“Spider urine”. Taking my eyes off the pot-holed road ahead full of minivan taxis going in seeming random directions, I looked askance at Haile as he was driving. “Spider urine? For impetigo? Really?” Noting my raised-eyebrowed, wide-eyed expression (something he takes great joy in producing) he chuckled. “Yes. You rub it on.”

I’m used to being quizzed on my commute to work about the medical treatment Haile’s two children, aged 8 and 2, may need. This time Kaleb, the 8-year-old, had a crusty eruption on his chin for a couple of days – impetigo I guessed. He had visited a clinic and was now, somewhat inevitably, taking amoxicillin – a drug used for pretty much anything and without prescription (I’ve known people take amoxicillin for all sorts of things, including back pain. I doubt there’s a bug left anywhere in Ethiopia that’s sensitive to it any more.) As any GP will tell you impetigo is unlikely to settle with amoxicillin, and I had already told Haile that morning that if Kaleb wasn’t improving after a couple of days he may need different treatment. That’s when he mentioned spider urine treatment. And it gets worse.

“Also” Haile continued, “if you catch the spider, you kill it, cook it in a pan, and add some… er… spider house”. “Spider’s web?” I suggested. “Yes, spider’s web. Put it on with the urine. It’s better.” We laughed. I’m never entirely sure if when he tells me about these traditional cultural remedies if he believes them himself or not. After all, here’s someone who once treated a nasty cut on his thumb with coffee powder and toothpaste. And it healed up.

Haile has been a remarkably faithful driver for us since early in our stay here, and has become a good friend. Usually we will book him to take us to the airport late in the evening when we catch the 2am Ethiopian Airlines flight to Heathrow. However when we travelled to the UK for October half term to visit Jasmine, Beth and Paul’s new baby, we didn’t need Haile. Someone else from Bingham was catching the same flight, so we shared a lift. I told Haile as we travelled to my clinic together on Friday morning that we wouldn’t be needing him that night. Good job too. At 3:30pm Friday afternoon Haile phoned me to say he couldn’t collect me and take me home as he had just been arrested, and was going to prison.

The day before Haile had been driving a Bingham teacher home after dropping me off when a minor low-speed rear impact occurred. An older man was driving the other car, accompanied by his son. While the police were sorting out the accident (this usually involves leaving the cars in position, blocking the traffic, and drawing on the road with chalk) the older man was taken ill and began frothing at the mouth. With the policeman’s permission Haile decided to leave the scene and pay for the damage himself. The policeman had his details, and it was he who contacted Haile the next day to say the old man had died. Haile attended the police station where, despite having committed no offence, he was arrested and imprisoned. (It is the law here that a driver involved in an accident resulting in the death of a third party, no matter who is at fault, will be imprisoned. This is part of the reason I don’t drive to and from my clinic every day.)

For that half term week Scotland was beautiful, Jasmine was wonderful, and the haggis was tasty (Nachos with cheese, jalapeños and haggis – to die for. Or from.) However we were not sure how we would get back to Bingham from the airport after our return flight if Haile was in prison. There would be plenty of taxis vying for our trade, but after an overnight flight with precious little sleep I knew I wouldn’t be in the mood for haggling over fares. After landing I texted Haile’s number, praying he would answer. He did. He was outside the airport waiting for us to land. A pleasingly rapid transit through the airport, immigration, luggage collection and careful avoidance of the x-ray machines saw us out in the car park barely 20 minutes later. In drove Haile and we greeted warmly. He had been released a couple of days before having been incarcerated for a week. He said it was not too uncomfortable, sharing a room with 25 others. He could have been out sooner if he had paid a “fee” to someone, but he preferred waiting for justice. Eventually bail (the “guarantee” he called it) was set at 5000 Birr which he paid. Now he has to wait for results of a post mortem before he can either get his 5000 Birr back or perhaps be re-arrested (although that can be avoided by paying another “fee”). He’s still waiting.

On the way home Haile took us to a small supermarket to get some fruit juice, bread and milk. It was only 7:30am. The supermarket door was open, and a friendly young man ushered us in and greeted us. No-one else was in the shop as we trotted round and gathered the items we wanted and took them to the till. “Not working” said the smiley young man, and stood there,smiling. We looked at each other. “When?” I asked. He shrugged. He had no idea. If a supermarket cannot produce a printed till receipt it is illegal for us to buy anything. Not bothering to ask him why he had let us in and allowed us to run round collecting items he knew we couldn’t buy, we returned to Haile and drove off.

On the way I asked Haile if he was OK, having been imprisoned. “Yes” he smiled, “I was OK. Perhaps God wanted me to have a rest.”

As we arrived at Bingham we spotted another Haile, also a taxi driver, who has two taxis and a second employed driver. “Habtu Haile” our Haile calls him – rich Haile. As we drove past “Habtu Haile” into the car park and without a hint of envy Haile said “I’m rich too”. “You’re rich?” I queried. “Yes” he smiled, “I’m rich. I have two legs and two eyes. Praise God!”

(PS – spider’s don’t urinate. Check here for the physiology, and here for more fun spider myths.)