When You’re a Stranger

The skies are turning darker, clouds rolling through after shedding rain in the plateau. The sly winds are restless, howling in anticipation of the rains. The creatures from the tiniest ant to the fattest pig scurry about as if some great deluge is destined on this small village. The landscape is turning green again, trees spreading their leaves as if to shield the earth from a down pour. The days are still scorching hot, but the rains are coming. One can feel it in the air, in the earth, a tingling anticipation, parched lips and parched soil look earnestly to the skies and wait.

Those wily winds blowing through must have been unknowingly carrying a foreign agent that day. For the day after my birthday I was caught with a burning fever, aching muscles, and waves of nausea. My skin seared to the touch and the persistent fever jumped by the second morning. What an unrelenting illness this was.

Lack of network due to a “diesel shortage” and an inability to power the already faulty TNM tower proved to be problematic. I could not reach the PC doctors and we were strictly instructed in training to never go to a local health center. So I waited patiently, popping pain killers.

In this patient waiting a series of events in my community awed and gripped my heart. I was still practically a stranger, a boy really, a foreigner in a new place. The instant they learned of my illness they procured water and inquired about the medications I was on. Three families prepared soft foods for me when they discovered I was not eating because I was too frail to cook and nauseous to eat. They worried I had malaria, recommended I go see the medical assistant. Meanwhile, my counterpart kept a vigilant eye on network and immediately flashed PC medical when it was back up.

I have been bedridden for the past three days. The first being one of the worst I have had in Malawi; compounded by five PCVs crashing at my house en route to Nyika and three village kick-off meetings for new projects. Also, I hadn’t eaten anything all day and had been on my feet from dawn till dusk, the illness chipping away at me, I felt like fainting.

The guests departed the next morning, Friday. I called PC and again poor networks caused a miscommunication on prescriptions. What I heard as six Tylenols three times a day was supposed to be two three times a day. That’s 18 pills a day. I repeated the prescription and the doctor misheard. Accepting his expertise I began the regiment of 18 pills a day. The mishap was cleared up this morning when the doctor exclaimed at my concern over taking 18 pills a day. He asked me to cease the pills, start antibiotics, and drink lots of water to flush out the pain meds.

This whole event took a toll on me, but the attention and caring people in the community have shown amazes me. If I was sick in America, I would have been dead and rotting before someone complained of a foul stench and found me. I’m a stranger, yet they care for me like their own child. They worry when I don’t eat or get sick, and for no other reason than I am here and part of the community.

Later in the day Chief Chimbata and Reverend Kumwenda came by to chat about something. They started with a general topic of the bee group and detailed the itinerary for the Chilenda trip on Tuesday. In addition, the two outlined the negotiation strategy for purchase of planks for the group.

Then they diverted to another topic: my health. They were worried that I was not eating enough and that I starve myself (untrue). They said I live a very lonely life and I shouldn’t be afraid to ask for help or have someone cook for me. They proceeded to scrutinize the details of my daily diet. Reverend Kumwenda repeated that I live a lonely life and that he and Chimbata wanted to sit, chat and keep me company for a while during my illness. He told stories of his time in South Africa, how things have changed. We discussed Gandhi and other politics.

The conversation ended with them expressing their genuine concern for my health, stating: “we don’t want you to die Mr. Prashanth.” They departed with a prayer from the Reverend for my swift recovery.