Missionary Position (30 page)

“You should stay in bed.”

“I’m okay. Trust me?”

Her lips pursed with disapproval.

“I’ll only be gone a couple of hours. I promise.”

AFTER I SHOWERED and dressed, I felt more myself. A little tired and lightheaded, but overall better than I had the previous twenty-four hours. Except for the Kai-shaped hole, I felt almost normal.

I made a list of things to buy and left the house. With no Thanksgiving, there wasn’t the Black Friday shopping frenzy. During the short walk, I spied Christmas decorations and fake trees complete with twinkle lights decorating several shops and hotels. Too close to the equator for real seasons, I still felt the chill of Portland’s coming winter with the dry, dusty Saharan winds clouding the late November sky.

Makola was no more or less busy than any other weekend. Rebecca greeted me with a huge smile and handed me the parcel of dresses and rompers I’d had made for Lizzy. On top, she laid a little doll made of wax cloth as an extra gift. I thanked her and promised to recommend her to everyone.

I made my way out of the market. A strong scent of peanut butter overwhelmed me, and I couldn’t catch my breath. I spun around, looking for the shortest route to fresh air, my head swimming.

In an open space at the entrance to the market, I sat on an empty crate, gasping for air. I closed my eyes and exhaled, counting to ten to calm my stomach and catch my breath.

Maybe shopping at the market wasn’t the best idea, but I needed to buy these gifts before I returned home. I bought a bag of water and sipped it, awaiting the return of my balance. The craft market was only blocks away. I could make it there, find Abraham Lincoln, give him my list and finish everything in an hour.

Resolved, I trudged to High Street, hoping to locate Abraham without a long search.

Two young men greeted me near the coconut stand. “
Mah mee
, you need something? You are looking for something extra nice? We’ll show you the best.”

I’d been scoped by new shopping Sherpas.

“Thank you, but I’m looking for Abraham Lincoln. Do you know him?”

A look passed between them. “I know him, but his shops are not good. Our prices are better.” His fib lurked behind his smile.

“Ah, thank you, but I promised I would shop with him.” From the corner of my eye, I spotted Abraham’s lanky form walking in our direction. “There he is.”

Abraham glared at the pair, but greeted me warmly, “Dr. Elmore! You are ready to shop today?”

“Yes.” I showed him my list.

“Very good.” He turned his back to the other men. “What is the state capital of Oregon?”

“Salem. Oregon is where I live.” I smiled at him.

“Excellent, what are you looking to buy?” He led me into the heart of the market.

In a handful of stalls, we haggled over prices on souvenirs that didn’t scream tacky tourist. While standing at a table full of jewelry, the woozy feeling returned and sweat trickled down my neck.

“Abraham, I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling well and need to go home,” I explained, looking for a place to sit.

“Here, Dr. Elmore.” He pulled out a stool for me from under a table covered with beaded necklaces. “You rest.”

I sat down and put my face between my knees for a moment until the feeling of passing out faded. “Will you buy me something to drink?” I reached into my bag for some
cedis
. “Anything cold, please.”

He dashed off through the narrow aisle. I turned to the woman running the booth, an “Auntie” of Abraham’s.

She gave me a sad look and gestured to my forehead. “Fever.”

I nodded, wiping the droplets of sweat from my brow. “Yes, I think so.”

Abraham returned with two Cokes and my change.

“
Me daa si
.” I thanked him.

I rolled the cold glass along the nape of my neck and focused on breathing.

“Abraham, I need to ask a favor. Do you know Ama’s Hotel? Down High Street?”

“Yes, I know it.”

“Can you walk there and tell them I’m here, and feeling very sick? Ama will send someone to pick me up.”

“It is a short way,
Mah mee
. You cannot walk it?” He sounded concerned.

“No, I don’t think I can.” I wasn’t sure if I could make the distance without vomiting. Or worse.

Abraham and his Auntie spoke quickly in Twi and then he left.

I tried sipping from the Coke, only managing to swallow one sip. I decided it would be better used to cool my skin.

The Auntie frowned at me again and repeated, “Fever.”

Resting against the wall of her stall, I closed my eyes. Did she mean I had a fever or The Fever as in Yellow? Or Typhoid?

“You need Nibima.”

I repeated the word, trying to commit it to memory.

When Abraham returned with Kofi, I sat slumped on a low stool, my whole skull pounding.

“Hi.” I gave them a weak wave.

“Oh, Dr. Selah. You are very sick,” Kofi said.

I shook my head. “No, I’m fine. A little woozy.”

Kofi and Abraham helped me stand and guided me through the crowded aisles of the craft centre. I chanted under my breath, “Nibima-Nimibia. Nimbus.”

