The Man of Still

It wasn't good night. Not at all!. I tossed and turned and rolled around violently throughout the night. Then it happened: TD. Most people that travel usually get anywhere from mild to severe TD no big deal, you get and that's it. TD is Traveler's Diarrhea. After more than a few days of not being so regular, I didn't mind it, a little Pepto and I'm all cleaned out. But after the restlessness and the 5th or 6th time going, I consulted my binder with health information to make sure that all things for the most part were well. I open the page to find the words, "if you have a fever seek medical attention immediately!" I check my temperature and to my astonishment the thermometer read 106. So yes I had a fever, I should have thrown down the book and ran to the nearest medical institution. But remember, I'm in Africa, I ain't going out there in the middle of the night and besides all I needed were a few aspirin and I'd be better in the morning. More TD. 7 or 8 more times. Brain is starting to work, there might be something wrong, I thought to myself. I check my binder again, this time with the light on. Body aches. Check. Severe TD. Check. Fever more than 105. Check. Check. Check. "If you are experiencing one or more of these symptoms, FOOL GO TO THE DOCTOR!!!"


Hmmm, still in Africa though and it's still the middle of the night. I said a prayer and promised myself I'd go to the hospital at first sign of daylight.

Daylight. Symptoms went from bad to worse, everything intensified times a thousand. I wake up the auberge manager and try to explain that I need a doctor. Up until this point I am all too patient when attempting to speak and understand the language but right now, I just keep screaming "hospital, hospital....I need a doctor" He looks at me with a blank stare and says, "yes". OK yes tell me where the hospital is. Again the blank stare and he says, "yes. OK you go now? Leave key". He turns away and goes back to his room. Oh never mind. I was getting progressively worse as the minutes passed. I dragged myself to

the street and flagged down a taxi. "Hospital, Hospital....I need a doctor!" The taxi driver says, "yes" blank stare included. I get in and he asks, "where are you going?" Oh never mind. I don't have time to be playing around, I exit the vehicle and flag another. He had the presence of mind to stop someone who spoke enough English to direct us to the hospital.

I get to the hospital. Nothing is remotely in English. No signs pointing to ER or Triage. Nothing. No one speaks English. This hospital is a large campus and no one apparently has emergencies in Senegal. And I am not getting any better. I can feel my fever getting

higher, pain worsening, TD turned into vomit. OK this is it, this is how I die. In utter pain and suffering in Senegal. I stop and sit on a bench with my head in my hands. I dial the number to God, "Dear Lord, please see me through this, please send me a angel to help me get help. Amen." "Excuse me," I stop the next person I see, "can you direct me to the Emergency Room?" "Follow me" she said, oh thank you Lord.

I get to the ER and am confronted with another obstacle. No one speaks English. I go up to the intake lady and say I need a doctor. She stares at me blankly as if to say, "look around don't you see everyone here needs a doctor?" The nerve of these people. Here I am an American citizen and they aren't giving me special treatment? I sit down (I am way out of it at this point) I phone the US Embassy in Dakar. “I'll show them, treating me like this” I say to myself. Ring. “I'll get someone down here right away and I'll receive the best care you got.” Ring. “I can't wait, ooohh you gonna get it, watch.” Ring. “Secretary State Condi is a sistah too, she gonna hook a brotha up.” Ring. “Ya'll don't know? I'm from the land of liberty, one time we went to war over tea when Paul Revere shot Crispus Attucks, a Black man....so you know they getting me outta here. Ring...."We're sorry, the U.S. Embassy is now closed, please call back during normal business hours..." Hmmm. I get real humble. Real fast.

I approach the lady calmly and we struggle through what I need. She has me fill out papers and pay a small intake fee to see the doctor and I sit and wait to see the doctor. OK, I am out here dying which everyone can see so I will see the doctor soon, right?. Wrong. Two hours pass and each half hour I go back to where the doctors are and demand to have someone see me. At least take my temperature or something. Jersey City Medical Center (who rivals Senegal in service) would at least had taken my temperature by now. Nothing. I am moaning and groaning in pain and each time the nurses would snicker. Three hours. Four. Five. What's wrong with you people cant you see I am about to die!!?!!

