Reporter's notebook: Bitten in the world's malaria hotspot

LAGOS - I had a nagging suspicion that I had malaria - again - even before my test results came back from the lab.

Two weeks before, my joints began to ache and routine tasks, like taking a shower, left me panting as though I had run a race. During the day, my head was pounding and at night fever had me tossing and turning in my sweat-soaked bed. 

By the time I got to the hospital, I could barely stand. Every cell in my body hurt. 

Those are just the symptoms; the treatment is another matter altogether.

The antimalarials I was given to attack the parasite  multiplying in my liver and infecting my red blood cells made me feel dreadful. Like I'd been thrown against a brick wall. Hard. 

And still I was lucky - I didn't need to be hospitalised or given IV drugs. 

Two days into taking the four-day course of antimalarials, I realised there was no way I could even write so I was forced to take time off from work. 

I'm one of thousands of Nigerians who will have called in sick this week because of malaria, which is caused by a parasite transmitted through the bite of the female Anopheles mosquito.

And that's because I live in the world's malaria hotspot. Nigeria, Africa's most populous nation, accounted for around 40% of the nearly 600,000 global malaria deaths recorded in 2023 - that's around 200,000 lives that year, and every year. 

Let me tell you about one of those lives.

Dorcas Oke was not just an A student and head girl at the secondary school where I boarded in the forested hills of Iloko-Ijesha in southern Osun State; she was also the school's top athlete, winning several national competitions.

I cheered her from the sidelines as she trained. She had everything going for her and she was an inspiration to us all. 

And so when she died from cerebral malaria - the most deadly form of the disease - aged 18, we were left reeling.

It was the first time someone I knew died from malaria. But not the last. I have known several people who died as adults.

Beyond the tragic untimely deaths, often of children under five, the disease wreaks havoc throughout Nigerian society.

Last year, I had malaria four times, and each time, I was wiped out for a week. My husband and friends took time off work to help me through those episodes.

That is a lot of productive hours lost to a preventable and curable disease that has been eliminated in at least 45 countries worldwide.

Malaria costs Africa an estimated $12 billion annually in lost gross domestic product, according to Malaria Consortium, a London-based non-profit working on malaria prevention, research and control. 

In Nigeria, studies show that most households spend 25% of their income on malaria treatment and prevention, underscoring the urgent need to eradicate this scourge.

Taming a disease

But this is no easy task in countries where malaria is endemic.

First, mosquito vectors are becoming increasingly resistant to chemicals and the insecticide sprays used to kill them.

And then, there is climate change.

Rising temperatures and extreme weather events like flooding expand breeding grounds for mosquitoes.

In Nigeria, we have had major floods repeatedly since 2022, and they have disrupted water and sanitation systems, creating ideal conditions for malaria transmission, according to experts.

However, the most concerning challenge is the drop-off in  funding for malaria elimination programmes in recent years.

In 2023, only $4 billion was available for malaria control, less than half of the estimated $8.3 billion needed.

This was before the United States, which contributes about 37% of global financing for malaria programmes, cut its foreign aid in January, leaving eradication projects in limbo.

A ray of hope

Vaccines do offer some hope. Since 2021, the World Health Organisation has approved two malaria vaccines for public use, and they are being rolled out in at least 17 African countries.

It's not a panacea - the jabs are only for children, and they don't provide complete protection.

But I did feel a burst of hope last year as I watched a chubby, crying baby get her first dose of the RTS,S vaccine in Cameroon on TV.

I thought, 'One day, we will have one for adults like me.'

Until then, I'm slowly sipping ginger tea, loading up on vitamin supplements to boost my recovery, and reflecting on just how lucky I am to have survived another bout of malaria.

(Reporting by Bukola Adebayo; Editing by Ana Nicolaci da Costa)