Doc Bafaafaa

On January eighth, 1983, a man driving home after dropping his wife off at John Diefenbaker airport saw an odd sight. A man dressed oddly, standing in the middle of a snow-covered field, watching the aircraft come and go.

Desmond Swiggum, pulled to the side of the road to investigate. Upon approaching the man, found him to be uncommunicative except for replying to anything he was asked with ‘bafaafaa’ or something like that. Mr. Swiggum called the authorities, and they soon took the man to the Royal University Hospital for examination.

The man appeared to be in good health. Undernourished, but other than that, fine. He was dressed in an odd collection of small blankets and bits of brightly coloured nylon (presumed to be from a tent or several tents). The most telling article of clothing was his undergarment. It had been a small boy scout’s shirt with the left arm dangling fully intact; it is assumed to display the wide assortment of merit badges.

Swimming, Mammal Study, Environmental Science, Basketry, Wood Carving, Dog Care, Wilderness Survival, Emergency Preparedness, Bird Study, Public Speaking, Scholarship, Law, Rifle Shooting, Archery, Metalwork, Fish and Wildlife Management, Citizenship in the Nation, Orienteering, Citizenship in the Community, Communications, Personal Management, Soil and Water Conservation, Reptile Study, Lifesaving, Forestry, Citizenship in the World, Safety.

The theory was that he had been part of an ill fated Boy Scout excursion and had been lost and had wandered for years in the forest until he wandered into the field where he was found. After several years at the home he had not spoken other than to repeat a single unintelligible phrase.

They did not know his name, so they named him John Doe, but the nurses and doctors began calling him Doc Bafaafaa, and it stuck.

One sunny afternoon in May, John and his nurse sat in the grounds of the home he had been sent to and spoke.

“What a wonderful day,” he said. Then he looked up into the startled face of his nurse.

After that, his life opened up, and he moved from the home to a small apartment on his own, even though his memory had not entirely returned.

A few years later, Doc found that if he wrote almost anything but mostly humour, his memory or bits of it come back to him. So he became a writer of comedy.