In Sikaman, I can bet that almost everybody you see is either a doctor or a pharmacist. If you’re sick, you don’t need to go to the hospital to see a doctor. Just see a friend and tell him your problem. “I have strong headache, bodily pains and loss of appetite.”

Your friend will look into your face and prophesy that you’re also suffering from constipation. Probably your nose looks like that of a chronic ‘constipator’.

“I can’t go to toilet”, you’d readi­ly confirm.

“Don’t worry. Go and buy Chloro­quine, four tablets, take two in the morning after koko and two in the evening. Also buy WL; if your stomach is hard take three, otherwise take two. Don’t forget and take four. Also don’t take it and go and board a bus to Kumasi or else you’ll set a national record.

See another friend with the same problem and he’d tell you to go and get Alagbin. “If there is no Alagbin, buy Drastin or Top Tabs. The malaria will go like water.

Meet yet another friend and he is likely to tell you, “Go and buy abom belt (terramycin or ampicillin). Take two straight. Wait for thirty minutes and balance it with three tots of raw akpeteshie. The fever will go long time. Me, this is how I cure my fe­ver-o! Me I’ll never go to hospital and a nurse will be pricking my buttocks with a needle. I am not a fool”.

Somehow, all the four prescrip­tions by the unorthodox medical practitioners are effective but only to some extent. They can mask the dis­ease called malaria and the patient will experience a sense of relief, but a relapse is inevitable.

In fact, if you’re sick of malaria and you ‘check’ a quarter of bitters, you’ll start sweating like a dock worker. Sweat will burst Alomele forth all over the body and will finally create an air-conditioner in the arm­pit, a sort of natural cooling system one can always rely upon.

The effect of this local alcohol which surpasses Russian Vodka in international status and ability to turn the human eye, will make you feel the malaria has been evicted from your system. In due course, you certainly will come to appreciate the fact that peters is not a cure for malaria.

From 6.30 p.m., go from one drug­store to another and you’ll see many people buying drugs over the counter. Only about five per cent of them buy with doctors’ prescription.

The rest are self-made, self-pro­moted doctors and pharmacists who buy butazolidin, malarex, chloro­quine, phensic, baralgin, valium, cafenol, kaolin, anusol, chloramphen­icol, anacin and many others by their own prescriptions.

Even you can buy syringes over the counter and that is why some herbal­ists are going about injecting anybody they see. In the process they distrib­ute tetanus free of charge. They are very generous!

We are all guilty of self-medica­tion including me Kwame Alomele. I don’t often cure my malaria by going to the doctor when I know I am also a doctor. The only difference is that I’ve not been to the medical school and sworn the Hippocratic Oath.

Although I realise that self-medi­cation is bad, I’m compelled to do it because it saves me time. Kokotako says he self-medicates because it saves him from the wrath of private doctors who always want to empty his back pocket.

In developed countries over-the-counter drug purchases are forbid­den. The druggist may sell you some pain killers and condoms if you want to have a showdown with your fian­cée.

But to go to a pharmacist and say you want to buy Indocid without a doctor’s prescription is unheard of, and of course, you’d be given the marching off orders.

Self-medication is a form of drug abuse which must not be encouraged. This form of abuse is common in third world countries because families do not have their own doctors.

Ideally every family is supposed to have a family doctor who comes around periodically to examine the members, offer treatment and ad­vice.

Any ailment is first relayed to him by phone and he gives appropriate advice. He is paid a regular fee, for these services. In Sikaman, only about one per cent of the population can afford the services of a family doctor. The money that would be used to pay the family doctor a week would be of better service if used to prepare groundnut soup that would last some three days.

So in the absence of the family doctor, many act in his stead and do their own by diagnoses, give their own prescriptions often by trial and error and risk wrong medication, un­der-doses, over-doses. After all, “All die be die”.

Perhaps if health services could be cheaply sought, self-medication will reduce. This brings to mind the idea of the National Health Insurance Scheme and its advantages. Certain diseases like heart ailment that need surgery to correct require between Gh¢ six and 10 million in terms of cost.

The Weekly Spectator has had to launch appeals for funds for those who need money to cure medical conditions including Hole-In-Heart. Some of these appeals will not be necessary if a National Health In­surance Scheme is in place to which anybody who values his health and life could contribute to and benefit therefrom.

This will also reduce the incidence of self-medication because your health needs will always be catered for whether you are suffering from kooko or stubborn constipation.

Perhaps, we’d want to know why the scheme is still not in place!

This article was first published on Saturday, October 15, 1994

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‘Sir’ Ms Odame said when David As­ante answered the call, ‘my name is Victoria Odame. I’m a teacher at Research School in Koforidua. I would like to come and see you concerning a student called Sarah’.

”Okay, madam. I would be very glad to meet you. How can I make your trip easier?’

‘I was going to join a bus to Ac­cra’.

‘Here’s what we will do. Take a taxi and ask them to bring you to Accra. I will speak to the driver, give him the directions and pay him when you get here’.

