March 23-Jun 4
Hello everyone!
As you’re likely aware, most Covid-19 vaccines require two shots or doses. This blog will also have two doses, though chapters is probably the better term to use…
Chapter 1 (March)
Our story begins in March 2021. A year previously, I had been in The Netherlands on a school trip. Though coronavirus was omnipresent in the news, it wasn’t really in the country. Our trip ran normally, with the main difference being taking temperature checks each day and really making sure that sweaty teenagers were actually washing their hands.
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| The Green Card |
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| A map from February 26, 2020, showing that The Netherlands had reported 0 cases at that point |
Fast forward a year and quite a bit has changed. Who had honestly heard of AstraZeneca (we’ll call them AZ from this point) twelve months ago? Quite important now, that company. Particularly important to people like me who live in LEDCs which aren’t capable of producing their own vaccine.
AZ is the main vaccine source for COVAX, a global initiative designed to ensure as much global Covid vaccine distribution as possible. The African Union also chipped in with some vials. It was in March 2021 when the first Emirates cargo plane landed with vaccinations which were seen by many as the route back to relative normalcy.
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| A picture from the Ministry of Health showing the arrival of the aircraft |
Different countries prioritised different groups of people. The UK initially jabbed the eldest and health workers before working down through the age groups. Teachers, among many others, were ignored. Malawi was slightly different. Government officials got in first (how could we possibly live without them, after all) before the metaphorical gates were opened to the over-60s (not many of them in Malawi) and essential workers. Which included teachers.
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| The UK vaccination priority list |
We were informed about this by a Dutch doctor connected to the school in a Zoom meeting at 2pm on Monday, 23rd March. I don’t know what time that call finished; Hannah and I zoomed off mid-call to our nearest vaccination centre. Which we could see from our garden…
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| The Bingu National Stadium (BNS) from our garden |
The Bingu National Stadium hasn’t been used for its proper purpose for a while (not just due to Covid, it has many safety issues) but has been used for the last 12 months as a pop-up Covid testing and treatment centre. A short drive took us to the car park-
Hold up. Don’t be silly. As if we were allowed to use the car park! Park on the grass outside, then walk in. Obviously.
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| I didn't get a picture but there is a lot more grass now! |
You walk down a ramp, get briefly stunned by how long the grass is on the football pitch which you can see through a gap in the stands, then turn right in the ground level concourse. There are a mass of people in multiple lines. Distancing? Not even 1cm at times.
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| There are lines to the left which you needed to do first |
Rather typically, there wasn’t any idea of where to go or what to do. Luckily the dad of a boy I taught two years ago spotted me and explained that you had to join the sitting-down queue and sign something on paper before joining the standing-up queue that snaked...well, almost through the sitting-down queue. Naturally.
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| At which point do you think they realised they wouldn't fit the whole word on in enormous letters? |
Once registered and in possession of a green card from the sit-down queue, we patiently waited until getting to the front of the stand-up queue...from which we were guided into one of five sit-down lines further along the concourse. Still with me? At the front of that line, your information was registered on a tablet (well, when the Wi-Fi was working).
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| The final lines before getting the jab |
From there you walked across to the other side of hte concourse, sat down, rolled up your sleeve, felt a prick...done? Yes. Done. Come back in 8 weeks (May 24th).
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| I also got jabbed in my left arm - with hindsight, a very silly choice for someone who is very much left-handed |
I may have painted a picture of chaos but the whole process was pretty quick. Hannah and I were back home before 4pm. We’d found out less than 2 hours before that we could get the vaccine that day. Judging from other people who we met in line who we know are not essential workers and definitely aren’t over 60, I think the attitude at the stadium was simply to get as many willing people jabbed as possible.
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| One done, with the other scheduled for 8 weeks |
Side effects, you ask? Moderate. We left school as early as possible the next day so Hannah could curl up on the sofa. My headache, which at times felt like someone had tried to bisect my head with an axe, lasted until about Friday. But jab 1 was in, and thngs were looking up.
