Malaria
Friday, April 25 is World Malaria Day
Despite how dry and arid Niger is, malaria is a problem. The short rainy season provides enough water to please mosquitoes. A headache, a fever, chills, achy body…yep, malaria. It is so common. If one in the States were to say, “I have malaria,” or even an American friend living overseas, we would freak out. Oh no, she has malaria! That is not the case in Niger or elsewhere in the world. Malaria is too common. It’s like, oh, you have malaria…again. One would be more shocked to find out that you had never had malaria.
Those Nigeriens who live in town self-diagnose themselves with malaria. If they can afford the medicine, they simply go to the pharmacy and purchase it. They don’t go to the doctor or get tested. Many suffer through the illness though with no medication.
My Fulani friends in the bush get malaria often, as they sleep without mosquito nets, and never take any medication to treat the illness, much less prevent it.
Around 630 one morning in mid-October a young, rather well-off Fulani man showed up at my door. His name is Abdul and he is a friend from a particular village that I often visited. He told me he was in town because his older brother was in the hospital. He had come by the house to greet me and ask me to go visit his brother. A few minutes later I was walking down the dirt road towards the government run hospital. I greeted everyone as I walked through the hospital gates and followed Abdul to the room where his brother was lying in bed. Abdul’s brother was in bed with an IV in his arm. He was conscious but not very alert. He acknowledged me with his eyes only. I talked with Abdul and some other relatives, and later someone on staff at the hospital, and learned that Abdul’s brother had malaria. Abdul told me he had been sick for about ten days, but he had only come to the hospital the night before. He was not able to eat or do much of anything. He had a severe case of malaria. I visited for awhile and then returned home, letting Abdul know that I would return later that afternoon.
Abdul
Later that afternoon I returned to the hospital with a large bowl of rice porridge I had prepared for the family. As I was visiting with Abdul, he told me more about his brother’s family. He was married and had several young children. He was a rather wealthy Fulani, because he traded camels for a living. This job put him far above the economic status of his neighboring Fulani, who survived off of subsistence farming and milk from their cattle. He had money. He knew he had malaria. But he had had malaria many times before and recovered on his own. This time Abdul’s brother and his family realized this case of malaria was much more severe. That is why he went to the hospital. But he waited too late. The day after I visited with Abdul’s brother in the hospital, he passed away. His body was too weak and they waited too long to seek medical care from the local hospital. This happens so often. Malaria happens too often. And all too often those who have malaria don’t seek medical care, for one reason or another – they can’t afford it or don’t think they need it. Malaria is preventable. It is treatable. And yet it continues to take the lives of so many.
What is one to do?
Will supplying mosquito nets really solve the problem? Will teaching folks around the world more about this retched disease cause its prevalence to go down?
I don’t have the answers to such questions.
I just know malaria is real and it does kill.
the hospital is behind the wall on the right, with blue windows
posted by Jessica at 9:59 PM
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