Once bitten
I was bitten. It happened sometime over the weekend. I never caught a glimpse of the culprit, but his legend remains as a slow growing red rash on my upper right thigh. It has burned since the start, but what was once a small isolated area, now occupies nearly the entire section of leg above my knee.
Last week I had an abnormally high number of mosquito bites. So naturally I assumed this was just another addition to my growing collection. But as the pinching burn spread, I decided to seek consultation from the local experts around me: my students. I described the pain and within seconds my three advisors announced, almost in unison: nyamuca. Nya-what? I delivered the news to another friend who translated: Nairobi Fly. Despite the translation from kinyarwanda to English, this was still a creature I had never encountered.
This is what a nyamuca looks like:
Everyone seemed confident that there was no need to fear for my life. And as you can see from this post, I’m still here to tell the tale. But there were no assurances I wouldn’t lose a leg. This unofficial diagnosis was already three days in. The burn was intensifying and the area around the bite was beginning to turn blue. Perhaps a lack of oxygen to the leg? Surely I would need to be amputated.
The students urged me to seek medical consultation. My housemate directed me to a private medical clinic close to town. During my lunch break, I hustled there as fast as I could manage on my gimpy swollen leg.
I arrived at noon but was told the doctor would be eating his lunch until 2:30 pm.
I had class at 2 pm. Every day I receive a myriad of “medical” excuses from my students to explain why they were late or missed class. Some are in fact very real. I’ve received a half dozen doctors notes stating that the student is in fact suffering from Malaria. But another was “sick” and several hours later that night I saw him performing before an audience of hundreds. A non-fatal medical situation was not going to prevent me from teaching, even if the fate of a leg was hanging in the balance. So I postponed the appointment and the opportunity to treat the burn to the following morning. This morning.
These extra hours gave me an entire night to Google images of victims of the nyamuca. Ah. The blistering I await. Like this:
This morning I hobbled through my neighborhood of Taba to the clinic. Dr. Theoneste told me to lower my pants. He looked. Yes. Nyamuca. He made a joke about the shortage of Nyamuca in Boston where he spent some time studying public health. Then he prescribed three medications: Diprosept cream to ease the pain. A high dosage of Ibuprofen and fusidate de sodium. $50 later, the pain has begun to ease. The redness remains but it’s better than the blisters to come.