The taxi stopped in front of the house. The gate opened, and the driver moved to the long driveway and stopped. ‘What a beautiful house?’ He said.

David and Adoma came out to meet them. Adoma paid the driver as David and Sarah stared at each other.

‘Please come in and sit down’, Adoma invited. She served them with water.

‘You are welcome’, Adoma continued. We have been waiting anxiously since you called this morning. So please, let’s hear you’. Before she could open her mouth, Sarah rose, moved to David, hugged him and sat on his lap’.

They both broke into tears. Adoma and Ms Odame also broke into tears.

‘Sorry madam’ David said. ‘This whole episode has been a very dif­ficult one. But let’s do the proper thing. Let’s hear you first, and I will also speak. I’m sure we need to answer some questions immedi­ately’.

‘Okay sir. I have been taking an interest in Sarah, because although she’s brilliant academically, she seemed to be troubled.

Following my discussions with her and some whispers I had been hear­ing, I went to Aboso Senior High School, and spoke to your former colleague, Mr Hanson. He told me that you were an exemplary teach­er who was loved by all, and he also told me about the unfortunate events that caused you to leave for Germany. So I returned to Koforidua with the view to finding the appro­priate means of helping to solve this problem’.

‘Great. Ms Odame, I have to thank you for finally helping us to solve this problem. Now, let me state the facts. This is what happened.

‘Gladys and I met and got married whilst we were both teachers in the school. Some months into our mar­riage, she told me that she needed to spend some days with her par­ents, and I agreed.

It turned out that she was actually spending time in a hotel with her ex-boyfriend, Simon. This happened again, after Sarah was born. I got wind of this, and told her that I was no longer interested in the marriage.

I started preparing to travel to Germany. She pleaded for forgive­ness, but I stood my ground. Then she told me that she would punish me for rejecting her.

She came out later to say that Sarah was not my child, but Si­mon’s. She went and hid her some­where, obviously expecting that I would fight to take my child. I was actually going to do that, but my parents advised me that it was al­most impossible to win such a fight.

They advised that difficult as it sounded, I should leave the child with her, because she would come back to me eventually. I have absolutely no problem taking care of you, Sarah. I am taking care of quite a number of kids who are not mine. So that is what happened. My hands were tied. I have been trying to find out how you are doing.

I kept hearing that you were doing well at school. I also heard that Gladys and her husband were having problems, but I kept hoping that my daughter would at least be okay till it was possible for me to go for her’.

‘Sarah, now you have met your dad. You will be free to …’

‘I’m not going anywhere! ‘ she declared as she held on to him’.

‘You don’t have to worry about that, Sarah’, Adoma said. ‘We have been looking forward to the day you come home. This is your home. Now, you have to meet your sib­lings’. She called Abrefi and Adaa­wa.

‘Girls, we told you that you have a sister who would join us anytime. Now here is she’.

‘Sarah?’ Abrefi asked.

‘Yes’, Adoma replied. The girls hugged her and took her away.

‘Now’, David said, ‘I think it is time to call Madam Gladys’. He dialed the number.

‘My name is David Asante. I’m here in my house with my daughter Sarah. I hear you have told her all sorts of crazy stories about me. I could make life very difficult for you, but I won’t.

You are your own worst enemy. I don’t think you should be expecting her anytime soon. What do you say?’

Gladys stayed silent for over a minute, and cut the line.

‘Food is ready’, Adoma an­nounced. ‘Everybody please come to the table’.

Sarah chatted excitedly with her siblings as Adoma and David chatted with Ms Odame. She kept staring at her father.

‘Now, Ms Odame, after you have brought such joy into our home, should we allow you to go back to Koforidua today, or should we wait till we are ready to release you? I could call your husband and ask permission.

And please don’t tell me you didn’t bring anything for an over­night stay. There are several super­markets around here. We can fix that problem quickly’.

‘I will beg you to release me. Now that I have been so warmly wel­comed here, I already feel part of this home. Koforidua is not that far away, so I will visit often’.

‘Well, let’s see what the kids have to say. Ladies, shall I release Ms Odame to go back to Koforidua? ‘

‘No!’ They shouted, and all broke into laughter.

‘Ms Odame, I will have mercy on you. But we are going to do some­thing to make it easy for you to visit us. My wife wants to show you something. Please follow her’.

‘Adoma led her to the driveway as they other followed. They stopped in front of the car.

‘This is a Toyota Corolla 1600. It is very reliable, and good on petrol consumption. We are giving this to you in appreciation of your help in getting our daughter back to us.

And here in this envelope, is a little contribution to help you with maintenance. And here in this other envelope is a gift to help with your children’s school fees’.

As she stood, stunned, and stared from the car to the envelopes, Da­vid put his hand around his family’.

‘Let’s leave her to take a look at her car. Ms Odame, one of my drivers will drive you to Koforidua and leave your car with you. We are waiting inside’.

By Ekow de Heer