Malaria

When you are in Africa and wake up in the morning with fever, chills, nausea and diarrhea, and when you have obsessed for weeks about that ONE mosquito bite on your leg, you do have to consider the worst… Yes, malaria!

Although the areas where I’ve been are mostly high-up, therefore with a pretty low risk of getting this disease, it is certainly around. And it is not to toy with!!!

Since I gave up prophylaxis around mid-June (I really didn’t feel like popping antibiotics daily for so many months), I sort of relaxed about this altogether. But Friday morning, right before I was supposed to sit in our staff meeting, I did have a panic attack: what if I actually have it?!

My colleagues quickly arranged a car to take me to the local hospital –where, supposedly, they are very good at diagnosing malaria within half-an-hour, after getting a drop of blood from the tip of your finger. A co-worker, Emmanuel, joined me, as I wasn’t going to do too well on my own. I was actually about to collapse with fatigue, fever and teary eyes.

During our short ride, both Emmanuel and Bosco, the driver – a guy with whom I watch football normally and who was stunned to see me so weak all of a sudden – were trying to reassure me that I don’t have malaria. They both, obviously, had had it many times, and they were vividly describing the worst states they had been in. Honestly, I wasn’t feeling that reassured. I just wanted to give my drop of blood and set my mind at peace. Scientifically.

Only that Rwandan public health care is not as straightforward as I had been let to believe. It is actually pretty close to what I had experienced many times in Romania: long, chaotic lines, and a myriad of offices which must register you and give you the go-ahead to the next one… The only difference: corridors are open, so you can breathe fresh air and look into beautiful, green gardens. Oh, and another small detail: people don’t push and don’t yell at each other. They just sit there, resigned to the fact that it’ll be a looong day. So I really didn’t want to be the white bitch who would cut in front of everyone, and Emmanuel was obviously not the kind of assertive guy I would have needed in order to get moving faster, so, here I was, spending about 4 hours in the morning in order to get to see a Congolese lady doctor and then be sent to the lab and give much more blood than I had anticipated. I was so dizzy by that time that I didn’t even realize that they took blood only from my arm, and not from the tip of the finger. Oh well, I counted my blessings when I was out-of-there, only to have to return 2 hours later for the results. I spent my lunch-hour without eating, but half-listening to more and more people giving me their malaria stories, from across Africa. The guards and the cook and another driver and two expats who were around were all sure that I was going to be “just fine”.

Once back at the hospital, and after another line at the lab, I finally got the piece of paper, where the only thing scribbled was “RAS”, under the “positive” column. So while standing in yet another line in order to see the Congolese doctor again, I was trying to remember all the acronyms of all possible diseases and germs I had read about. What the hell was RAS?! And was it really positive? Was I really THAT unlucky, to get sick from the one and only mosquito bite I had gotten in five weeks in Africa?

Finally it was my turn to go inside. The doctor seemed completely relaxed when she saw the paper. I thought, “not another one who has had malaria endless times, and for whom this is nothing THAT scary”.

As it turned out, I was fine. RAS was nothing more than… “Rien A Signaler”!!! They should totally teach THIS acronym in guide books in the future and save people from panicking like I did…

In my euphoria I did remember to mention to the doctor that I had only given blood from my arm – which she didn’t take all that well. Basically, she confirmed that I could still very well be just in the incubation period (which can last from a few weeks up to a year), and that I should go back if I feel sick again… No kidding! In the meantime, I would just have to tend to my cold and dehydration the old-fashioned way…

On the bright side: Senzane Domman is, as of last Friday, a proud registered patient of the Musanze Hospital, with updated records and all. I am 32, and I weigh 57 kilos (when I said 55 the nurse looked up in disbelief and asked “only?”, so I had to adjust my figure until she was content). Supposedly, next time I will be fatigued, feverish and nauseated I can just present my “carte du patient” and skip a few lines…