A week or two ago, I posted about Renald, our friendly neighborhood gangster, who's been coming to clinic for daily dressing changes on his gunshot wound. Someone had given him a crutch and he was using it to get around Jubilee until last Friday when he arrived for his appointment walking without assistance.
One day earlier, Isaac, one of my American co-workers, had sprained his ankle playing football, so when Renald showed up without his crutch, Grace jokingly told him about Isaac's injury, more for the sake of conversation than anything else.
The next morning, Renald walked into clinic carrying his crutch. "I brought this for your friend," our thug announced. "I thought he might need it."