Kenyans, we don't have the healthcare capacity to support your carelessness

We’re all pretty scared of Covid-19 right now, aren’t we? Every single cough is a possible disease. Every cold cannot just be a cold – no, for sure, that’s one of the immediate signs (regardless of the fact that we are currently in a very odd weather-shifting cold season, which is bound to produce more colds). 

We all think we have it, until we don’t.

And then we do.

Last week, I had to get a coronavirus test done, and it was one of the scariest things I’ve done this year. I’m not the type who goes to hospital often – outside of my regular root canals and mild anaemia, and the gynaecological visits that come with womanhood, I don’t really have anything out of the ordinary that would require entry into the ICU. 

So when a friend of mine tested positive, and I had been in close contact with them, I knew I had to get the test done, and the Ministry of Health was (surprisingly) going to follow up to make sure I did.

I didn’t think I actually had Covid-19. It’s like when you are going to get tested for HIV in university, and you now you probably don’t have it -- you haven’t had any blood transfusions lately, or unprotected sex -- but you still panic. 

As soon as they told me they had tested positive, I began to feel sick. Immediately. 

I had a fever and my throat started acting up. Was my body just being dramatic, or was this the beginning? I would find out the next day.

The place I went to did both a throat swab and a nose swab, for better reading of the tests – sensitivity, they called it. None of those words reassured me. 

When I saw how long the thing they wanted to put in my nose was, I felt sure that they were doing a brain swab. 

But in they went, through my nostrils – an uncomfortable, tickling feeling, as if the back of your throat is itching, but in your nose – and another one in my throat, to swab that uvula Cardi B speaks of. 

It wasn’t as bad as I thought. The discomfort wasn’t too much, and definitely not too much for peace of mind.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it. It is as bad as it is going to be, and it is going to get worse, especially with how many people are stealing the money that is supposed to be used for these tests.

I had a private test done – when I asked the clinician how people would be able to afford this, he said people are doomed. 

And there is no vaccine, and no PPEs, and really, not a lot of contact tracing going on. 

We don’t know enough about this thing, except that most people are going to get it, and it’ll kill a number as well. 

The WHO constantly changes the parameters of incubation and care. Some countries and cities, including Wuhan, are already having open-air concerts. Good for them.

Kenya, meanwhile, is making billionaires from Covid-19 funds and opening up airports. Our government has basically said that healthcare, much like security, depends on us.

Be careful

For the sake of those around us, we must start to talk about being positive or going for tests, without stigma. If no one is taking care of us, then we must take care of each other. 

Don’t not wear masks willy-nilly – we don’t have the healthcare infrastructure to support your carelessness. 

Don’t be embarrassed to admit that you went for a test – it’s important to talk about and normalise coronavirus conversations, so that we are all making informed decisions. 

Stay home if you can – outside is much, much worse, regardless of how other Kenyans are getting on. Let’s get used to this virus being around, because we have about another two years to go, and we’re probably going to have to try our best to remain conscientious to the best of our abilities.

I tested negative for Covid-19 this time, but I’m sure, much like its cousin the flu, it’ll get to me eventually. 

After all, your results are only valid the second you get them, right?

Twitter: @AbigailArunga