By Fr. Joseph Panabang, svd
Africa is often described as the “white man’s grave” because of Malaria. A glance at the history of early missionaries all over the continent shows that many did not last a week, but that was before the discovery of anti-malaria tablets. With modern medicines now, things are changing.
As a young missionary to Ghana, West Africa, after eleven years in the field, I am so grateful to God that in spite of having malaria three to five times a year, I am still alive. If you are new, naturally you will have malaria more often but the longer you stay, the lesser you will be attacked as your defense system gets stronger.
Two times I administered the Last Sacrament of fellow missionaries with serious malaria. First, to a Sister and then to a fellow priest. And praise to God, both came back to life stronger than ever. Since that time on I believe that the Last Sacrament of the Sick is not only meant to prepare us for the next world but is meant also to heal us for this world – if that’s God’s will.
On my part, several times I was rushed to the hospitals conscious, semi-conscious and unconscious. The last time, I was unconscious and was lucky enough to have the tender loving care of a good Filipino medical sister, Sr. Linda Banson. Unfortunately, the hospital was full and they had to place me wherever a bed was available. Early morning, I was awakened by cries of many babies. I could not sleep anymore no matter how I tried. I wanted to find out where I was so I raised my head, and to my surprise, I was in the midst of women; some feeding their newborn babies, some cuddling and hushing. Where was I? I was right at the Maternity Ward. No wander all the women there could not hide their feeling – a mixture of shock, curiosity and amusement. I suspected some of them were looking for my child for it seemed they did not recognize me right away as a man, only when my nurse called me “Father” did the rest burst into laughter.
Natural instinct compels us to detest sickness. But my frequent bouts with malaria through the years taught me that getting annoyed by this type of illness seems to make it worse. So, foolish as one might think it is, I would rather welcome it when it comes; accept it as a mission companion ad even address it as ‘my beloved’. “Why are you smiling?” my doctor asked me during his visit. As I lay on the flat of my back I muttered, “Because now I am resting. Had it not been for malaria, I would be in my villages working.”
Truly malaria is a good initiator to new missionaries in Ghana (or perhaps Africa in general). What our initiators leave undone, malaria does. When a new missionary gets malaria people would say, “Now, you are one with us.” It is the first step to full acceptance and being one with the people. Through it one comes to understand, feel and live closer to the way the local people live. And of course it was in those days at the hospital that the Reverend Sisters would come and piously advice me, “Father, take the illness as your share in the suffering of Christ.” One Sister even spanked me for throwing up almost immediately after taking chloroquin. She said, “Father, don’t throw up the medicine, it is against the vow of poverty.”
Yes, indeed, I had compassion, love and solidarity from and with my fellow missionaries and local people in my confinement in the hospitals. Malaria after all is like a true friend coming with those messages above. Now, I understand what at first seemed to be a silly question, “Have you ever thanked God for mosquitoes?”