Afraid of Needles

There was an interesting encounter when I moved across the border into the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and it wasn’t with the immigration officers. The immigration was lovely; they were excited that a solo-female traveler was coming into their country. I

My problem was with the Public Health Officer. It started innocently enough - she wanted proof of my yellow fever vaccine.

“Your yellow card,” she asked.

Excited about finally being able to show that I have it, I handed over my immunization book. She disappeared with it. I clear immigration and went looking for her.

She has my book open and is looking at the entry for Dukerol – an optional oral vaccination against traveler’s diarrhoea and cholera. My last dose was in October before I came. It’s good for 6 months to a year.

“It’s finished”

“Well, actually I’m covered for cholera for up to a year”

She shook her head.

“I will give you a new injection for it.”

I look at her in horror – as far as I know you can’t inject Dukerol.

“No injection, please, it’s an oral vaccination. I’m…”

Here I pause desperately trying to think of a way to politely say there is no way in hell I am letting a strange lady inject me with a strange liquid on the border of the Congo.

Her counter-part stepped in.

“She is afraid of needles,”

Ah! An easy out. “Yes, I’m afraid of needles.”

The lady looks doubtful; I explain I am only in the country for the day. She stares at me for a long time – I try to look equal parts fearful and honest. Fearful was easy.

She handed me my book, and I was free to go.

I was out of her office so fast, and didn’t look back.