Down a sandy track, two Land Rovers fly—the road is clear ahead, and there is no traffic for scores of kilometers around. This village may not be at the end of the world, but (as they often joke), you can see it from here. They did not even know this village existed until the “Prefet” told them about it: “Lots of kids out there. Don’t think anyone has ever gone to vaccinate them.
So here they were, and they are entering the village—a few mud brick structures, “hangars,” and a well. Why is this place even here? Close to the border (Mali), maybe?
He sees the children coming out laughing and waving (they heard the Land Rovers coming a long way off), and… is hit by the strongest deja vu he has ever experienced. “I’ve been here… It was just like this… But…”
But it can’t be, he turns his head, and there is Ousmane Ba, the new nurse who just came on to head up these trips. Ousmane started only three weeks ago, and they did not even know about this village until a month ago.
And yet the feeling persists—long after it should have worn off. It’s not that he can predict what will happen next. No, but everything that happens has an urgent feel of having happened before. See? There’s that kid with the Philly Fanatic t-shirt! How did that shirt find its way out here!? He sees it right away, and didn’t he see it just this way before?
The sun is setting, no vaccinations today. They will get a bite to eat after their six-hour trek to get here—mostly stony path, a few escarpments, and lots of sand. The rainy season is months off. At least no heat.
They turn into a spot next to a house and, yes, just that house and just those mats laid out on the ground where they will eat their meal, relax, and then sleep. Just as it was.
He starts wondering if it’s the Mefloquine—the chemoprophylaxis he has started taking to prevent malaria. He has heard the stories from Peace Corps volunteers. Mefloquine is said to be causing some crazy mental health issues—psychotic breaks and the like. They say that one volunteer went crazy and ran naked into the bush. He was sent home.
Is that it? Because everything is just… as… it… was. But he knows he has never been here.
Naji is on the mat and motions for him to sit next to him. Crazy Naji, he will be cracking jokes and doing his terrible imitations in no time. But he knew Naji would do that. How?
He sits down, darkness falling, and stretches his arms back behind him to rest his back. And, a sharp, deep sting, and it feels like his hand has been hit by a hammer. His hand immediately begins to go numb.
Down a sandy track, two Land Rovers fly—the road is clear ahead, and there is no traffic for scores of kilometers around. This village may not be at the end of the world, but (as they often joke), you can see it from here. They did not even know this village existed until the “Prefet” told them about it: “Lots of kids out there. Don’t think anyone has ever gone to vaccinate them.
So here they were, and they are entering the village—a few mud brick structures, “hangars,” and a well. Why is this place even here? Close to the border (Mali), maybe?
He sees the children standing solemnly by the road, heads bowed (they heard the Land Rovers coming a long way off), and… is hit by the strongest deja vu he has ever experienced. “I’ve been here… It was just like this… But…” But was it? Were those children standing there, or were they…
But it can’t be, he turns his head, and there is Ousmane Ba, the new nurse who just came on to head up these trips. Ousmane started only three weeks ago, and they did not even know about this village until a month ago.
And yet the feeling persists—long after it should have worn off. It’s not that he can predict what will happen next. No, but everything that happens has an urgent feel of having happened before. See? There’s that kid with the Philly Fanatic t-shirt! How did that shirt find its way out here!? Why is he crying? He sees it right away, and didn’t he see it just this way before? Or, was it different?
The sun is setting, no vaccinations today. They will get a bite to eat after their six-hour trek to get here—mostly stony path, a few escarpments, and lots of sand. The rainy season is months off. At least no heat.
They turn into a spot next to a house and, yes, just that house and just those mats laid out on the ground where they will eat their meal, relax, and then sleep. Just as it was.
He starts wondering if it’s the Mefloquine—the chemoprophylaxis he has started taking to prevent malaria. He has heard the stories from Peace Corps volunteers. Mefloquine is said to be causing some crazy mental health issues—psychotic breaks and the like. They say that one volunteer went crazy and ran naked into the bush. He was sent home.
Is that it? Because everything is just… as… it… was. But he knows he has never been here.
Ousmane Ba, the nurse, is on the mat and motions for him to sit next to him. Ba is holding a medical kit. Why? But he knew Ba would do that. Right? Is that it? How?
