Maleria: Tradition verses western medicine

I was watching the Medicine Men documentary a few weeks ago. The particular episode featured Chris and Xand in the Congo with an infant seriously infected with malaria. That episode reminded me of my own experience with malaria in the early 80s when I almost died.

I could not have been older than 3 when my family took a holiday to my grandfather’s Tobacco ranch in a remote area of Uganda.  

I caught malaria within a few day of our arrival. My parents weren’t initially worried at the time as we had travelled with malaria medication and my symptoms were caught early.

My infection got progressively worse, fast, despite the western drugs I was taking. I distinctly remember, in my absolute worst state, being visited by a local priest who prayed over me, and a shaman who brought along with her and boiled some unfamiliar looking roots and leaves.  

 I was continuously administered and force fed a cocktail of western and traditional drugs for what seemed like weeks until against all odds I slowly began to respond.

I often wonder what actually cured me? What I know for certain, knowing my family’s beliefs and values is, I must have been in a seriously bleak condition for my parents and grand parents to have considered traditional medicine.