Fantastical Science

When the Sierra Leone Sickle Cell Disease Society released its 2012 annual report recently (http://www.sleonesickle.org/2012AnnualReport.html) it reminded me that there has been little progress in the treatment of sickle cell disease in recent times, even though affected children in rich countries have been surviving well into adulthood. But survival into adulthood does not necessarily guarantee relief from the continuing anxiety induced by the threat of early mortality. Besides, other severe, but not necessarily lethal complications of the disease, such as acute severe pain and strokes and infection remain a constant blight on lives of patients, whether they live in a rich country or in a poor one.

Doctors and researchers, worldwide, are doing their damnedest to discover new and effective treatments for the disease, but the promise of a magic bullet that cures all the ills of sickle cell remains unfulfilled. That is perhaps not surprising because, the deeper we dig, the more complex the sickle cell story becomes. When sickle cell became the first “molecular” disease to be linked to the inheritance of an abnormal hemoglobin, the blood pigment that carries oxygen and gives it its red colour, it was hoped that the cure would not be long in coming. Those were simple times: All one had to do, it was thought, was to discover or design a chemical that would engage the wayward hemoglobin and force it to behave itself.

Now, it has become clear that the out-of-control hemoglobin is just one part of the problem. The inheritance package consists of not just hemoglobin, normal or abnormal, but, as well, of all the other characteristics that make us who or what we are. Teasing out all the factors that contribute to the bad act that sickle cell disease is has, since, become a complicated business. And I am not even talking about the social aspects. I am not going there. You can wrestle with that one yourself, considering that two parents are required to produce the individual affected with sickle cell. I am  talking biology here.

That brings me to the complexity and anxieties surrounding big research. I was listening to a radio programme the other day in which four experts were discussing the relevance and cost of current research not only in the biological sciences, but also in the physical sciences as well. The problem for physics, it was said, is that it has become too theoretical to the point of being almost nonsensically abstract, whilst biological science has become too big for its boots, claiming that it can cure just about everything, from “making the blind see, the crippled walk and the deaf hear” (I quote here), especially invoking the use of stem cells. Meanwhile, Big Pharma is going completely out of control. 

The remedy? Theoretical physicists have to stop “stringing” us along a path to weird universes. And biology should stop twittering on about stem cells and the marvels they can accomplish. As for Big Pharma, it should stop holding the public to ransom with fabulously expensive nostrums which even rich countries can ill afford.

What relevance do string theory, stem cells and Big Pharma have with sickle cell disease? