I wake up Monday. I am nauseous and have a headache. I have to take a sherpa (aka overloaded taxi) to town to get groceries. Assuming I just didn’t get enough sleep, I go.
I walk the 4-6km from the taxi drop off to the grocery store. I walk through little shops and the market with my chauffeur. We stop every minute or two to talk to one of the many people he knows. It is so hot outside. Everything in Africa smells different. We take an hour long sherpa ride back to the compound. I come home feeling worse; so I sleep.
Tuesday, I wake up feeling worse. I miss ministry. I feel like I’ve been hit by a train. I can’t hold food down, and let’s not even talk about the headache.
Wednesday, I don’t wake up. (okay, I woke up because I shut my alarm off but I don’t recall this). At 7:57am my team leader (Hallie) comes in to ask if I’m going to ministry in 3 minutes. I respond that I’d like to shower and eat first, I’m still not feeling the best. I don’t make it to ministry.
Around 10, Hallie wakes me up and says we’re taking you to the clinic. I probably said something like, huh? She informed me that I am going to get my blood drawn to test me for Malaria.
Because I’m in a foreign, third-world country with a known AIDs epidemic where I’ve already been told if any serious medical thing happens I have to travel back 2 countries to access decent medical treatment, the only possible response I can muster is “Is it safe?”
Hallie, one of my squad leaders (Alysa), and our host assure me that it is in fact safe. If it wasn’t I’d get an extra set of passport stamps. And yet, I still begin to cry because I am terrified of needles. They have no idea how terrified I am.
We take one of those sherpas to the clinic. I am grateful it isn’t over packed. We walk up to the clinic. It is not what I was expecting.
It is red and yellow. Tons of people are there. We sat on a bench on the porch and got stared at. We’re white people and that makes us a spectacle- or at least something to gawk at.
I remember it being so hot! I remember begging God for wind and missing American waiting rooms with AC. I even remember missing Dr. William, my GP. What a person to miss! But he is so good.
I need to vomit, but I can’t. There is nothing left in me. Since going back to the hot porch seems ridiculous, I lean against a tree that must have been made specifically for my back. I wait and pray. I think I fell asleep. Andre, our escort and translator says they are ready for me.
Everything was already floating off the ground and moving in ways that it isn’t naturally supposed to and then I walk into that little room. And I am like, NO WAY!! NO WAY!!
There is a women in a lab coat behind a desk. There is a gernie hiding in the back, and there is stuff everywhere, I mean all over. I think everything is green. It was dark.
It was cooler in the room so everything stopped moving. The women asked my name, and the translator translated. She couldn’t understand anything, except my age. She spelled my name Kei Pallint and then pulled out a “thing” that said Malaria and wrote “my name” on it.
She started opening more things. Hallie told me not to look. She gave me her hand. I was crying before the women even pricked me. I felt her grab my finger and JAB the needle in it. I don’t know how I knew they were done, but I was out of that room so fast!
Hallie wipes my finger off and gave me a crayon bandaid to keep it from getting stuff in it. Then we waited some more. I was feeling sick so I sat back down under the tree. Three minutes later they informed me that I do not have malaria. But Andre’s daughter who came with us does.
We have to summon another sherpa to get home. Standing up makes the world spin. Walking out of the shade makes it worse. I think I had to stop 3 times between the clinic and the street – 50 yrds. Each time, I cried. Hallie was being so nice.
We made it to the street. I laid down on pine needles and something else sharp. I didn’t care, I couldn’t sit up any more. It took what seemed like an eternity to get a sherpa. We got in and they guy kept stopping to pile more people in. I was holding back vomit. I think I was crying. I kept screaming at God in my head, “JUST GET ME HOME FAST, PLEASE!”
We finally made it. I stopped to get bread and water and then went to my room. It was dark and cold. I slept for two and half hours and woke up feeling slightly better.
I’m still not feeling great, but I’m on the upswing. No trip to South Africa is necessary.
After I woke up, I remember thinking about the clinic and how that was the worst experience on the race so far. Oh, it was! It is probably the second worse experience in my life which was finding out my grandpa had died.
I realize my life is pretty good if these are my worst to experiences. Or maybe, I’m just being meladramatic. Either way, I do not have Malaria! And, I hope to NEVER visit a Mozambican clinic again.
I am heartbroken that Andre’s daughter has malaria, but I thank God she has medicine and will be well soon. I think of all the people who have to visit that clinic again and again. I thank God for my doctor.
