When Taeho tapped the frame of his glasses, Rema displayed the search records before his eyes.
“There are, in fact, cases that have already been proven in malaria treatment.”
Taeho answered with confidence.
“In the Mekong River basin of Southeast Asia, even the same malaria parasite shows far stronger resistance to artemisinin than in other regions. This is because regional environmental factors caused genetic mutations in the parasite.”
The listening doctors’ eyes widened.
He had all those cases memorized?
It wasn’t as if he had prepared in advance like for a case study or academic presentation.
Several doctors showed interest and leaned forward.
The atmosphere in the conference room began to shift little by little.
Dr. Chen had already seen this side of Taeho back at Mount Sinai, but it was no less surprising this time.
“Also, in the Kifendi region of East Africa, the same sleeping sickness parasite shows a different response to pentamidine, the standard treatment. It has been reported that the chemical interaction between the mineral composition of the soil and local plants altered the parasite’s metabolism.”
Dr. Schneider nodded.
“An interesting perspective. Then what specific approach are you proposing?”
“First, we need to analyze the local environmental factors. The water quality in the Chad region, the soil composition, and even the foods the president has recently consumed must all be reviewed. Especially…”
At that moment, Dr. Whitman raised a hand and cut Taeho off.
“Wait a moment. That is not medicine, but environmental science. We are not environmental researchers. Based on my twenty years of experience working here, we can treat him sufficiently without such complicated analysis.”
Dr. Whitman’s voice was filled with wariness toward Taeho.
“We simply need to follow the standard protocol precisely. Increasing the dosage and adjusting the administration intervals should be enough to see results. We cannot endanger a patient’s life with an unverified hypothesis.”
Dr. Chen cautiously opened his mouth.
“But Dr. Whitman, the standard treatment has already proven ineffective, hasn’t it? Wouldn’t it be worth considering a new approach?”
“Dr. Chen!”
Dr. Whitman glared sharply at Dr. Chen.
“We cannot experiment with a patient’s life on the line based on conjecture or an unfounded hypothesis. As an official medical envoy of the WHO, I am responsible for the patient. Here, we must adhere to international medical guidelines, and unverified treatments violate medical ethics.”
He looked around the conference room, meeting the gazes of the other doctors one by one.
“As you all know, we must be even more cautious in the African medical field. A single mistake can escalate into an international issue. I can say this with certainty, staking my twenty years of experience and my position as chief medical advisor to the WHO.”
Pressed down by his authority, Dr. Chen could not argue further.
But Taeho found Dr. Whitman frustrating, stubbornly insisting only on methods that had shown no effect. To him, practical efficacy was far more important than authority.
“Then what do you think is the reason all three standard treatments so far have failed?”
At Taeho’s counterquestion, Whitman’s expression stiffened for an instant.
“That is… because the patient’s condition is already at a critical stage.”
“But even at the time of the initial diagnosis, he did not respond to the standard treatment. This clearly suggests that there is another factor involved.”
Tension flowed through the conference room.
“For example, it is possible that minerals around the Gambia River or natural compounds in local plants strengthened the parasite’s mechanism of drug resistance. It means that the standard treatment methods being used now will make it difficult to resolve the fundamental problem.”
“That is purely an assumption. We cannot put the patient at risk.”
Whitman cut him off without hiding his displeasure.
Taeho’s gaze grew intense.
“But the existing method has had no effect whatsoever. Don’t you think it is time for a new method?”
Dr. Whitman’s insides churned with anger. He thought he had to put this upstart from the fringes of East Asia firmly in his place.
Dr. Whitman was just about to open his mouth.
The door opened. An elegant middle-aged woman entered. She wore a kaftan, a traditional Gambian dress, and a headscarf of the same color.
“Doctors, you must be working very hard.”
“Ah, the president’s wife…”
Whitman stood and greeted her politely. The other doctors also rose from their seats.
“Please, stay seated. I only brought some refreshments.”
Aminata said with a gesture of her hand.
The presidential office staff who followed her in pushed a cart inside. On the cart were steaming coffee and tea, as well as freshly baked bread laid out appetizingly. When she gestured to the staff, they began carefully placing coffee cups and bread in front of the doctors.
Dr. Chen whispered to Taeho.
“She is Aminata Touré, the president’s wife. She is also highly respected by the people of Gambia.”
Taeho remembered reading on the private jet that Ibrahim had lost his wife and children twenty years ago and lived alone for a long time before remarrying eight years ago.
“Bread and tea are always prepared, so if you need anything, please let us know.”
Taeho noticed that Aminata’s hands, demurely clasped together, were trembling slightly. Her desperate feelings as she looked after the medical staff while her husband’s life was in danger came through vividly.
She hesitated for a moment, then opened her mouth.
“There still hasn’t been any improvement…”
“Madam First Lady, our medical team is currently doing everything we can.”
“If it would not be rude to ask… what would you think about meeting Mama Aisha?”
“Do you mean a marabout?”
Dr. Laurent asked in surprise.
Aminata nodded.
“Yes.”
