Malaria

The visit to the hospital went like this: Fatou Bobo, Rugi, Musa and I take our places at the end of the row of benches outside the doctor’s examining room. Only Rugi and Musa are sick—Fatou Bobo came because she is their mother, I came because Fatou invited me along. We sit silently; I contemplate the handwritten cardboard signs labeling the offices.

Rugi suddenly stands up, staggers over to the edge (the waiting area is outside and raised above a sort of large dirt ditch) and starts vomiting. Fatou gets up, hands Musa to me, and walks over to Rugi. She pulls her down so she can squat on the ground and finish. A man walks by and I gather he is reprimanding Fatou Bobo for allowing Rugi to vomit in the middle of the hospital and informs her that Rugi should go over there, in the trees past the banana sellers. Fatou tells Rugi to go over there, to the trees past the banana sellers and Rugi slowly walks off. Fatou returns to the bench and takes Musa back. I am glad because she says his stomach is running—diarrhea—and I don’t trust cloth diapers.

We wait.

A pigeon lands on the roof by a solar panel. It is the most amazing pigeon I’ve ever seen, including the really beautiful speckled ones I watched during lunch on my eighth grade field trip to Boston.

After a little while Rugi comes back and sits down on the bench. The line has moved forward a little so we are no longer at the very end. Fatou asks if I gave her the money she asked me to lend her. I say I did. She keeps looking for it and soon finds the five dalasi bill lying on the ground next to the bench.

Rugi gets up again and stumbles to the edge of the wall and vomits. Fatou gets up, brings Rugi to the ground and walks her over to the trees. She is clearly not in the mood to be twice-reprimanded. She returns and asks me to go sit with Rugi—she’ll come get us when it’s our turn for the doctor.

We wait.

Some former students of mine are selling bananas but I do not buy any.

A little later Fatou comes over with a large wanjo juice icee. She hands it to me, tells me to taste some and when I’m done to give it to Rugi. Rugi sips at it slowly slowly. She’s finished maybe half of it by the time a little girl comes over and tells us to go back.

Now Fatou has moved to third or fourth in line. Rugi goes and lies down on the bench. Fatou tells me to go sit on one of the benches in the lower waiting area. Rugi vomits again, but this time does not even attempt to move off the bench, so red wanjo juice ends up all over the bench and the floor below. Fatou hands Musa to the girl sitting next to her and goes in search of a rag. She returns and mops up the mess.

The doctor examines Musa first. She takes his temperature, asks some questions and scribbles some stuff on a slip of paper. The she does the same for Rugi. I am particularly curious what Rugi’s temperature will be, because when I’d picked her up, I could not believe how warm she was. 38.9 degrees Celsius. Where There is No Doctor says this is a Fever, but not yet a High Fever, which goes from 40 degrees to 42 degrees. The book does not say what is beyond 42 degree.

I tried to decode the doctor’s further scribblings, but all I could make out was “lab.” The doctor directs us to the benches on the lower level, outside a closed door and curtained window labeled with a cardboard sign. I forget what the sign labeled the room as, probably “Lab.” Fatou asks me to take Rugi and wait over there; she needs to go elsewhere with Musa.

We wait.

Other people are also sitting and probably, waiting.

Fatou and Musa return and she asks if anyone is inside. Someone answers “no.” The door opens and the lab technician, Yaya, steps outside and reads out some names. People step forward and collect the slips of paper in his hand. Yaya directs Rugi to enter. Fatou tells me to hold Musa and starts to pass him over, but I tell her I’ll take Rugi, so I pick her up and bring her inside.

Yaya is now on the phone, but he instructs me to close the door behind me. The room is cool; there are two ceiling fans blowing. Rugi and I sit down on two cushioned office chairs. She continues sipping her wanjo juice icee, which is no longer frozen. I say, “If you want to throw up, tell me and I will open the door.” She nods. Yaya turns to tell me that no food is allowed inside. I ask Rugi to give me the plastic bag. She hurriedly sucks up the remaining drops of juice.  

Yaya has finished his phone conversation and tells me to sit over there, motioning towards a metal stool. He sits down across from Rugi and asks first my name and then why I have chosen to be a Fula. I reply, “Fulas are the best.” He asks, “Are you insulting me? You are saying I am not the best.” I say, “No, I am not insulting you. But it is the truth that Fulas are the best.” “You know, in English there is ‘good,’ ‘better,’ and ‘best.’ You are saying I am ‘better.’” “Ha ha, yes, you are better but Fulas are best.”

Then he fills out a paper, asks Rugi her name, cleans off her index finger with an alcohol swab, asks her a question about school, pricks her finger and squeezes out enough blood for the malaria test. Rugi squirms and wants to cry; he presses a cotton ball to her finger before instructing us to leave.

Rugi lies down on the bench and I fan her with Musa’s health record, which I have removed from the plastic folder Fatou keeps it in.

We wait.

Yaya emerges, hands Fatou a paper and we return to the doctor. The doctor instructs Rugi to step onto a scale and I only understand later it is to determine dosage. Then we walk over to a barred window labeled “Pharmacy” where Fatou slides over some slips of paper to the woman behind the window. In return, Fatou is given Coartem tablets “for children 15kg – 30kg” and is told Rugi should take two every morning and evening for three days.

I pick Rugi up in preparation for walking home, but Fatou says wait, she will go and buy bananas. So I lay Rugi down on a random cement block until Fatou returns with three bananas. Then we walk home. We pass a tap and Rugi begs her mom to be allowed to go and take a sip of water, but Fatou says, “No, you’ll puke, wait until we get home.”

Back home Rugi is given two tablets to swallow, allowed to drink a little water, and made to eat a bite of banana. Then she falls asleep.

The next day, she barges into my hut, greets me good morning, and demands to see both my wind-up monkey and playing cards.