He sits down, darkness falling, and stretches his arms back behind him to rest his back. And, a sharp, deep sting, and it feels like his hand has been hit by a hammer. His hand immediately begins to go numb.
Down a sandy track, two Land Rovers fly—the road is clear ahead, and there is no traffic for scores of kilometers around. This village may not be at the end of the world, but (as they often joke), you can see it from here. They did not even know this village existed until the “Prefet” told them about it: “Lots of kids out there. Don’t think anyone has ever gone to vaccinate them.
So here they were, and they are entering the village—a few mud brick structures, “hangars,” and a well. Why is this place even here? Close to the border (Mali), maybe?
He sees the children standing by the road. They are holding out gri-gris, the local amulets made of leather pouches with Qur’anic verses sewn inside. They are meant to ward off evil. (they heard the Land Rovers coming a long way off), and… is hit by the strongest deja vu he has ever experienced. “I’ve been here… It was just like this… But…” But was it? Were those children offering gri-gris, or were they… He knows the gri-gris are for him.
But it can’t be, he turns his head, and there is Ousmane Ba, the new nurse who just came on to head up these trips. Ousmane started only three weeks ago, and they did not even know about this village until a month ago.
And yet the feeling persists—long after it should have worn off. It’s not that he can predict what will happen next. No, but everything that happens has an urgent feel of having happened before. See? There’s that kid with the Philly Fanatic t-shirt! How did that shirt find its way out here!? He sees it right away, and didn’t he see it just this way before? Or, was it different? The child offers him a gris-gris, and he takes it.
And there, in the throng of children, is his daughter? You can’t mistake it. A little white blond-haired child in this community of brown and black children. What is she doing here? How did she get here? Isn’t she in, Kiffa? Or Nouakchott? Or back home in the US with her mom? But wasn’t it just like this? Wasn’t she here? He has been here, with her. How?
The sun is setting, no vaccinations today. They will get a bite to eat after their six-hour trek to get here—mostly stony path, a few escarpments, and lots of sand. The rainy season is months off. At least no heat.
They turn into a spot next to a house and, yes, just that house and just those mats laid out on the ground where they will eat their meal, relax, and then sleep. Just as it was.
He starts wondering if it’s the Mefloquine—the chemoprophylaxis he has started taking to prevent malaria. He has heard the stories from Peace Corps volunteers. Mefloquine is said to be causing some crazy mental health issues—psychotic breaks and the like. They say that one volunteer went crazy and ran naked into the bush. He was sent home.
Is that it? Because everything is just… as… it… was. But he knows he has never been here.
Mohammad Lagdaf, a healer from near Boumdeid who specializes in treating stings and bites, is on the mat and motions for him to sit next to him. What is Lagdaf doing here? His village is over 150 kilometers from here. But he was here. Yes. The feeling is strong. Lagdaf has his pouch of herbal remedies by his side.
He sits down, darkness falling, and stretches his arms back behind him to rest his back. And, a sharp, deep sting, and it feels like his hand has been hit by a hammer. His hand immediately begins to go numb.
Down a sandy track, Ousmane Ba sits by the body, and dawn is breaking. Naji comes up to tell him that the villagers are begging them to take it away as soon as possible. They fear they will be blamed. Ba nods. They will be on their way soon. He rubs his temples. There is going to be so much work ahead.
Naji squats next to Ba. “Didn’t you check him during the night?”
Ba sighs. “Yes, I woke him three times. About midnight, he woke up and told me that the numbness had spread to his elbow. He said he was feeling better, no pain. Of course not. I gave him enough painkillers to take care of all of that.
Then I woke him at 3:00. He said the numbness was in his shoulder. He said he felt it was getting better.
Then I checked with him at 4:00. I couldn’t wake him. He was mumbling something about “fili fanatique.” I have no idea what he meant. He mumbled his daughter’s name too.
But what could I do? The closest health post is almost fourteen hours from here. I just didn’t have what he needed.”
Naji shakes his head. “They rarely kill adults. It happens, but I thought he would be in pain and that it would pass. They can kill children. One took a little cousin of mine.”
Ba sighs. “Scorpions. No one remembers them being around before the droughts. Now they are a scourge.
Traveling at the Speed of Bike 