An Everyday Miracle

This is a story that I wrote a few years ago, and tells the tale of my good friend from Goa, Mario.
The story begins in Tanzania at a boarding school, and ends at a casino bar in Goa.

(Part 1)
Everybody loves History....

Mario was the very best in his class at climbing the Mango trees. He would scamper up the tree like a frisky monkey, and throw down only the ripest fruits to his friends, who all eagerly waited below.
Now being the best at climbing the mango tree did come with a price, and the cost for Mario was to sacrifice an education which quite frankly bored him.
At the tender age of thirteen, Mario struggled with his concentration levels as the teacher began to take the lecture. His mind would often drift as the tedious drowning noise came from the teacher. Her voice began to sound like an old vinyl record, one that's being played on the slowest setting.

Mario had attended a boarding school in Tanzania during the late 70's and early 80's, while his father worked all day down the mines. Many Goan's have strong connections with East Africa as work was plentiful, but times were getting hard. Mario's mother would sell fish at the local market and make clothes for extra money, while his father would spend a shilling every week on the English football pools. He would then listen out for the results to be broadcast on the BBC's long service radio station. When Mario was back home from boarding school, he too would work, in a small restaurant that was used by the local fishermen.

Mario had a plan to help him get out of attending any more lessons. One day, while rushing back to his classroom after lunch time, Mario placed a chilli in the back pocket of his trousers, as he hadn't the chance to eat it with the Dal and Rice. Mario took his seat at the back of the class while his friends waited for the history lesson to begin. Then he rubbed his eyes and let out a sigh for the forth coming lecture.
The teacher soon stopped the lesson as quickly as it had begun, and asked Mario why his eye was so red. Mario quickly realised that the chilli in his pocket must have contaminated his hands, thus causing his eye to turn red after being rubbed. Mario chose to inform the teacher that he also had a headache, and maybe this had coursed his eye to turn red.
Mario was instantly dismissed from lessons and sent to the medical room for observations and rest.
Once upstairs in the sick bay, and still with the offending chilli safely tucked in his pocket, he lay down on the bed closest to the window and gazed across the fields to where the mango trees blow with the wind.
Mario's plan began to take shape as he was given extra Dal and Rice that night for supper.

Every once in a while Mario would hear the nurse as she began to bang and clomp her way up the stone staircase, which caused an echo that filled the silent corridors of the sick bay. Mario took this opportunity to take the chilli out of his pocket, and once again rub his eye before carefully concealing the chilli back from where it had came.
"Your eyes are still red Mario, you should rest a few more days" soon become the usual statement from the puzzled nurse. Mario thought that this was the best idea he had ever thought of, as he ate all of his favoured foods and avoided the tiresome lessons.
After a week of being marooned in the sick bay, Mario began to feel lonely as he looked across the fields towards his friends, who all played cricket and climbed the mango trees without him. Mario began to miss his companions, and he also wanted to climb the trees for the fruits once more.
The next day, the nurse was relieved to learn that Mario's unusual medical condition had miraculously healed overnight, and Mario was promptly returned to his class that very morning.

As soon as the bell rang out to put an end to the days lessons, Mario ran to climb the mango trees with his friends once again. But in his haste to reach the fruit, he slipped and fell from the highest branch of the tree, and landed with a thump on the dusty ground.
Mario had caused extensive damaged to his hip and was rushed back to the medical room, where he laid once again. Mario felt sad as he looked across the fields to his friends as they again played without him.
The chilli was still tucked in his pocket, but not even this couldn't help him now.

Mario was left with a permanent disability after the mango tree incident. The family returned back to their native Goa a few years later. I often stay with Mario when my travels take me back to Goa. I share my balcony with three dogs, a cat, and a small frog that lives in the plant pot.
For a person living with a disability in India, Mario's self belief has helped him to leads a full and happy life with little hindrance to his daily routine. He still smiles about the mango incident, 31 years previous.
Usually while we're enjoying a drink and reminiscing over past adventures.