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| A lot of my side effects reminded me of having malaria - not a good sign! |
Chapter 2 (May and June)
Weeks pass, variants emerge, Malawi trucks on as normal with case numbers per day n single digits. I send multiple emails to the British Foreign and Commonwealth Office seeking an explanation as to why Malawi (average 5 cases per day) is on the UK’s dreaded Red List whereas countries like India and Portugal (average far more than 5 cases per day) are not. Well, one of them got changed at least…
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| Excellent politicking here - being nice but not giving any jusitified reason |
News emerges in international media that Malawi has binned thousands of vaccines. Not the best look, admittedly. They apparently were out of date. The media also missed the point that half of Malawi’s population is under 18 and therefore weren’t allowed access to it, but there has been hesitancy here. Why get a shot when case numbers are so low, people ask. This news sends many expats into a panic, however. Will Malawi get given more doses so we can get our second shot, if people think they won’t get used?
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| This article is from April but it did happen in May |
A Malawian government press release in mid-May further darkens skies. Our original certificates said an eight-week gap between shots. This press release officially makes it twelve. May 24th becomes June 23rd. With the school year ending on June 17th, this puts many teachers at my school in an awkward position.
Negotiations started to occur between the school and health officials. In the meantime, we went to a local clinic (the stadium wasn’t doing vaccines anymore) on our original date of May 24th to see if we could sneak our second shot. We couldn’t. A good thing that government protocols were being respected, I guess.
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| Mini seemed cool about the situation |
In early June we get told that an arrangement has been made that teachers can get their second dose on June 9th or 10th at the main hospital called KCH. We sign up and I start to weigh up my options of how to get back to the UK.
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| The email of hope |
On June 4th, we get an email from the Head of Primary at our school, saying that it’s possible to get the vaccine from a different hospital near the airport, and that the school has an official letter from the government saying we can get it earlier than agreed. Hannah and I decide to drive up there once school is out, arriving at 1pm. We find a clean, modern hospital which is definitely where we are going to go for any medical issues in the future.
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| The entrance to Daeyang Luke hospital |
In through the main entrance. Covid vaccine? Not here, the reply. Go outside, round the corner to the tent. Easy enough. We go to the tent. Covid vaccine? Not here, the reply. Go to the chapel.
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| I always thought chapels were small... |
Yes, that’s a chapel. A Scottish doctor walked down with us to make sure we would get helped. Turns out we would...once everyone had finished their lunch break at 2pm. So much for rushing to get there.
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| Any excuse for a snooze in the sun for this one |
2pm rolls around and we have been joined by the Head of Primary and her husband. The lunch meeting finishes and a cooler box, the sort you would put beers in for camping, comes out with them. Turns out the vaccine is in there.
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| Got it in the right arm this time - not dealing with trying to write on a board with a sore arm again... |
We show our special letter, sit outside the chapel entrance in balmy sunshine. In, out, done, signed. Fully vaxxed. Well, in theory...
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| More importantly, what is in my hair?? |
My question throughout these weeks had been proof of vaccination: a certificate. Many countries need this as proof. The green card we have, which categorically states that it is ‘not proof of vaccination’, isn’t that. I ask the doctors about the certificate. “The green card is OK,” they say. I point to the line about it definitely not being proof. Confusion reigns.
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| Turns out none of them had any idea about a certificate |
Next Wednesday, the day we were going to get jabbed anyway. Lucky we didn’t, the line was huge. We went to the main hospital with that group, however, as we were told we could get our certificate. Well, we got as much as we could get. Turns out Malawi doesn’t make Covid certificates yet. We got the green card officially stamped. More importantly, we also got our yellow WHO health passports filled in and stamped. It’s about as official as it could be from the Warm Heart of Africa. We all just have to cross our fingers that others believe us.
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| This building in the sprawling main hospital deals with some elements of Covid, like paying for PCR tests |
The time I was getting my second dose is approximately the time I could have gotten my first jab in the UK. I don’t know many other teachers who have had the opportunity we’ve had. Malawi values its teachers. Considering what they, and many other key workers, have done over the past year to keep key aspects of society moving, maybe they should have that privilege extended in other parts of the world.
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| And you thought the only perk was holidays... |
The question now is whether other countries will recognise what is a 100% legitimate double vaccination. I’m currently sat in Charles de Gaulle Airport in Paris and soon to find out…
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| This plane is going to Iceland - will I be going, too? |
Love you all,
