Back in the day, there were local methods we used to handle accidents and mishaps because often items found in a typical first aid box were not readily available. In fact, we didn't go to the farm with things like hydrogen peroxide, cotton wool, or razors to treat cutlass cuts when they occurred. Instead, we made use of whatever our brains could grasp just to reduce pain or bleeding.
Around this time of year in 2012, I was at home. This season is a time for clearing bushes to prepare for farming. When I say "bushes," I don't mean low grasses; it's a dense forest with trees. Working in such conditions requires a well-sharpened cutlass, where even a slight cut can make trees and tough grasses take a bow.
One particular morning, very early, my dad and I left for the farm around 6:30 am. We planned to clear a specific area and return earlier than usual, as we often stayed out until the evening.
Upon reaching the bush, we parked the bike in the shade of a big tree, grabbed the local cutlass sharpener, which we commonly call a 'file,' and began sharpening the edge of the cutlass. The process involves rubbing the edge of the cutlass with the 'file' until it's as sharp as a razor.
After sharpening, we started clearing the bush with full strength, as our bodies were fully energized from the morning. I was working with full concentration, bent at the waist, hands swinging the cutlass, tearing through the forest. Suddenly, I heard the sound of wood cracking behind me. I straightened up to find my dad bent over, his right hand firmly holding a spot on his leg as he walked away from his working spot, trembling like a child.
"Jesus!" I exclaimed, quickly understanding what had happened just from a glance. He had accidentally cut himself with the sharp cutlass, and blood was supposed to be flowing, but he used his hands to cover the wound.
"Come, come, come, come and urinate on it," he stammered, sitting down on a log of tree with his hand still on the wound to prevent bleeding.
"You mean, urine? Isn't that to add fuel to a fire?" I heard him correctly, and the thought of applying urine to a fresh wound shocked me.
"Yes, do it. It'll stop the bleeding," he pleaded, his voice sounding as if he might cry, which made me empathize with him.
Although I knew that people used urine as a first aid measure to stop bleeding in the farm, I had never witnessed or experienced it. The thought of how painful the experience might be made me suggest using some leaves that could stop bleeding, although not instantly. But he refused; he needed something quick and immediate.
"Okay, are you sure you can handle the pain?" I asked as I unzipped my trousers.
"Hehehehe! This isn't my first time," he assured me, stretching out his leg, still gripping the wound tightly to prevent blood from flowing.
"Are you ready?"
"Yes, I am."
He removed his hand from the wound, and I began urinating on it. The urine splashed onto the wound, and my dad groaned in pain, "Oh Godddddddd!" shaking his head to try to endure the pain. As for me, I wasn't concerned; I was simply following instructions. My urine kept flowing as if my body knew such a situation was coming, as I usually urinate frequently because I dislike feeling uncomfortable.
When my urine finally stopped, I bent down to check the wound. To my surprise, the blood that had initially begun to flow retreated, and the wound surface turned greenish, like cooked meat.
My dad didn't work for about an hour to allow the wound to settle, and afterward, we tied a rope above the wound to constrict the vein.
Thanks for reading.
I've used the term 'blood' in this story but please, it's in no way intended to violate the community's rules.
