Palu. That’s what they call it here. In French, malaria is referred to as le paludisme, or palu for short. Where I originally come from, it’s not a word that’s even in your vocabulary unless you’re on your way to do some intense travelling, or like us, you happen to live just off the equator, at the edge of the Congolese jungle(not very common).

Pre Congo thinking:

Before we lived here we thought it was completely insane that people went on expat in places where malaria existed. But then I got a bit more life experience and learned that shitty things happen from bugs all over the world. My husband got dengue in tropical Indonesia and my sister-in-law got Lyme disease in her backyard in Calgary. Things happens.

The more I talked to expats here, the more informed I became.

I learned a few things:

You don’t automatically die from malaria, as I may have once assumed.

If treated properly, it doesn’t have lasting effects.

Getting diagnosed quickly is the key.

Not all mosquitoes in malaria areas carry malaria. So no need to freak out if you get a bug bite.

Expats living in Congo don’t take anti-malaria pills because that’s a lot of strong medication to take for years on end. Instead they take precautions- and if they’re unlucky, and happen to get malaria, then they take the medication.

The precautions:

Malaria mosquitoes come out at dusk. Don’t go out at night without the proper(strong-enough-to-remove-your-nail polish) mosquito spray on, or cover up.

That’s basically the gist of it.

And I follow those precautions (almost) religiously. When we go out it’s always an eye roll because I’ve got a cute dress, make-up on, but I’m not ready until I slather myself with enough mosquito spray to erode my nail enamel. It’s not uncommon to see people wearing jeans even though it’s 35°C. It’s just part of the deal, and since most parties here are outdoors, it has to be done. You can be at the nicest restaurant or bar in town and there will always be mosquito spray on the side tables.

How did I get malaria then?

That’s a great question, with a very stupid answer.

Remember I said I *almost* always follow the rules?

Malaria symptoms normally start to turn up about 10 days after you’ve been infected by one of those dreadful mosquitoes.

Since the sun goes down at about 6:00 each night, all year round, unless we’re going out for the evening, I’m usually inside for the night because it gets dark quickly(Think dark like the dead of winter in Canada, then take away all the city lights–it’s not exactly ideal for an evening walk). So a quick glance at my calendar made it very easy to decipher the only time I was outside in the evening.

My best guess: Happy Hour.

Or as we like to call it, Fizzy Friday.

That’ll teach me, right.

It’s not for sure, but it’s my most likely guess. And in hindsight, I remember us all sitting around outside; it was about 5:30 and one of the ladies pulled out a roll on mosquito repellent, put some on and passed it to the person next to her, who did the same.

I remember thinking, Oh I like that brand, it actually smells nice, like ‘Skin so Soft’, unlike the chemical smell of the ones I have.

When I was offered the bottle I clearly recall saying, “No that’s okay, I’m gonna go in a minute,” thinking I was heading home.

Only I didn’t.

My glass magically refilled itself and my butt was parked in that chair for at least another hour.

Kevin and I later talked about the irony of the ONE TIME I didn’t wear mosquito spray, I got malaria…same for him with dengue. Lesson: Better safe than sorry.

What does it feel like?

If you’ve followed along with my posts or social media over the years, you might have noticed that I don’t mind participating in the odd sociable beverage. As a result, I am quite familiar with the headache that can arise the morning after an evening of said sociable beverage(s). Take your worst morning-after headache, and now couple it with the ultimate flu: fever, body aches, the whole nine yards. Hello malaria.

Now, it should be said that my case was caught really early.

The first hard and fast rule given to expats upon arrival in Africa is, go to the clinic as soon as you get a fever. So I did just that. I had a fever, went to the clinic, and was given the standard malaria test, as always. Upon returning home, I heard nothing, which meant ‘no news is good news’.

I started to feel better for a day, and even went to supervise my daughter’s class sailing trip. But it was short lived and that night I had the chills and couldn’t stop sweating. I woke up with a killer headache; worst than any hangover could induce, along with some pretty intense body aches.

I went back to the hospital(because of the ‘when in Africa’ rule) and instead of giving me the standard finger prick malaria test, they took blood to run tests.