“What is it?” Kofi asked, tucking me into the backseat of his sedan.

“The Auntie told me a word. Said I have Scarlet Fever.” I frowned. “No, that’s not right. Yellow Fever.”

“Dr. Selah doesn’t have Yellow Fever.”

I rested against the seat. “She said I had some sort of fever.” My eyes closed.

AMA’S HORRIFIED EXPRESSION greeted me when I woke to find we’d arrived at the hotel. The short drive couldn’t have been longer than five minutes, but I’d conked out. Or passed out. She rushed over, put her hand on my forehead and promptly sent Sarah to find me a room where I could lie down. I would have hugged her if I hadn’t been completely gross.

Time blurred together between trips to the bathroom and finally making a little pallet on the cool tile floor.

I hadn’t been this sick for years. Either I had food poisoning or was dying.

I was positive it was the latter.

I alternated sweating and shaking with cold, using the thin towels to cover myself or wipe my sweat.

Ama returned and knelt beside me. The cool cloth she patted on my forehead soothed the burn. “You’re going to the hospital.”

“No,” I whispered. “It’s a stomach bug.”

“No one else became sick. I think you have malaria.”

“I can’t have malaria. I always take my pills. Every week.”

“Sometimes they don’t work. You’re very sick.”

I rolled away from her. “Let me lie here a little longer and I’m sure I’ll be fine. I’ve felt fine all morning.”

“Sorry, my friend, but you need to go to the hospital. If you don’t have malaria, you can tell me ‘I told you so’. If you do, you can thank me for saving your life.”

“But I don’t want to go to the hospital,” I whined. “Let me go home. I’ll visit the doctor when I return home.”

With an apologetic look, Ama indicated I wouldn’t win this argument.

I sighed, and a tremor went through me. Maybe the hospital was the best idea.

“Okay, I’ll go.”

She stood and extended her hand. “Let me help you up.”

I clasped her hand, pulling myself up to standing. The room swam and everything went dark around the edges. Her voice sounded far away and tinny. Blood pounded in my ears.

I prayed I wouldn’t crack open my skull on the tile when I fell.

BEEP.

Beep.

Beep.

I awoke with a dry mouth and pain on my left hand.

I coughed and my chest rattled.

That was new.

My eyes were glued shut.
Who would glue my eyes closed?
Slowly, I opened them, lash by lash. I blinked to clear my vision. The beeping didn’t appear to come from me. White ceiling tiles came into focus while I lay there counting my breaths. A colorful floral curtain enclosed my bed, confirming I lay in a hospital, not Ama’s house, or even the hotel.

The smell of bleach and antiseptic hit my nose.

I closed my eyes, the lids too heavy to keep open.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

BEEP.

Shoes squeaked on linoleum.

Beep.

Beep.

Soft voices.

A hand touched my arm. Warm fingers brushed my skin.

I swallowed around the sandpaper of my tongue and pried open my eyes.

Ama’s soft smile greeted me. Surrounded by the sterile hospital setting, even her riotous rainbow scarf looked somber.

“Hi.” I coughed.

She reached for a pitcher of water and poured some into a cup for me.

I sipped the cool liquid ambrosia through a straw.

“Thank you,” I whispered.

“Nice to see you’re awake.”

“How did I get here?” I sipped and swallowed. “Where is here, by the way?”

“You’re in a private clinic in Accra.”

“I won’t be able to say I told you so, will I?”

“No.”

“Fever means malaria, doesn’t it? Abraham’s Auntie said fever. She told me a name of something that could help. An herb, maybe?”

“Fevers can mean many things, but you have malaria.”

“Lucky me.”

“Lucky indeed. The doctors say they caught it early.”

“I don’t feel lucky.” I pouted around my straw. I looked down at my thin cotton hospital gown. “How long have I been here?”

“Two days. It’s Monday morning. You woke up for a little yesterday. Do you remember Ursula and I visiting you?”

I softly shook my head. “No. I remember beeping and the ceiling tiles, but those might be from earlier today.”

Ama’s warm hand covered mine. “You gave us a big scare, but you will be fine. You’re receiving the best care with excellent medicines.” She pointed at the IV in my arm. Ah, that explained the pain. “It’s mostly fluids to treat dehydration, but they decided to skip the oral drugs and move straight to the IV for fear of coma.”

“Coma?” Could I have been that sick?

“You wouldn’t wake up after you passed out on the bathroom floor. I screamed for Sarah and Kofi. We finally woke you up, but I swear your eyes focused in different directions. You kept mumbling about something. Nothing we said or did made you wake up and answer us.”

“Yikes.”

“Very scary.” She glared at me. “Do not do that to me again. Ever.”