(Part 2)
Saturday Night Market....

I followed Mario back from the Saturday night market on my scooter. The evening had been sensibly spent at Ramnath's cocktail bar, where we drank cashew feni with fruit mixers. Mario helped his friend to serve the customers with the alcoholic punch, while also entertaining the regulars with light-hearted conversation.
Mario has a natural gift with people and an ability to raise a smile from the sternest of faces. One lady asked him what 'Sex on the beach' was like, to which Mario replied 'FANTASTIC'
My job at Ramnath's place was to sit on the empty boxes at the back of the bar, and drink all of the dregs left over from the cocktail mix. Great work if you can get it.

After we had drunk all of Ramnath's profits that evening, and with our employment terminated for another week, we bid farewell and took off on the scooters in the general direction of home.
Mario had the lead, leaving me stuck behind a truck. The HGV was attempting to overtake a heard of cattle on a blind curve in the road. Once I was around a few corners I raced passed the truck, and tried to catch up with Mario. But then disaster had already struck.
Mario lay on the side of the road with his bike scattered and idle on the other. I rushed over towards Mario, as my alcoholic mind quickly began to sober up with apprehension. One tends to sobers up rather rapidly when faced with a potential tragedy. Mario slowly sat up strait and under a dark shadow. My friend looked up to see who had cast the shadow over him, and there stood a tall gentleman who towered into the night sky. The fellow introduced himself to me as I placed my arm around a semi-conscious Mario.

"My name is Guy and I'm a paramedic from the UK"
"This is Mario" I replied "and he's my friend"

Guy had seen the accident take place and with the natural instincts of a professional medic, stopped his taxi and came across to help a bruised Mario.
Once the pleasantries were over with, Guy began to ask Mario a series of questions like "Have you been drinking" and "Are you on medication" to which Mario answered 'yes' to both.
Guy then held his index finger in front of Mario's face, and asked him to simply follow the digit with his eyes. The paramedic began to move his finger from side to side, as Mario watched, and concentrated, before declaring that there was indeed only one finger.
Mario looked particularly proud with his response, but the paramedic failed to praise Mario's enthusiasm, and quickly began to complained,
"No, no, I just want you to follow my finger, not count them"
Guy's medical advice for us was to take a taxi home, and sober up.

(Part 3)
An Everyday Miracle....

Mario had truly experienced a lucky escape after blacking-out while riding his scooter home. The fruit mixers in the cocktails were too rich for Mario's diabetes, which subsequently caused him to faint while riding the scooter that night. Once we had both realised this fact, Mario and I rapidly quashed any blame that had previously been directed towards the alcohol.
Mario decided that it is now time for him to learn how to drive a car, as the scooters were becoming far too dangerous to use on the Goan roads.
An appointment for a medical examination was soon arranged, which caters for disabled people who wish to gain a driving licence in India, and held every four months. Mario was understandably concerned for the forth coming examination, so I agreed to accompany him for the short journey to Mapusa.

On the day of the medical test I followed Mario with my scooter, but we quickly became separated in the market town of Mapusa, which was alive and in full swing. Indians and tourists walked in every direction as they bargained for the finest foods and curios from the street traders.
I could see Mario in the distance through the crowds of people. I wondered over towards him with both of my hands raised above my head, with the hope that Mario would recognise my whiteness amongst the energetic colours from the bazaar. An Indian chap walked past me and looked at my arms aloft,
"Praise the Load" he declared as he passed me by.

