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Dispatch #13 from Rwanda
"It looks like malaria," I heard several people
whisper.
A sea of faces looked down at me as I lay on the couch
shaking uncontrollably and sweating profusely, yet I
couldn't seem to get warm to save my life.
I had been in the middle of making a wreath for a game
at a Midsummer's Night Party hosted by Butare's gaggle
of Swedes (well, 2 couples of Swedes). I was suddenly
overcome by nausea and thought I was going to vomit.
Leaving the wreath in the hands of my partner,
Veronique, I rushed to the toilet.
But I didn't vomit. Instead, I quickly realized I had
the runs. And it was pretty bad.
I'm not sure how long I was in the bathroom. I vaguely
remember losing all my strength and sweating so badly
that I had to take off my shirt. After what seemed
like forever I heard someone at the door. I explained
that I was ill. Problem was the door was locked so she
couldn't get in.
I summoned my last bit of strength and somehow made it
to the door, practically crawled to the living room
and then collapsed on the couch. That's when I quickly
became surrounded by this sea of faces and whispers of
malaria. I felt almost like I was hallucinating, like
I was in a fog.
As I lay there shivering they began to throw blankets
on me. Finally, they wrapped me up, took me to a
waiting vehicle and off we headed to find a doctor.
We first stopped at a clinic but the doctor was out on
a call so we headed to the hospital. After speaking to
a doctor we headed to a lab. The lab attendant pricked
my finger to get blood for the malaria test. As he was
getting ready to put the cap back onto the needle, the
lab guy managed to prick himself with the same needle
(yup, this in a country where the HIV/AIDS rate is
high and climbing).
We had to wait. It felt like forever. I was suddenly
exhausted and all I wanted to do was sleep. I finally
curled up on the cold concrete floor of the lab. When
that proved too cold I headed outside and lay on a
narrow wooden bench.
After some time, they came out and said the test was
negative. I breathed a sigh of relief but I felt like
hell. My friends bundled me up again and finally took
me back to the hotel where I immediately crashed. But
not for long.
Within 30 minutes I was wracked with cramps and more
diarrhea. This continued for four days. I could barely
eat and lived on about a piece of toast per day but it
never stayed in my system long enough to do any good.
Finally, on day five I went back to a doctor who
figured I had eaten something and had some intestinal
infection as a result. I guess I wasn't surprised, I
had been waiting for something like this to happen
while I was here (what I had always jokingly referred
to as the "African Diet"); until now it never had. The
doc gave me a prescription for antibiotics and off I
went.
I'm now on the last day of antibiotics (will be having
a celebratory drink Monday night!!) and am feeling
human again. I suppose I should be thankful it wasn't
malaria - it seems everyone here gets malaria at least
once. But whatever it was, it was pretty horrible.
Now you know why I haven't written the past week. The
week before I got ill I had spent in Kigali doing a
workshop for TV Rwanda and was so exhausted by the
time I got back from that I had no strength to do any
writing then either.
I'm now in my last week here in Rwanda (I'll meet Paul
in Nairobi July 5 and we'll start a 2-week vacation in
Kenya and South Africa). It's hard to believe four
months have passed since I arrived and since a couple
of the expats tried to predict whether I'd make it or
not. It's like a betting game here trying to figure
out whether the new arrivals will survive the harsh
reality that is Rwanda. They had figured I would tough
it out.
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