Malaria
A
strange noise filtered through my foggy brain. Pain and fever
registered first and then that noise again. What was it? My eyes opened
with protest. Three faces peered down at me: Melissa, Miriam and
Nabor. I deduced that it was Nabor who was making the noise. I wanted to
ask what she was doing, but even that seemed too great an effort. And
then it dawned on me, she was praying. Fervently, earnestly praying.
She was rocking back and forth sobbing and speaking God in
Ng'Karamojong. "That's nice" I thought and went back to sleep.
A
few minutes later I was awakened by Melissa's insistent shaking.
"Summer" she said, "I think you need to get up and assure Nabor that
you aren't dying."
"What?"
I asked trying to put pieces together- am I dying? I don't think so,
but I am sick. Really sick. Probably the sickest I've been since
Ethiopia. But this is a different kind of sickness. High fever, pain
all over, fatigue, intense headache… malaria. "I'm not dying." I told
Melissa- though dancing with Jesus seemed a nice alternative to the pain
I was currently enduring.
"I
know you aren't dying" she said, "but I think that Nabor really thinks
you are. She's been crying and wailing inconsolably for quite a while
now. I think you need to get up and show her that you are still alive."
"Man,
I must look really bad" I mumbled as I mustered all of my strength to
stand. Melissa politely avoided responding to me and helped me walk to
the door.
I
gave Nabor a shaky smile and said "see I'm not dying". She just wailed
louder. That went well. Since I was up, I decided to use the pit
latrine. With every tedious step I took I questioned the sanity of pit
latrines. Indoor plumbing never seemed so wonderful.
Stopped
at the borehole on the way back to the house and Melissa pumped some
water for me to drink. Blessed water. So grateful we have a borehole
right outside our house.
Back to bed I went, the day's work accomplished.
I
was sick for a full week. The affect of the malaria was quite severe
because I was misdiagnosed at the beginning. Once I received the
correct treatment I recovered relatively quickly, though I remained
weak for quite some time.
At
the end of my ordeal, I reflected back on the experience. I didn't
have any deep spiritual insight or revelation (contrary to some
opinions, I find it hard to think spiritually when hallucinating), nor
did I feel super close to God (though I knew He was ever with me).
Instead, the thing that I gained from this time was a new sense of
family. I felt cared for by my friends. Nabor was the overly dramatic
one that prayed me back to health, Mukisa the attentive one who brought
bananas every day. Christine and Valentina the motherly ones who tsked
tsked and fussed about with their opinions and advice. Andreas was
faithful one who would call out "sorry, sorry, sorry" as I walked from
house to latrine. Miriam was the decisive one who knew what to do and
when to do it. Melissa was the patient one, caring for me and helping me
when I was unable to do it on my own. My new Ugandan family- a strange
mixture of people, but my heart swells with love for each one of them.
I am not alone here. That is a beautiful thing.
No comments:
Post a Comment