The atmosphere, which had softened with tea and snacks, instantly stiffened.
Dr. Chen whispered into Taeho’s ear.
“A marabout refers to a traditional healer in Gambia. They also practice herbal medicine, but usually they’re thought of like shamans who make prophecies and cast curses.”
Dr. Whitman snorted.
“Ha, so the president’s wife still believes in such absurd superstitions.”
“Superstitions?”
Aminata’s expression hardened. Taeho could read the hurt in her eyes.
“I am sorry, but we must provide treatment based on scientific evidence. We do not need the help of shamans or sorcerers.”
Whitman spoke firmly. The other Western doctors nodded as well.
“But…”
Aminata spoke in an earnest voice.
“Mama Aisha has cared for Ibrahim all this time. She has healed people on this land for more than seventy years.”
“Then could you tell us what sort of treatment this excellent healer has successfully performed?”
“There was a time when Ibrahim had severe indigestion and couldn’t eat anything. For three days, he couldn’t keep anything down. At that time, we tried every Western medicine, but nothing worked. Stomach medicine, antispasmodics, even an IV—but there was no improvement at all.”
Aminata tried to meet each of the doctors’ eyes, but their faces were expressionless.
“But when Mama Aisha decocted a special root and had him drink it, he recovered within an hour. After that, he was able to eat normally again.”
“That was merely a coincidence.”
Dr. Whitman said coldly.
“Have you heard of the placebo effect? It may have been a temporary improvement caused by psychological factors.”
“No!”
Aminata raised her voice. But soon she composed herself and spoke calmly.
“Mama Aisha is someone who truly heals illness. She has cared for Ibrahim since he was a child.”
But the doctors’ expressions remained skeptical. Dr. Schneider turned his head away entirely, and Dr. Laurent only stared at his coffee cup.
Whitman spoke as if soothing a child.
“Madam First Lady, I understand that you may be thinking this way because your husband is in critical condition… but we are professional medical personnel. We cannot rely on unverified folk remedies.”
Aminata’s gaze as she looked at him turned sharp.
“The president’s condition is getting worse and worse. Shouldn’t we do everything we can?”
“We are already using every possible measure.”
“Then why not Mama Aisha?”
“The president is an internationally important figure. If, by any chance, a folk remedy is used at a time like this and something goes wrong, the situation would become far too serious.”
Aminata’s shoulders slumped. She stood silently, biting her lip.
Then Taeho opened his mouth.
“I apologize, but could you perhaps tell me more about this Mama Aisha?”
Every gaze in the conference room focused on Taeho.
Displeasure flashed in Dr. Whitman’s eyes.
‘That upstart is butting in again!’
Dr. Chen also looked at Taeho with a surprised expression.
“Dr. Kang?”
Whitman leaned forward in his chair and glared at Taeho.
“Dr. Kang, what do you think you’re doing? Surely you don’t believe in such superstitions?”
“Rather than saying I believe in them… I want to find out.”
Taeho answered calmly.
“All medical knowledge began somewhere. The long experience of the local people must have value as well.”
“Thank you, Doctor. Mama Aisha is truly a special person.”
Aminata looked at Taeho with an expression of deep emotion.
On the other hand, Dr. Whitman’s expression grew increasingly rigid.
He felt that Taeho was deliberately acting this way to challenge his authority.
“Dr. Kang, this is not the time to recklessly do something absurd. The patient’s life is in danger—what are you even saying?”
“That is precisely why. The methods used so far have had no effect. Do you intend to sit idle like this and wait until something truly serious happens?”
“Do you think you can just say whatever you please?”
Dr. Whitman shouted in anger.
“Our medical team is working with all our strength, without even sleeping at night. Waiting until something serious happens? Are you saying we are deliberately neglecting this situation?”
“Dr. Whitman.”
Taeho glared at him.
“If you continue adhering to ineffective standard procedures like this, and the president suffers because of your stubbornness, then you, Dr. Whitman, will have to take responsibility for that. Can you do that?”
“W-what, what are you…”
Dr. Whitman’s face flushed crimson with rage.
Taeho looked Dr. Whitman straight in the eye.
“I came from Korea to be of help to the president, not to sightsee.”
Tension hung over the conference room.
***
“This way, please.”
Aminata guided Taeho toward the rear of the presidential palace. Unlike the splendid front, the back was simple and quiet. They passed through a small garden and stopped in front of a single-story building.
“This is where Mama Aisha is staying.”
Aminata opened the door.
In the middle of the room sat an old woman dressed in splendid traditional attire, her back bent as she leaned on a staff.
“Mama, we have a guest.”
When she turned, the cowrie shells and dried seed ornaments hanging around her neck made a rattling sound.
But what captured Taeho’s gaze was, without question, her eyes. Though her pupils were faintly clouded with cataracts, beyond them flashed a deep, piercing light that seemed capable of seeing through one’s soul.
“Ah…”
The moment Mama Aisha saw Taeho, her eyes widened.
“So you’ve finally come!”
Mama Aisha wore a strange expression, as if she had been waiting for Taeho to arrive.