an earache in the heart of darkness

Today I got some first-hand experience with the private medical sector in Botswana. I had a rather nasty cold a few weeks back. I eventually found an over-the-counter decongestant, which knocked me out like no drugs I remember since demerol. I took three-hour naps in the middle of the day while I was on that decongestant. The naps weren't even really voluntary -- I simply couldn't keep my eyes open -- but I gave in, figuring the sleep would help me recover more quickly.

The cold started with congestion in my nose, and eventually developed into a chest cough. My ears bothered me a bit during all of this, but since they usually bother me when I have a cold, I didn't think much of it. The nasal congestion returned last week, and, once again, I found myself flat out in the middle of the day about an hour after taking the decongestant. (I had even tried a half-dose, but no luck.)

My ears had bothered me again with return of the nasal congestion. Then my nose cleared up, but my left ear kept bothering me. Discomfort would come and go; I would feel the pressure that one feels in one's ears when underwater. Yesterday, discomfort became pain bad enough for me to call a private clinic and make an appointment. (I also tried another half-dose of the decongestant yesterday afternoon, even though I was desperately afraid I would fall asleep in my 5pm appointment. Fortunately, the appointment part of the event was canceled and it turned into an impromptu casual coffee date instead with a friend who didn't mind that I yawned continuously throughout the affair.)

Anyway, off I toddled to a private clinic close to the 'embassy' part of town. The clinic itself is lovely -- I'd be there on 'business' before, but never for treatment. It's very lovely and cool, with clean, white painted walls and shutters. I was weighed and my height was taken (in kilogrammes and centimeters, which was new to me), and, as is standard practice with new patients at this clinic, I was asked to give a urine sample.

The doctor saw me in another lovely, white, cool, windowed room, with a door that opened onto the courtyard around which the clinic is built. He invited me in, and drew the blinds before beginning. A native speaker of French, he inquired what brought me to Botswana, and told me first about a French anthropologist who works in Lascaux who is visiting Gaborone, and told me next about a lecture he plans to attend next week at the HIV Clinicians Society. I knew about the lecture, as it's being given by a friend of mine, and the doctor assured me I would be welcome. We chatted about my surname, about the difference between American and French computer keyboards, and about the name of the procedure performed on my spine some years ago (which he charmingly referred to as the " 'Arrington system").

Upon examining my ear, he explained that the eardrum was inflamed on the outside (rather that the inside, which would have been otitis media and would probably have had me howling rather than just grumpy and distracted). He wrote my a prescription and sent me back to the reception area, shaking my hand and telling me he hoped to see me at the lecture rather than back at the clinic. I paid for my services and the prescriptions all at once, which came to about $65. I then collected my drugs at the in-house pharmacy. Three prescriptions for an earache! A course of ciproflaxin, eardrops, and an anti-inflammatory. I'm not really complaining, as I received lovely care from everyone I encoutered and only paid $65 for treatment and drugs combined.

So, there you go. That was the nicest medical care I've received in a long time. All this in 'the developing world'. And neither the staff nor the clientele were entirely composed of white folks; most of the people I saw around me were Batswana --admittedly, probably Batswana with medical insurance. But still: eat your heart out with your glossy generalizations about 'Africa', New York Times.