ISSAKA: THE BONE MAN OF THE IVORY COAST

As warring factions shoot each other in Iraq, Somalia, Syria and Yemen; as criminals attack their victims in South Africa, the USA, Mexico and Myanmar; and as reckless drivers knock down road users across the world, one man sits in a tiny room in a poor suburb in Africa, helping multitudes live a normal life, away from excruciating pain. He asks not, not, for a single cent from his patients! 

A journey begins

On August 13th, 2016, I set out on a journey, with a driver and two others. The main street ahead of us was well built, brightly lit but littered with heaps of scattered garbage all along it. My friend, Ali, said that this was due to a recent decision by the Government to take away the responsibility of garbage collection from the Municipality. A new system was yet to be put in place.

We turned into a dark small street in a vast neighbourhood. There was garbage again and potholes, contrasted with lively, colourfully dressed, busy and happy crowds of people everywhere. The day ended as we approached our destination.

We bumped along. A few parties started, some in spaces lit with small generators, some under tents, some with bands playing and fun lovers dancing. The street was so full of cars and human beings that it became impossible to steer all the way through it to our destination. So we had to give up driving and depend on the scissors under our waist.

Where is a clinic, the Clinic of the people? Where is it? When we finally reached it (ONG Espoir Handicap) we found it closed, most unexpectedly. After all ours efforts! We were disappointed! However, I was not to be discouraged. We had to go on a hunt,a task I never imagined would have been so daunting.

Ali was beginning to be impatient. We were going around in circles, with our many voluntary guides telling us every five minutes that "We will be there in five minutes!"

"Let's leave it till tomorrow!" Ali urged.

"We have come all this way, we can't go back empty-handed," I insisted. Alhaji Kone, who came with us from the Plateau (the city centre), supported me.

The gold of Bromakoté

Finally, we spotted him, the gold beyond the garbage, potholes and the Clinic, the Clinic of the people. We saw the gold which makes this poor neighbourhood shine with beams of the selfless sacrifice of a man, the man, one very special man. His beams are so bright and strong that they spread into the green fields of C?te d'Ivoire, into the neighbouring nations and across seas. That and this was the man we were hunting for.

I could not recognize him at first when we found him; relaxed, well dressed in a nice brown local haftan, with only two people seated next to him in a faintly lit street, by the verandah of a house. We sat with him for an interview, at the end of which I made a request to return the following week in order to take pictures of his clinic in action. He agreed.

Issaka Kouriba was the man we were looking for and the man we found. I heard about him through Alhaji Kone some years ago and met him for the first time in July 2014, whilst I was on a business trip to C?te d'Ivoire. He lives in Adjame Bromakoté, a less privileged suburb of the capital, Abidjan.

Born in Bonon on August 28, 1972, he is married with 8 children. He comes from a family of "local bone doctors" or "traditional orthopaedic surgeons". Issaka was taught by his father, who learnt from his father, and so on. He started treating broken bones and fractures in 1984, at the tender age of 12.

This is a man without a life of his own, a true servant of humanity, an incredible model of sacrifice in a selfish world. When I saw him in 2014 he was squeezed inside a very tiny room, invaded by hundreds of suffering patients. I had to be led by hand through the crowd by his aides to reach him. Our meeting lasted a few minutes, because he was too busy and because of my own uncontrollable emotions at the sight of so much suffering, in such a limited space. I saw split wounds and broken bones all around.

The biggest challenge to our humanity is how we react to the suffering of others. In my case, the sight of a human being in pain brings out the biggest weakness in me. I cannot stand the suffering of others. Therefore, I cannot understand how a human being can deliberately subject another to suffering and enjoy it, as happens often in this world. Each time I see a person in pain I imagine that it could have been me or someone I love.

This, paradoxically, has discouraged me from wanting to be a medical doctor since childhood. I remember a friend of my father's asking me, when I was in primary school: "Karamo, you come first in every subject at school, are you going to be a doctor?" "No, dad, I can't," I replied. "I'm afraid of blood!"

History repeated itself more than three decades later when my daughter was doing well in all subjects in her early years of high school. "I want you to become a doctor," dictated her mum. "I'm sorry, mum, I can't. I'm afraid of blood!" she replied. She abandoned the sciences and followed me into the social sciences.

A thousand cases a day

Issaka reported that he treats about a thousand cases on average, male and female, young and old, a day. He works from 8am to 2am almost daily, almost seven days a week! The youngest patient he has ever treated was only one day old and the eldest 90. His patients comprise Muslims, Christians, believers in traditional religions and others. They include sportsmen, such as the goal keeper of the Ivorian national team (the Elephants), Silvain Gbohouo, who won the African Cup in 2015. They cover all the ethnic groups who once fired at each other in this country.

From 2002-2011, C?te d'Ivoire, one of the most prosperous countries in West Africa, went through two brutal civil wars, in which thousands were reported to have died. The post-war Government is now busy rebuilding the country. Ivorians are shaking hands again and investors are flocking in from many directions, especially China and France. The Government took notice of Issaka's work and decorated him with the Order of National Merit in January 2015.

