Halfway across the Serengeti, William Burton realised the lengthening hole in his foot was not the result of a mosquito bite
THE SUN was descending in the sky, and our first day in the Serengeti, in Tanzania, was drawing to a close. The deep burning ball seemed to change every time I looked at it.
One thing was not changing, however. For the past week a shallow red tunnel was appearing in the sole of my foot, under the skin. I brushed it aside in my mind initially, thinking it was an aggravated mosquito bite from Zanzibar the previous week. There was nothing else to suggest it was anything but an itchy insect bite.
Then, one morning, I noticed a faint red line protruding from the “mosquito bite”. A few days passed, and the line began to resemble a discarded string of red spaghetti. The line was becoming unbearably itchy. Combined with the heat of an African summer, it made for uncomfortable walking.
We were halfway through our safari, so I would have to wait until we were back in Arusha, in northern Tanzania, before I could see a doctor. I mentioned my dilemma to our safari driver, and he assured me he could fix my problem later that night.
We were being cosseted with an open fire and a refreshingly cold beer, discussing the day’s animals, when our driver reappeared. Strangely, he did not say anything, and instead placed a wooden spoon a little too near the glowing embers of the fire. Ten minutes later the driver reappeared. “I am ready to cure your problem now,” he said, picking up the wooden spoon.
I think I had numerous hot flushes on the spot. Not wanting to look unmanly in front of new acquaintances, I gingerly showed him the sole of my foot. There was no going back now – my ankle was locked in his vicelike hands. Slowly he pressed the wooden spoon into the bite and rubbed it along the length of the "tunnel". The heat through my foot was a lightning bolt of pain. With the spoon being wooden, it did not burn, unlike a metal one would have done. After five minutes of this,
he told me that the procedure was over and the problem fixed.
I was cautiously optimistic that the procedure had worked. Indeed, the tunnel stayed the same length for two days – I think that was while the worm recovered from severe burns – but then it was on the move again. It was time to seek an alternative remedy to the natural cure attempted by our driver.
Having travelled to Arusha from Zanzibar, we had met a Dutch doctor on work placement in a hostel where we stayed while organising our safari.
Back in the hostel after the safari and after a few drinks, I pulled the doctor to one side and mentioned the itchy tunnel in my foot. “Yesch, that is a worm in your foot.”
Diagnosed by a driver and a Dutchman in Africa: not your average trip to the doctor, you might say.