Malaria has been in the news this week. Or, rather, the antimalarial medication mefloquine has been getting a lot of attention. The FDA recently issued a black box warning on this old standard for soldiers, vacationers, and expats in faraway, mosquito-infested lands. Faraway lands like the Congo, where I live with my husband and two small children.
For us, malaria is always on our minds. We think about the disease as we spray on our daily layer of chemicals in the morning, shun outside games at dusk, and gaze through the gauze of the nets above our beds just before closing our eyes at night. My son was even an Anopheles mosquito for Halloween one year. Malaria is that scary—and also that normal—for our family.
Some months ago, my daughter Loulou was sick. There was a barrage of midnight vomit and fever. She looked puny by morning and all the nannies on the campus where we live gathered around her, clucking and worrying. Meanwhile, I was tired but unconcerned. She was still my feisty Lou, demanding de l’eau and giving her big brother, Elias, a hard time. I, the seasoned nurse-mom, figured, “Ah, well. Disgusting virus. I hope this is just a 24 hour deal.”
By afternoon, my girl was sweet-talking rice from Mama Vida and chasing the cat. All was well. But everywhere I went, my Congolese coworkers, members of the atelier (the maintenance staff on campus), the nannies, everyone kept asking and re-asking if Lou was okay. “La petite est mieux?” they asked, over and over. How did they even know my baby was sick? It was no big deal, only a little virus.
Suddenly, I realized clearly why they were so worried. Babies die in the Congo. All of the time. Our respective, visceral understandings of what it means to be “sick” are incredibly different.
When a baby is sick here, they very well may die. Death is likely, in fact. In the general population of the Democratic Republic of Congo, 1 in every 7 children die before reaching the age of five. In this country where we live our comfortable expat lives, fever, vomiting, and diarrhea are the constellation of deadly symptoms for children. Is it malaria, typhoid, dysentery? It could be one, or all three.
At our house we have trusty, home-test kits and our kids have reluctantly accepted that a fever equals a finger-stick. We bribe, cajole, and sometimes restrain them. (It’s difficult to be reasonable when it’s the wee hours of the morning, you are three years old, feverish, and your mother is coming at your with a needle!) Yet we test because it always could be malaria. For Loulou—that time, and every time so far—the test was negative. No malaria.
The day after, Mama NouNou stopped by our house, to put her hands on Lou’s head, check for fever, make sure she was eating and drinking. Mama Vida gravely reassured everyone, “She is eating. She is eating rice. She is laughing. She is okay.”
Watching this scene, it was I who began to feel sick, because while I was relieved that my daughter and I were no longer “suffering” through a vomit-filled night, they were relieved my child was alive.
What worries you most when you child falls ill in your part of the world? Can you safely assume your access to medical care will address most of your worries?
This is an original post written for World Moms Blog by Jill Humphrey. You can find Jill blogging with Sarah Sensamaust at Mama Congo.
Wow, Jill, your post brought tears to my eyes.
We tend to take a lot for granted, don’t we? 1 in 7 children die before age 5 … what a horrendous statistic!
We live in Cape Town, South Africa, and have access to the BEST Children Hospital on the continent! I have no fears living here. 🙂
That certainly puts everything into perspective. Thanks so much for sharing and opening our eyes to the realities of other mothers around the world!
I could so relate to this post. Both my daughters have had malaria, my three year old has had it twice, and everyone (including myself) was as worried as your nannies. We also keep test kits and we never travel anywhere without the cure so we have always been able to catch it and treat it early – not everyone is so lucky.
And my son actually had malaria twice here in Kenya. But, still, we knew what to do and we had the money and access to medical care to treat it right away. He bounced back within 24 hours.
I think this is the thing most people miss about malaria – there is actually pretty good treatment for it — the big problem is lack of access to care. And the drugs are cheap and even sometimes subsidized. But still, children needlessly die.
But you’re right – because of this common occurrence I’ve seen mothers truly stressed out by sick children in a way that we who have access and privilege often get to skip. Thanks for bringing this sad disparity to our attention!
Jill, this blows my mind: “1 in every 7 children die before reaching the age of five” in the DRC. Puts how important our #Moms4MDGs chats are into perspective.
Thank you for writing this post. Reading stories from our World Moms gives me a broader idea of the challenges that mothers face on different continents.
Jen 🙂
By the way, tonight’s #Moms4MDGs twitter party is at 9-10pm EST. And, next month, there will be 2 parties, to accommodate more time zones. I look forward to when @MamaCongo can join us!
The rise of drug resistant malaria too should make anyone quiver, regardless of your access to high quality medical care.
“Our respective, visceral understandings of what it means to be “sick” are incredibly different.” — Wow! So true, thanks for sharing and opening my eyes to the other point of view Jill!
We are leaving for Kenya in two days and my kids are about to start their pre-trip doses of malarone, just in case. We took it last year, too, even though we never saw a mosquito during our trip (it was July, very dry, and we weren’t “roughing it,” exactly)…My cousin is a malaria researcher and has offered up some scary stories, some of which have to do with, yes, the recent appearance of drug-resistant strains of the disease. That there is so much death from this disease, and others, when the remedies and treatments are so relatively inexpensive makes me furious–and makes me wonder how the people who work for Big Pharma can sleep at night.
Thanks for opening up peoples’ eyes to this. There are things we never really think about until we are made aware of them.
What a fabulous post and excellent outlook on malaria and diseases that in most of our world here in the US don’t even think twice about.
I really appreciate how you articulate different perspectives. I am so fortunate to live in an area with abundant healthcare and have fantastic insurance. Illness is just not a big concern for us right now. I am relieved and grateful for that. I wish your family continued health and happiness abroad!
Beautiful piece! I lived in Ghana and Togo, and both my son and I spent time in the hospital with malaria. He was 8 months at the time, and it was a very scary experience. From there after, every sniffle raised my heart rate and had me watching over him like a hawk… We have just returned “home” to the states after many years abroad, and I wake in the middle of the night in a panic when I don’t see the net!
Welcome to WMB!
Thanks to everyone for reading and making a conversation about this important topic. This moment felt important and I’m grateful for the chance to share it via the WMB forum. May ideas and empathy combine for change so these mamas don’t always have to live in such stark fear.
Thanks to everyone for reading and making a conversation about this topic. This moment felt important and I’m grateful for the chance to share it via the WMB forum. May ideas and empathy combine for change so these mamas don’t always have to live in such stark fear.