A Boy, His Cat, And A Lady Doctor In Africa Jackie Greenwood   © Copyright 2026 by Jackie Greenwood

The author doing surgery in Africa. Photo by JEG.

Fast forward a couple of decades. The first part was a reality. I had graduated from veterinary college in 1980 and begun a wonderful career in a large city as a small animal doctor.

But it wouldn’t be until I turned fifty that I was able to totally fulfil my childhood dreams.

My eldest daughter was spending the summer in Uganda where she was working with an NGO in Kampala. My plan had been to lend a hand in any way needed – no way she could go to Africa without me!

Then, I discovered this wonderful new thing, the world wide web. I was able to connect with an African woman who was interested in hosting spay/neuter clinics. I would be responsible for all the equipment and supplies. She would choose the communities and do all the necessary education and provide support.

So, with a hundred pounds of equipment, I made my way to Africa. The cheapest airfare took me from Toronto to New York, Addis Ababa, Nairobi, and my final destination, Entebbe- two days later.

On arriving, I met Dr Berna, a wonderful and skilled Ugandan veterinarian, who along with myself, my daughter, and her assistant, Ibra would make up the team.

The Dean of the Veterinary College at Makarere University was also anxious to meet me and offered a private tour of the school. He proudly showed me the surgery – a cavernous room with a single gleaming, stainless steel table sitting in the middle. I couldn’t help but feel that it had seen little, if any use. Dogs and cats, for the most part, were not the treasured family members they were in North America. He admitted that the students had few opportunities to observe, let alone assist, in small animal surgery. Dr Berna and I offered to take a few along to help and a group of six jumped at the chance.

Our first working day was spent in a community about an hour outside of the capitol. We set up in a schoolroom, using the desks as operating tables which we moved as close as possible to the window openings. There was no electricity, so daylight would have to serve as our surgery lamp.

With the kids out of school, there was a festive mood. People lined up outside holding their dogs on bits of rope, waiting to be registered. Police and Queenie were the most popular names. Age and breed were made up on the spot.

Rabies vaccines and deworming were done by my daughter and Ibra, while the students examined and premedicated the surgical cases. For the most part, it was females to be spayed- the men were horrified at the idea of castrating their male dogs.

Once sedated, intramuscular anesthesia was given and their bellies shaved using a straight razor. The sleeping animals were held outstretched on the table by one of the students, who could then assist as needed. The open windows were crowded with the faces of curious onlookers, commenting on my technique and occasionally being asked to move out of the way so I could have more light.

I had brought along extra boxes of syringes and came up with the idea of getting the vet students to take blood samples from two or three different veins before the animal woke up. This gave them a chance to practise both their anatomy and venipuncture skills on a very cooperative patient. It was a big hit!

I was just placing the final sutures in a dog spay when I felt a tap on my shoulder. A little boy, maybe seven or eight years old was standing at my side. He was holding a burlap sack which he proudly opened to show me his lovely calico kitten.

I’m not sure how he had skipped the long line outside, but a cat spay was a quick procedure. I motioned for Ibra to premed the kitten and have the boy sit at one of the desks while the instruments were washed and the table cleaned.

Five minutes later I went to get my next patient. The young owner had taken his cat out of the bag and lain her on the wooden desk. His face was buried in her fur which was soaked from his weeping.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart,” I said.

“I didn’t know you were going to kill her!” he cried.

I suppressed a smile and explained she was just sleeping.

He had been taught to respect elders and tried to hide his suspicion. But even as I gently carried his kitten to the operating area his tears continued to flow.

“She’ll be fine”, I assured him and as proof, invited him to stay and watch.

He was very brave and stood close throughout the whole operation. Curiosity soon got the better of him, and he started asking questions like: How did I know where to cut? How could I tell the difference between her guts and her womb? How did I know she would wake up? What was snow like?

Classmates, watching in the window, leaned through to offer support and everyone clapped when I placed his newly spayed cat back in his arms.

At the end of the day, exhausted, I sat on the steps of the school. Children crowded around, touching my arms, intrigued by my paleness.

I hadn’t eaten since the morning and shared some candies from my bag — a mistake I was later told as evidenced by the mob that suddenly surrounded me, shouting “Lady Doctor, Lady Doctor”, hands outstretched, asking for a treat.

This was only day one. I had a lot to learn.