Issaka's patients come from across West Africa and much further afield, from countries such as the USA, China and Belgium. "I treat them all as patients. Although I am a Muslim, I never ask them what they believe in. I never ask them about their tribe either. "

Most importantly, he never asks for money from them. I pointed out to him that he could become a millionaire and build a beautiful house in an affluent suburb of Abidjan. "Why don't you charge a fee for your services?" I asked. "Because I inherited this skill from my father, who got it from our ancestors. It is a blessing on our family for generations. Even my younger brother can do it. Our forefathers warned us never to do it for money and we cannot disobey them!"

I was able to return to Issaka only on October 23, 2016. I watched him in action again in his small, crowded, and rusty clinic. His patients were mostly the poor, who could not afford hospital bills. The ones who could, including the ones from abroad, were typically those who had been to hospitals and finally gave up, after long and unsuccessful treatments by medical doctors. They included a young man from Belgium. He was involved in an almost fatal motor bike accident, which has confined him to a wheel chair.

Some patients lay on the floor, some were carried on old stretchers by relatives. The patients went to Issaka on his bench, one by one, on their own or carried by some of Issaka's seven assistants. He touched the affected part (s), rubbed it (them) gently with shea butter, massaged, pulled and/or pushed, and rolled big bandages around it (them), as necessary. Some, with minor dislocations or fractures, got up and walked away. Others with more serious injuries would return for further treatment, the length of which depended on the seriousness of their cases. Some patients had "fled" from their hospital beds, after medical doctors decided to amputate their hands or legs!

He told me, emotionally, "I am very happy to know that you have come all the way from abroad to say "Thank you" to me, although I have never done anything for you. On the other hand, I have treated, washed, fed and healed many patients whom I have never set eyes on again, after they have left my clinic."

"Thank you on behalf of humanity!"

I believe he is who deserved the "Thank you!" instead. "Thank you Issaka, but no thanks to me! You have done so much for me by doing so much for those whom I am related to in humanity," I assured him.

All men and women belong to the "tribe" of the double-legged two-handed children of Adam and Eve, although we do not always behave as such to each other. Even if you believe we come from monkeys, monkeys do identify with and help each other. Sometimes they walk on two legs and lift their "hands", although they cannot say "hello!" to each other.

Men (no blame on women!) have a tendency to focus on their small differences rather than their big commonalities. Unless we are able to see the big picture rather than a portion of it, we cannot see the need to help or care for each other beyond our communities or for only those whom we see as similar to us, through one narrow criterion or another.

I do believe that he who washes your brother's clothes saves you from shame in public and he who dresses his wound does even better for you. All humans are brothers or sisters. Therefore, all humans owe a "Thank you!" to those who help other humans, even those whom we do not know or those we do not feel we are related to through one narrow criterion or another.

I spoke with some of his patients. Forty-five-year old Kwaku Adjounani from Yopougon said that he came to Issaka after listening to the testimony of so many people about his successes. Kwaku's leg was broken in a car accident in 2013. He came to Issaka, after many visits to hospitals and he "now feels much better".

Fifty-five-year old Mamadou Fofana from Odienne was greeting a friend by a roadside in September 2015 when a reckless driver hit him, breaking his arm, shoulder and leg. He also came to Issaka after initial treatment in hospitals. He felt much better at the hands of Issaka and is very grateful: "Everyone knows that he takes very good care of his patients!"

The most grateful patient I met in the clinic was Madame Nicole Kouadio, 44, who said she heard about Issaka through her stepson. He and a friend of his were hit by a car whilst riding his motorbike at the age of about 27. When he was admitted in a hospital, the doctors made a decision to amputate his severely broken leg. Friends and relatives urged him to refuse and recommended Issaka to him. Now the 32-year old young man is back on his feet.

Therefore, the bespectacled, official looking, lady, with a cross hanging from a lace around her neck, came to see Issaka with a very old injury from high school. She narrated an incident when she fell down and broke her kneecap and the doctors replaced it with a metallic plate which made it impossible for her to bend her knee and to sleep painlessly at night. "The pain disappeared after Issaka's first touch. It is free! He doesn'task for a cent!" she echoed the appreciation of other patients, raised her hands in prayer for Issaka, as the cross leapt on her chest!

A small wish for a big man

Issaka's biggest wish: To find a good Samaritan who would build for him a big, well-equipped and clean clinic, where he could treat some 300,000 cases each year.

So small of a wish for so big a man. Big, not because of his weight, height or ego, but because of doing so much for the benefit of so many, without asking for a cent!!

For more information please contact:

ONG ESPOIR HANDICAP Tel: +225 07 51 50 66 / +225 66 58 90 87 / +225 45 45 35 36;

Email : [email protected] ; Email : [email protected].

Website: https://www.espoir-handicap.org/contacts.php

HEENO INTERNATIONAL Tel: +220 755 5272/+220 713 9773

Email: [email protected] or [email protected]

Website: www.heenointernational.com