About six hours into my walking into the ER the nurses came to get me and placed me in a room and take my temperature, now at 104.2, and placed an IV in my arm to drip fluids. Finally the doctor. "Do you speak English?" I ask him. "Yes" Oh thank God! He and an assistant examine me and place me through a series of x-rays and blood tests. After about 30 minutes I ask him, "Doctor, am I going to die?" He responds, "yes" (blank stare and all). I feel the life escape my body. Hope drained. So this is it, this is where I will perish. After a minute though, I begin to smile. Hey, it's been one heck of a ride. Many people never leave within a quarter mile from where they are born and here I am, I get a chance to die in Senegal. I just hope my personal effects get to my family (someone needs to profit off of this experience). An hour later the doctor comes into the room and pulls the IV from my arm, gives me a paper and attempts to explain to me what is on it. Wait a minute, I thought you spoke English. "No English" Apparently, "yes" (accompanied with blank stare) is the Senegalese word for "I don't know what the heck you talkin' 'bout, but I don't want to be rude. Hmmm not going to die here after all. Whew!!

It turns out the smallest little thing caused all this medical drama: a tiny female mosquito that could have bit me anywhere between Morocco and Senegal. Wherever she bit me, she left microscopic eggs that hatched inside of my liver attacking my red blood cells. This in other words is called malaria. Malaria is a serious, deadly disease that kills many people worldwide. When I finally informed my family, they predictably panicked. They begged and pleaded with me to end the trip and come home and I made a deal with my father that if I was not better in 4 days (the doctor gave me a 3 day treatment) I would.

By the 4th day I was nearly 90% and felt as if I would continue on with this journey. The treatment cured me and I am glad to have gone through it because I know how to better protect myself from malaria. About it being a deadly disease you might be thinking, well it is. Before you write off third world countries as a way to continue to justify why you don't travel, let me put it in perspective. We at home have our share of communicable diseases that kills many with the same rates as malaria, like the flu (granted all things being equal like time of diagnosis, access to treatment, age and general health of

individual). If you were to get the flu this season, you'd be out for a few days but know how to treat it, help prevent it and what to take to make you feel better. Malaria is Africa's flu. It is so common that when I told my friends I met here I had it, they thought I was being all too dramatic in my reaction.

As soon as I felt 100%, I boarded a bus headed to my next destination: Bamako, Mali. I am grateful that I was able to have this experience and was able to be still long enough to get my thoughts in order and health back on track and viewed this as a test of my

continued faith to call upon God in such hours of need. Through the red octagon I go, crossing yet another intersection on the road to my dreams. The journey continues....

The Man of Still (a poem for the movement of dreams)

I want to stand ten feet taller than my condition
--Perspective: we aren't even 10ft taller than ants--
I want to rise high above my burdens
Like a mighty mountain on the horizon
I want to cannonball off the cliff of complacency
Into the warm waters of hope
--Warning: cannonballing can cause serious injury
If the subsequent waters aren't deep--
My hope is deeper than destiny
Runs far beneath the surface of my see
And is the evidence of what I cannot
Faith will have you running through the forest blindfolded
Believing you can fly
Or thinking you can defeat an army with a switchblade
Because my belief is that my demons
Are not as powerful as my perception of them
That is why I am still
Motionless like a lion lying in wait
in anticipation of the antelope as his next meal
Still like the wind prior to a fierce storm
Like the roots of a dimba tree embedded in Malian soil
I am still
Here pushing forward toward my dreams
Hovering high above the clouds where the rain cannot touch me
My tears aren't even wet
Because I don't cry anymore
I am beaten, broken, burdened
And still I laugh in the face of adversity
My misfortunes are mistaken if they think I will deviate from my path
I am naive enough to believe my dreams will come true
It feels so good to know that the next day
Could possibly be better this one
Because I am still optimizing my options
And as long as I still have air in my lungs
I still have a reason to push on
I still have a reason to push on

Derrick S Slack
March/2007