Stephen Vasciannie
ADAM SMITH has no shortage of philosophical progeny both in Jamaica and elsewhere. He is best known for the argument that the market is the most efficient device for allocation of resources in an economy. The market, he argued, will ensure that we can conduct our economic affairs confident in the knowledge that we are obtaining goods and services with minimum bother and at the best price.
I was called upon to test that hypothesis last week. The nurse on the telephone had been kind and informative: "Yes, you will need to get both antimalarial tablets and a yellow fever injection if you are going to Ghana. You may try pharmacies A, B or C for the tablets, and you can get the injection at the Comprehensive Health Centre. Your doctor can give you a prescription for the tablets."
DR. BETTER
So, off to my doctor for the antimalarial prescription. The doctor, as always, is professional and pleasant. Adam Smith, it seems, is working at his office, for the waiting room is quite full, with people apparently from all walks of life. The patients have confidence in him, and following market principles, are prepared to await his examination.
Now for Pharmacy A. At Pharmacy A -- in the capital of St. Andrew -- you have to pay a fee to use the car park. The sign says that when you produce a receipt for your purchase within, you will be refunded your money. Hassle; especially if you don't find the item you want in Pharmacy A, for then you won't get back your money. But parking space is a scarce commodity in that place, so Adam Smith's principles would require a payment. OK.
At Pharmacy A, I am told, after a 15-minute wait, that the tablets are not available. Where might they be available? "Check Pharmacy E, across the road." Pharmacy E, a quiet, gentle place with a clock tower nearby, is unavailing. "Sorry". Outside, the stench from a solid waste truck is powerful: I wonder if this garbage truck reflects the most efficient allocation of resources.
Logically, then, I proceed to Pharmacy B, about 10 minutes away. This place is pleasantly apportioned, slightly hidden, equipped with the latest technological gadgets for inventory monitoring, i.e. computers, and comfortable. They seem to have everything but the antimalarial tablets.
"I like your column; it makes me laugh," says a happy customer as I trod forward from the store. I am thankful, but I reflect that, just possibly, it may not be a good thing for my serious efforts to be regarded as comical. Then I recall that I often have to take bad thing mek laugh when I listen to radio talk these days; so, maybe, the law of unintended consequences is taking over the media.
DELIVERANCE
At Pharmacy C, there are no antimalarial tablets. Pharmacy C, however, has toy boats, bicycles, chocolate, ice cream, books, all types of magazines, those delicious Reggae Max cakes, and almost every non-pharmaceutical item you can describe. But no anti-malarial tablets, Mr. Adam Smith.
Pharmacy D: "Sorry, out of stock". Some people there are having a good laugh about the flatulence story featured in The Gleaner last week, the one with the 'ph' word. I pass a lady selling books from a supermarket shopping cart, and I am tempted to ask her if she could get some antimalarial tablets for me, but I don't.
Then I try the Mall Pharmacy. The pharmacist there seems to smile knowingly when she sees my furrowed brow. She gives a simple nod ("Yes, they have it!"), and continues methodically with her work. Deliverance, you might say. Adam Smith would probably say that malaria tablets are not in great demand, hence my minor travails.
COMPREHENSIVE SHOT
But you still have to get the Yellow Fever injection, I then recalled. For some reason, I thought that the Comprehensive Health Clinic was located on the Town Moor, aka, George VI Park, aka, National Heroes' Circle. That clinic, I discovered, was the Mary Issa Clinic; the comprehensive one is on Slipe Road, behind, but not below, Torrington Bridge.
The guard at the Comprehensive indicates that I am to be searched. I mention that I am hear for a 'shot', but as I say so I remember vaguely that someone was recently shot and killed at a place with a name like the Comprehensive.
Everyone at the Comprehensive Health Centre is polite and helpful, though the atmosphere is a little dispiriting. You pay your fees for treatment to a cashier whom you cannot see and can barely hear. The nurses, though, are so splendid I didn't even feel the shot.
What happens, in Adam Smith's theory, if a person from rural Jamaica -- far from the Comprehensive -- wishes to travel to the West African homeland?
Stephen Vasciannie is a professor at the University of the West Indies and a consultant in the Attorney-General's chambers.