Once reunited with Mario, we escaped the heat that beat down upon the buyers and sellers of the market, and found refuge in the building where the medical examination was due to take place.
Mario still looked slightly anxious, as we sat amongst twenty other guys who were all waited quietly for the test to begin. The doctor walked into the room with a clip board and a lethargic attitude.
Mario was sent to have a x-ray of his knee. This surprised Mario as his hip was the cause of his disability, but with Mario not belonging to the medical profession, he chose to refrain from interfering.
Mario followed another Indian chap to the x-ray room, as he also required to a scan.
As they both walked along the corridor, the chap began to tell Mario that he required a medical for a driving licence, and this was essential for his new job. He wanted to work as a 'heavy goods vehicle' operator for a local construction company.
Once they had arrived at the x-ray room, the doctor asked the Indian chap to remove his trousers and belt, at which point his wooden leg fell to the floor with a loud thump. The doctor looked unfazed as the wooden leg lay abandoned on the floor, and proceeded to give the legless Indian a pass certificate, once of course, he had picked up his leg and dusted it clean.

Indian roads follow an unorganised chaos with only one real rule, to use your horn as a way of communicating and as often as possible. If a vehicle turns onto the road and you meet with an accident, it's your fault if you fail to sound your horn and warn the other fellow of your presents.
The doctor was now dealing with a man with a hearing impediment, and who could only lip-read.
So with this in mind the doctor covered his mouth with the palm of his hand, and proceeded to ask the hard hearing guy a few simple questions. The deaf patient was unable to see the doctor's lips move and failed to answer or even acknowledge that he was being spoken to.
The doctor then removed his hand which covered his mouth, and began to explain to the chap that he would now stand directly behind him and clap his hands. The doctor asked the guy to raise his arm once he could hear the sound of clapping. The deaf patient moved his eyes from side to side in a vain attempt of anticipating the doctor's movement, as he stood behind and clapped his hands three times. The patient consequently failed to raise his hand in recognition to the doctor's applause.
The doctor's next move was to stand at one side of the patient, who could now slightly see the consultant out of the corner of his eye. Once more the doctor brought his hands together, but this time he only simulated the clapping of his hands and failed to make any distinctive sound. The deaf man proudly raised his left arm, and like the fellow with the wooden leg that had fallen to the ground, he also passed the test.
After examining the x-ray of Mario's knee, the doctor confirmed that the knee was in fine condition.
Mario too was declared fit to drive.
Everybody who attended the medical that morning left with a 'pass certificate'
Surely this was a miracle beyond biblical standards.

(Part 4)
"My name is Jesus, sir...."

A celebration was requested by Mario, after successfully completing the state medical examination.
We decided to take a taxi to a small casino at the south of Goa, with the faint hope of wining a few rupees.
With the venue of the casino being held at a luxurious hotel, I began to cut away the tatty frayed ends from my cord trousers. I love my cords, but they had begun to grow dread-locks which aimlessly followed my flip flops around. Mario also decided to up his game for the night ahead, and gave his best sandals a good spit and polish.
We asked for one more miracles that day, as we got ourselves ready for the five star experience.
We simply wanted to be admitted into the casino and allowed to participate with all of the fun.
We wanted the whole gambling experience.

We took the sensible precautions for the taxi ride to the casino. I emptied out half the contents from a coca-cola bottle and passed it to Mario, who refilled the bottle with a local brandy. Once our taxi journey had begun, Mario had a genius idea, and borrowed a couple of glasses and a bag of ice from a local bar.
The journey in the taxi took a hour, which also happened to be the same amount of time it took for us both to finish our drinks. Unfortunately though, with the Goan roads not being renowned for their smoothness, we spilt most of our drinks as we tried to top up our glasses along the way.
We arrived at the casino, with both of us smelling like we'd finished a tour of the local Honey bee Brewery. Mario and I began to fear rejection as we entered into the palatial hotel.
Our preparations were however rewarded, as Mario and myself were allowed to freely stroll towards the casino. We made a bee line for the bar.
The barman asked us both what we would like to drink, as we occupied the vacant stools closest to the bar. With Mario being the sociable type, he asked the name of the bar-tender before ordering our drinks.
"Jesus, sir" came the polite response from the young trainee.
"OK then" began Mario "We'll have a bottle of water and see what you can do"

Me & Mario 2001