How Malaria Almost Ruined My Detty December
I don’t know where the time has gone, but Christmas 2023 is already around the corner. As a digital nomad currently living in Guatemala City, I’m looking forward to a sunny Christmas. The last time I traded a white Christmas for the tropics was 2019, during my time as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Ghana, West Africa.
Around this time, 4 years ago, I was celebrating my 12th month in Ghana. If you must know exactly one thing about Ghana (Nigeria, too, for that matter!), it should be that December or “Detty December,” as the insiders fondly call it, is LIT (ps: do the kids still use this term?)
The season’s anthem was BigTrill’s 2019 hit “Parte After Parte.” Its repetitive hook captured the nonstop party energy of Detty December in Ghana and Nigeria: endless social events, parties, music festivals and people arriving from all over the world to join in.
December 2019 in Ghana was also the culmination of the “Year of Return”. This commemorative initiative marked the 400th anniversary of the arrival of enslaved Africans in Jamestown, Virginia. Ghana invited people of African descent worldwide to visit, connect, and commemorate their heritage. It aimed to promote tourism, cultural exchange and foster a sense of identity and belonging for the African diaspora.
Numerous events, including concerts, conferences, and heritage tours, were organized to facilitate this connection.
In short, December 2019 was indeed the time to be in Ghana.
In the few days leading up to Christmas, I left my service community for the capital city, Accra, to join the festivities. I was also on the hunt for the perfect Christmas gift to deliver to my host family. They hosted me for three months during Peace Corps pre-service training, and I grew very fond of them. I will never forget my baby brother Kobby—the most independent one-year-old boy I have ever met.
We were two peas in a pod, or my host mom, who took my hands and prayed for my safety before I left for my service community.
Although the majority of the time I spent in the city was unauthorized (unless my former country director is reading this, in which case, I was absolutely authorized to be in Accra every single time I went). I somehow managed to stay under the radar, even though I often slept at the main office. I would stay with a fellow Peace Corps volunteer. She was a third-year extension volunteer and had secured a role in the program that allowed her to live at the office.
That week, I remember telling her that I wasn’t feeling well—lightheaded, to be exact, but that certainly did not stop us from hitting the town.
A few days before Christmas day, I traveled to the training community to deliver the Christmas gift to my host family. My partner at the time accompanied me. The trip there was uneventful. But on our way back, my symptoms escalated.
It was a scorching afternoon, so I initially thought my pounding headache may have been heat-related. It had taken us a while to find a tro tro (minibus) that wasn’t overpacked, so we spent quite some time waiting in the Ghana sun. But even when we were well into our trip back, my symptoms continued to worsen. I was overheated, lightheaded, and experienced an unquenchable thirst. We kept buying water sachets from the street vendors, which made very little difference.
When we finally made it back to the city, my partner and I headed to his house. Within minutes, I was fast asleep. I woke up a few hours later with a fever that felt like it was at least 110 degrees Fahrenheit. This is when I first suspected I may have been bitten by the notorious anopheles gambiae, the malaria-transmitting mosquito (you never know, this might come in handy one day on Jeopardy).
At that point, I decided to head back to the Peace Corps office for testing. It was well after hours, and I knew the medical office would be closed for the day, but every volunteer was supplied with several malaria testing kits for this exact situation. I was just about to sit in the dimly lit courtyard to administer the malaria test when our medical officer emerged from the darkness. “Dr Nana!” I exclaimed. “I think I have malaria,” I followed up sheepishly.
Here’s the thing: Months earlier, as part of our onboarding in the country, my cohort had been trained to self-administer the malaria test. As volunteers, we would spend most of our time in remote parts of the country, so we needed to know how to test ourselves. So, one day, they gathered all of us and insisted we practice drawing blood from our fingers. That night, however, we were beyond the dress rehearsal. It was showtime. As I sat in the medical office, holding the test kit and looking up at Dr. Nana, it was clear we both remembered the drama that ensued when it was my turn to prick my finger for a blood sample during that training. “Go on, let me see you do it”, he said. I don’t remember how this scene played out, but I highly doubt I was the one who ultimately collected the blood sample.
The next two days were excruciating. I was the sickest that I had ever been in my entire life. I don’t remember seeing my life flash before my eyes, but if it did, I’m sure every single instance where I failed to take my weekly malaria prophylactic would have haunted me. I lost 8 pounds of water weight in one weekend from the volume of sweat I perspired as my body fought the infection.
Thankfully, I had access to the medical care I needed to bounce back right before Christmas. Within 24 hours of clearance from the medical team, I was ENJOYING.
As I look back on that eventful Detty December, I’m eternally grateful for the care I received. To the Peace Corps medical team, our driver who drove me to and from the hospital, to the cute doctor at the hospital to whom I had to provide a malaria-infested pee sample (*faint from embarrassment*). Our paths may never cross again in this lifetime, but this piece is my heartfelt thanks to you.
Wishing everyone a joyous holiday season. Adventure abound! Until next time, Wanderers.