"The Girl Who Cried Malaria" Goes to Church

Kenya Cooks for the Rasta Community. My favorite Rasta eating spot in Ghana

Me outside of the Emergency room with Julie. Waiting to be treated for my malaria

My hospital check in papers. I had to pay 12 cedi for this book

Friday morning was my first morning skipping my morning run. I woke up extremely achy and lethargic. I went and cleaned the beach and came home exhausted. Too exhausted. I took a nap and woke up burning with fever. Aches, plus fever, plus the last week of diarrhea could only equal one thing; MALARIA. My greatest fear throughout this journey had been realized; I had malaria. I spent the later part of the night asking all of the locals about their malaria stories and how they knew if they had the disease. All of them had malaria several times; it is like a common cold in sub-Saharan Africa. Some said they vomited a lot, lost their appetites or had muscle aches. All also added, "I don't think you have malaria. You would KNOW if you had malaria." They were right, I knew I had malaria. Of the three mosquito bites I had received one of them was the Anopheles mosquito that had bitten a malaria ridden person and then came and sucked on my precious malaria free blood and infected me with the deadly disease. Saturday morning I woke up as early as my achy body would allow and headed to the Central Regional Hospital with Julie, the only group member willing to take the journey to the Ghanian Emergency room (plus, I don't think the others believed I had malaria). When we arrived I was impressed by the structure of the hospital. It is very big and well built. Walking inside, I was greeted by the receptionist and then instructed to wait in line to check in. I looked around at the people around me. No one seemed to be that sick. Well, a few people did. But most seemed like they were waiting on others. When it was my turn to check in, the man asked, "Where is the sick one?" I responded "I am the one who is sick. I have malaria". He gave me a perplexed look and asked for my information and proceeded to fill out all of my paper work for me. I couldn't help to think how inefficient this process was. I was about to ask to fill out the papers myself, but then I thought this might be a courtesy to the illiterate population or a method of ensuring that the paper work was filled out properly. I waited while he copied the information from my ID to the form. He told me it would be awhile, so Julie and I decided to wait outside. It seemed like the best idea instead of staying in a room with a bunch of sick people. We waited outside and talked about life, men, Africa, other group members, funny stories; just trying to pass the time...then, a taxi came flying around the corner. Four women piled out of the taxi. One went in and got a wheelchair and brought it to the car. The four women then worked together to pull a limp young woman out of the car. Her feet and legs where covered in blood and it was obvious she was bleeding from between her legs. Eventually they got her into the wheelchair and rolled her inside. The taxi driver started cleaning the blood out of the backseat of his car. Then he drove off. Again, all was quiet outside the emergency room. All, except for my mind. What was wrong with that girl? Why had she waited so long to come to the hospital? Why had others waited so long to bring her to the hospital? I can't believe she had to take a taxi here! That young woman was the first of many that I saw entering the hospital while I waited to be treated for my malaria. Another young woman arrived in a taxi. She was gurgling and incoherent. She couldn't even sit up to be place in a wheelchair. A half naked old man was pulled from a car unable to stop moaning. An ambulance dropped of another woman who kept screaming. The question kept resounding in my mind...WHY DIDN'T THESE PEOPLE COME TO THE HOSPITAL SOONER? WHY HAD THEY WAITED SO LONG? But I already knew the real reason all of these patients were near death as they entered the hospital; they couldn't afford to come sooner. If there is one thing that I am reaffirmed in from waiting outside of that emergency room in Kakumado, Ghana it is this: HEALTH CARE IS A HUMAN RIGHT. These people in Africa are no different from the people in America who don't have health insurance. We should all have access to medical treatment simply because we are human. That is all that is to it. Dramatic silent pause. This is the time for you to reflect on your thoughts on universal health care and then take on my opinions. If this did not convince you. Please come to Ghana and sit outside the emergency room.

Anyway, after 4 hours I was called to see the doctor. When I walked in he asked "Where is the person who is sick?" Again, I whispered "I am the one who is sick." because I dared not offend the near death people surrounding me. I felt like an idiot because now I understood why people kept asking me that question. He asked for my symptoms and wrote then down in a book. He kept being interrupted by nurses who had no idea what they were doing. The doctor needed someone to give a child who had fractured her arm a splint. He could not find anyone who knew how to do it. I then understood why I waited so long. He was the only person in this entire hospital who knew what they were doing. I felt sorry for him, and admired him at the same time. He sent me to get have my blood taken and told me to come back after it was done. 30 minutes later the results were in. I, Adrianne Rochelle Pinkney, did NOT have malaria...

So, I left and went to town to have lunch with the Rastafarians.

Sunday morning I woke up early because I finally decided to fulfill my previous commitment to attend church. The Catholic service started at 10:00. The priest in the alter boys marched in followed by the choir who wore graduation caps and gowns. I asked the person beside me, "Are they honoring the graduates today?" He replied, "No, those are the choir uniforms. The women have to cover their hair". I giggled and wondered where these donated from another country. They probably were. I was tickled the entire time the choir marched in. Their tassels swinging beside them. The whole thing was silly. Ernesto taught me a very effective way to deliver bad news or critical information. It is called "A shit sandwich". First you say something good and then you say the terrible thing you really want to say and then you finish with something else positive. I am going to retell my experience at church using this method.

First piece of toast: The music at the church was amazing! I love hearing people sing songs of worship. It doesn't matter if they are Christians, Buddhist, Muslims, Hindus, or practicing indigenous faiths. Whenever people are singing to God it is euphoric. I could feel God in the room when the choir and the church sang. It was beautiful. It was even more lovely because no one, and I mean no one, sings, dances, or praises like people of color(more specifically, Black people). Those who have struggled and overcome have so much more conviction to their song. It's breathtaking.

The shit: I hated watching all of these poor, struggling people give their last in a church offering. It seemed silly. I don't think that is what Jesus wanted. For the poor to give their last to maintain a building or his teachings. In this church they give an additional offering of food, bottled water, clothes to the priest and his family. It was sickening. Women with baskets of bananas and cassava dropping their food at the feet of a man who was not God. Then I kept seeing all of these images of White Jesus around the church. That broke my heart. All these beautiful Black people worshiping the God of their oppressors. Blond-hair-blue-eyed Jesus was hanging on his execution cross at the front of the church, seemingly watching over the services and the people. To those who don't know me well, please understand I am a big supporter of Jesus's teachings and I believe he was an extraordinary person. I do not question his existence. He surely walked the earth and positively affected the lives of many people through his life. He continues to effect the world today. Still, I would like to see more people really understanding who Jesus was and what he was about. I do not think that most of today's Christians, or followers of Christ, really understand what it means to be Christ-like. I felt as if I were in a room of disillusioned people. I could tell they wanted something good...something great; but where being manipulated in mass and were therefore unable to find their way out. Religion. It can be dangerous when no one is questioning. Attending church is getting harder and harder for me as a grow spiritually.

Second Piece of Toast: I am glad to know that people still act upon the desire to know God. It is beautiful to see people give freely. It is nice to see people humble themselves. It is refreshing that people can acknowledge power, or forces, greater than themselves. People are still striving to realize their best selves and struggling to be good people. It is nice to see children how to treat others well. The human spirit is lovely. People need to feed that spirit. It keeps us alive. I think God is pleased when we seek to understand her. What more does she ask for?