Only One Sketchy Yellow Fever Shot Needed
This year’s rendition of the three day middle school Cup of Nations basketball, soccer and volleyball tournament was scheduled for the International School of Dakar. Last year it was the Pharaoh’s Cup, this year the Teranga Cup (and yes there has been many spelling renditions of this word). But in order to visit, participants needed a yellow fever vaccine. This notification arrived only a week before our departure. Proof of my first yellow fever vaccine was stamped on an old, crinkled, yellow vaccine card that had seen better days and hadn’t actually been seen in recent years. A new vaccine was needed.
Kids decided to have a vaccine party. In Egypt, it’s not uncommon for doctors to make a house call. Dr. Amina was no different. Parents scheduled her to come to a student’s house and administer yellow fever vaccines. I caught wind of the plan, so a parent helped arrange for Dr. Amina to vaccinate me at school before going to the party.
In our messages the day before, it became apparent that Dr. Amina speaks less English than I speak Arabic, which means she speaks none to my very little.
The next day in the middle of a Teranga Cup practice, I ran to the front gate to meet her. She arrived with her nurse and driver. The driver happily questioned me if I was John.
“Yup. Sure is.”
Like some type of illegal drug deal, Dr. Amina immediately flashed me the yellow fever vaccination card already completed with my name, the date, and yellow fever batch. Then she quickly muttered to me in Arabic. Baffled as I did not catch a word of what she said, not uncommon in life, I asked a nearby parent if she would be able to translate for us.
“She wants 600 LE.” (The USD equivalent of $15)
She wasn’t playing around. This was going to be a quick transaction. That’s also something that is not completely Egyptian.
I handed her three 200 LE bills.
She expected to stick me with a needle inside school, but that paperwork must be completed in advance and the words advance and Egypt don’t often go hand in hand.
Not thwarted, she indicated to follow her driver to the little red sedan parked over there. Seems like a logical place to get a vaccine.
The driver opened the back door and pointed for me to sit down in the backseat.
As I sat down, a smirk crossed my face at the quirkiness of this situation. Dr. Amina grabbed a glass vile, removed a needle from surgical packaging, all in the middle of this dusty Egyptian street. Given my avoidance of needles, I looked away, she vaccinated my left arm while drivers curiously watched the spectacle.
Afterwards, my shoulder bled, Dr. Amina’s nurse didn’t have a band aid. Her driver approached the onlooking drivers. Almost every vehicle in Egypt, except for the one that I was currently in, has a box of tissues. He asked and one driver quickly grabbed a few from his car.
And just like that, I was officially vaccinated for yellow fever. I walked back the 50 yards from the parked red sedan back to the school entrance. At the gate, a guard saw me walking up with one sleeve up and dabbing at my arm with tissue caught the guard’s attention, “Mr. John, are you alright sir?”
“I’m fine Mr. Ali, thanks for asking” but in the back of my mind I wondered, “I really hope she’s a doctor and that that shot in my shoulder was actually a yellow fever vaccine.” I won’t know anytime soon, but I will be able to fly between Egypt and Senegal.
And in the end, this simple story perfectly encapsulates life in Egypt.
