing pedals and a torn up seat.

"Here it is." Amos smiles smugly, sure he's won.

Koumabas just shakes his head and chuckles. "Ca la! No way. That's worth 10,000 francs at best! That's not enough!" I've found a tag team partner in this traditional Tchadian sport.

I narrow my eyes, fixing them on Amos. "Don't you have a cell phone? You could leave that as collateral as well and then we can get going on saving your sister's life. We're only waiting on you, you know!"

Amos looks shocked. "I don't have a cell phone. I'm just a poor teacher." He looks like a puppy with his tail between his legs begging for bread at the table.

I turn away again. "Oh well, I guess we'll just have to wait. We're all ready and everything. Just waiting on you." I fold my arms across my chest and lean casually against the wall.

"Ok, ok." Amos starts to lose his composure. "David, come quickly!" Our night watchman comes in and extends his hand towards Amos holding a tiny cell phone in his outstretched palm.

"David, is that yours?" I ask. I don't want Amos to cop out by forcing our staff to cover for him. I won't lose that easily.

"No, no. It's mine." Amos doesn't even blink at the outright lie he just told me. But then again, I haven't exactly been telling the whole truth either.

"Thanks, Amos, you did the right thing." As I turn to leave I stop and look back. "By the way, I've already done my part. We've finished the operation and took out the twisted ovary with its tumor. She's doing fine and just waiting for you to come out of surgery. Too bad I had to play this game to get you to do your part."

Ah yeah, victory is always sweet in this Tchadian game of bluffing and bargaining. Poker's got nothing on it.