Tropical Bieber Fever

It began last Thursday.  I was in my office at the SCCP building, diligently filling in various spreadsheets so as to prove my nerd pedigree to my coworkers and to our committee members in Chipako, when I was rudely interrupted by – how do I put this delicately? – some Unsolicited Bowel Movements.  Once these UBMs did their work, it was my head’s turn to do its pounding, which it accomplished with great enthusiasm.  After that, the fever set in.  My body had trouble deciding whether it was terribly hot or miserably cold, but it was certain that it was not comfortable.  This condition of temperature confusion continued vigorously throughout the night.  I was especially grateful in those hours to have a patient and skilled nurse for a wife. 

The following morning, Rachel and Carmen thought it best that I go to the Samfya clinic to get tested for malaria.  Furthermore, we agreed that it would be a waste to experience such an event without proper documentation – hence the photographs you see here.  After a short wait, I was given a needle prick in my ring finger, and the blood drawn was deposited onto a glass slide.  The doctor in charge of the clinic was kind enough to allow the three of us into the lab, where we waited a few minutes as my blood sample came to the front of the line.

I sat down, pale and somewhat delirious, hoping that it was indeed malaria.  This strange hope struck me for two reasons, one practical and one philosophical.  The practical reason was that if it turned out to be malaria, then the diagnosis would be clear and the treatment plan would be clear as well.  Problem named, problem solved.  The philosophical reason I worked out in this foggy state was that if I am to be working for and with people in a place where malaria is so maliciously endemic, I ought to identify at least to some extent with their struggles.  I can only empathize with a malaria sufferer if I, too, have suffered from malaria.  The blood sample now ready, a lab tech dropped a purplish liquid onto the slide and put the slide under the microscope, where he examined it for malaria viruses.  I turned out to be negative.  Boo.

After that unpleasant episode (and a difficult week for Rachel in her clinic), we needed a relaxing weekend.  I woke up on Saturday feeling much better, so we borrowed the red pick-up from the Brubachers and took a day-trip past the provincial capital of Mansa to a lovely place called Mulumbula Falls.  While Zambia is known for the magnificent Victoria Falls, dozens of humbler but still beautiful waterfalls are scattered throughout the country.  Mulumbula has two levels of falls, each about 15 feet high.  The flow of the water, right now at the end of the rainy season, is low, making it easy to hop from stone to stone.  We are told that come February, these falls will be a torrent.  We are excited to return for a little cliff-diving.

Before Rachel and I headed out to Mulumbula on Saturday, we heard a Justin Bieber tune drifting from the direction of a passing boy’s mobile phone.  I must admit, it was a pleasant surprise.  It’s strange how such silly reminders of home can be so comforting.  If you’re out there Justin Bieber, we salute you.  Oh, and that bug that took me out for two days last week?  We’re pretty sure it was salmonella.  Touch raw chicken and lick your fingers, get it anywhere, salmonella.  Lame, I know.