This week there was fairly widespread media coverage of a report by the aid agency Medecins Sans Frontieres (MSF) about a sharp increase in the number of malaria cases being treated by them in eastern Chad.
There is always a fairly high incidence of malaria at this time of year as the rainy season comes to an end and the mosquito population is at its height. This year though it does seem to have been particularly bad, with one of our Chadian staff describing the situation to me as an 'epidemic'. I was slightly cynical about that assessment at the time of the conversation because malaria (or 'palu' as it is known here) seems to be the default diagnosis whenever anyone is sick.
When I hear of someone who is sick I struggle to know how best to help them, as the 'system' they rely on for their health and well-being is so broken. Access to good and affordable healthcare is very limited and most people do not have the knowledge or understanding needed to question the diagnosis they are given. My own medical knowledge is not extensive but when I see that a 7 year-old boy has been prescribed eight different medicines at a cost to his family of £35 GBP (or $55 USD), which is about a third of his father's monthly salary, then I can't help thinking that something is very wrong.
And then you hear a story that just makes you realise how tough life really can be for some people. Like this week when one of our staff told us about her 'cousin' (exact relationship unclear as this is a bit of a catch-all title for a member of the extended family). He was a motor-bike taxi driver in the city and last week he disappeared. No-one knew where he was and he could not be contacted on his mobile phone. On Thursday of this week his family were told that his body had been found in Cameroon. He leaves behind a young wife and a small baby.
Sometimes there are just no words...
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