The next night was the same, fever, sweating, unable to sleep from body aches. When I got out of bed in the morning my head pounded and when my feet hit the floor I felt pain through my entire body with every step I took.

This is not normal, I thought. I felt a bit like a crazy person, but I went back to the hospital again because I know my body and something was not right. The head of the hospital, a French expat, saw me, because let’s be honest, I kinda stand out in a Congolese waiting room, and he noted that:

1. I was back AGAIN
2. I did not look well.

He brought me into his office, checked me over, fetched my results and uttered that word we all hope NOT to hear while we’re here.

“Le palu.”

The Treatment

This is where I’m at now. I’ve been on some seriously strong medication for a few days and I’m very happy that the doctor warned me about the side effects, or I would be freaking out.

For someone who generally tries to eat well, stay active, and maintain overall good health, I was finding the sack of medication I was given a lot to digest. Literally. There was something for the headache. Another pill for the body aches. And then the big guns, Quinimax: the kick-the-shit-out-of-your-body malaria medication.

Side effects of this combination of drugs seemed to include: nausea, exhaustion, dizziness, loss of appetite, loss of taste buds, temporary loss of hearing, ringing of ears, sensitivity to loud noises, and finally, mouth tasting like chemicals when you wake up in the morning. Mmm…

Personally, I knew how to deal with the extreme hangover symptoms(because I heard from a friend), but I DID NOT know how to deal with the side effects of such strong medications.

My approach: The fetal position. For several days.

When I went to the hospital diagnosis day, the doctor wanted to admit me for 48 hours so I could take the medication through IV. Let’s just say I wasn’t really ‘feeling the vibe’ of the local hospital, unless absolutely necessary, so he said I could take the medication orally if I promised to rest, drink LOTS of water, and go in for a ‘control’ the following two mornings.

It was a deal. But back at my house in the fetal position with all of those meds in my empty stomach all I wanted to do was be sick. I knew if I threw up my meds I’d be in the hospital on IV. So in the cocoon that was my bed, I lay.

My husband tried to make me eat. Anything. But even my favourite things like chips and chocolate had no taste. Chips sadly tasted like styrofoam, and the sound of my own crunching in my ears was enough to send me over the edge. Finally we found that ice cream was the only thing I could manage; like a kid with their tonsils out.

As I write this I feel like I’m coming out on the other side. Obviously, because I’m sitting up in my bed, still resting, but no longer curled up in the shape of a C.

But the wide eyes of my driver, house keeper, and neighbour, when they saw me Monday morning on my way to the doctor, clearly told me that I didn’t look my healthiest just yet. However when my doctor saw me, only moments after their shocked faces, I must have looked better than the weekend because he quickly declared, ““Ah, Madame Webb! Vous avez l’air beaucoup mieux. Vous avez repris de la couleur dans votre beau visage” (Mrs. Webb, you’re looking much better. You’ve got colour back in your beautiful face). Leave it up to a French doctor to throw in a little charm to make you feel better.

So there’s still some medication side effects to deal with, I’m also told to expect fatigue for several more days and I’ll need to rest.—Great timing for resting with two kids currently on school holidays— But most of the intense malaria feelings, thankfully, seem to be behind me.

That’s a lot of words to say that, even though this could have been avoided by me putting on bug spray, I’m grateful that it was caught early and I had the proper care.

The opposite of my experience is exactly why so many people in Africa die of malaria. They get malaria far more often because they don’t have sealed tight, air conditioned homes with mosquito nets. I can also assume that they don’t import intensely strong bug spray from France. Many locals can’t afford to go to the hospital and definitely can’t afford the treatment; which then makes this virus fatal.

Even our driver and cleaner, who have what are considered here, very well paying jobs, count on us, their employer, to buy medicine and treatment for them and their families when they’re sick because they don’t have the means to do it themselves. It’s a very tragic situation for locals living in these parts of the world. I now see that first hand.

Any Positives?

Besides the running joke among expats that I’ve earned my ‘living-in-Africa’ badge of honour. I’ve also lost a solid 7 pounds in less than a week. But I wouldn’t recommend malaria as a weight loss program.