Looking Up

Between fever dreams; the light above our bed. 

Earlier this week, the virus had me laid flat for a day, slipping fitfully between dreams and wakefulness. And it reminded me of another time, another place, of being unwell, and yet cared for.

I spent several weeks recovering from Hepatitis A in Cairo, picked up while in Dharhab on the Sinai Peninsula. Bedridden while my liver regenerated, I passed the days sleeping and reading. Lying there in bed, I could hear the clamour of Cairo traffic through the open windows. It was the beginning of summer, and I remember the shadows cast by the window shutters, and following their progression around the room as the day grew longer.

That I had somewhere to stay and recover was pure good fortune (the sort you can’t just explain away). 

I first met Steve and Anita earlier in Cairo (I think at a café, but I no longer recall the circumstances). He was English, she German, and they were both in Cairo teaching English. I caught up with them again after returning from Alexandria. 

When they saw me again they immediately realised what I hadn’t. There was a reason for my feeling a bit listless — my skin was yellowish, and so too were the whites of my eyes. They’d already had the disease and had a spare room and I was welcome to stay.

For much of the day I had no real appetite, but remember Anita making a delightful, soothing drink called karkadé. It’s a hibiscus tea, which she made from the dried flowers she bought from street vendors.

After recovering, I abandoned my plans to travel further into Africa. Instead, I said my goodbyes and retraced my steps, returning to Australia after 18 months of backpacking.

Steve and Anita soon left Egypt to stay with Anita’s parents, in Kürten, Germany. The last time I heard from them, some months later, it was Anita who wrote. She was forlorn; Steve had died suddenly from a brain tumour. I wrote back, trying to console her from the other side of the world and knowing that nothing I could say would help.

There are people you meet in life that you can never thank enough for their kindness. We take on a debt and must do what we can to pay it on.