35. Cairo, 1996 - Parasites
In which Magda must step in.
Eleanor is keeping secrets again. As her condition worsens, Magda intervenes…because she must. 
Magda
When Eleanor walks into her office, Magda’s eyes open wide in surprise. Eleanor’s face is pinched and wan. Her eyes look flat behind her glasses. Her normally lustrous dark hair, of which Magda is secretly envious, is dull and tangled. Eleanor looks more ghost than alive. And she’s thin. Painfully thin.
What has happened? Magda wonders.
Magda rises from her desk, concern etched on her face.
"Eleanor, are you alright?" Magda asks softly, guiding her to a chair.
"I... I don't know, Magda. Something's not right. I can’t keep any food down. Not even rice or bread. I thought it was just Pharaoh’s revenge. I’ve had it a few times. But this won’t stop. And it’s getting worse.”
Magda shifts into problem-solving mode. This she can deal with. “Have you been to see a doctor?”
“I don’t have one here in Cairo.” Eleanor’s voice is flat.
“Well, that’s easily sorted. Wait here.” Magda steps to her door, “Neamat,” she calls. Neamat emerges from behind her cubicle. “Call Doctor Elhady. Tell him one of our staff members needs to see him right away. Today, actually.”
She comes to sit back down next to Eleanor, taking her hand in hers. It’s cold and clammy. She puts a hand to Eleanor’s forehead. It’s hot. Eleanor gives her a wan smile. “Thank you,” she says.
“Nonsense,” Magda responds. “We’ll get you on the mend in no time. Egypt is full of bugs and parasites. Nothing that can’t be fixed.”
Eleanor just nods. Magda looks at her critically. An intuitive sense from a mothering instinct she rarely gets to indulge tells her something else is amiss. “How are the studies going?” she probes.
“Fine,” Eleanor mumbles.
“Home?”
“Everyone’s fine. I haven’t said anything to Mum and Dad. I don’t want to alarm them.”
“Wise girl. There’s nothing they can do from Pretoria anyway. And they’d just worry needlessly. What have you been doing for fun?”
Before Eleanor can reply, Neamat knocks on the door. Magda looks up. “Doctor Elhady says he can see you right now. Shall I confirm?” Neamat asks.
“Yes, yes, Neamat. Tell him we’re one our way over now.” She turns back to Eleanor. “Come on then, poplap,1 let’s get you on the mend.” She collects her own things, then puts her head around Neamat’s cubicle. “And tell the Ambassador we’re taking the driver and Embassy car. Page Ibrahim that we’ll be downstairs in five minutes and to have the car ready for us.” She guides Eleanor out of the chair and down the hallway to the elevators.
Two hours later, Magda is worried. They’ve got Eleanor on a drip and are rehydrating her, but Doctor Elhady's expression warns her that there’s more to what’s going on with Eleanor. “I think she should go to Tel Aviv for treatment, Ms Steenkamp,” he says to her. That is not what Magda was expecting to hear at all. “I suspect she has untreated amoebic dysentery—and that it’s been going on for some time. You’re going to get quicker and better treatment in Tel Aviv than the hospitals here. I’m assuming your Embassy in Tel Aviv can make arrangements? Or do you need me to?”
Magda shakes her head, processing everything she’s just heard. Then she straightens her shoulders. “Of course, Doctor Elhady. Yes, I’ll call the Embassy in Tel Aviv, tell them to expect your call, and you can tell them what arrangements to make. Is she strong enough to fly?” Already Magda is creating a checklist in her head of everything that needs to get done, by who and by when.
“The IV is getting salts and nutrients back into her. She’ll be OK to fly. But it’s better she not fly alone. Is there someone who can go with her?”
“I will.” Magda doesn’t even hesitate.
Within a few hours, Magda has all the arrangements in place. The coordination for Eleanor’s visa was a little tricky, the Israelis don’t like to be rushed on security clearances, but the Ambassador in Tel Aviv had done a little leaning and expedited the process.
Four days later, Magda settles Eleanor back in her apartment. She’s got some color back in her cheeks and face, and is no longer looking quite so waif-like. She’s still unnaturally subdued though. Questioning from Magda only elicits avowals that she’s fine, she’s just tired, everything’s ok, she just needs rest.
Harrumph, thinks Magda. If she had to guess, she’d guess man-trouble, but intelligence came up with nothing on Eleanor. And her toxicology and medical reports indicated that yes, it had just been dysentery. So she’s as clean as the driven snow, as intelligence had said. She’d felt badly about requesting intelligence to do the check, but she’d learned the hard way that it's better to be safe than sorry. Eleanor wouldn’t be the first young diplomat to get herself into trouble on her first posting, and then the Embassy has to do some clean-up.
She trusts Eleanor will be back on her feet soon now.
Afrikaans, term of endearment, equivalent to “poppet” in British English.
Terrifying! Even more so if you are so ill that you don't know how ill you are!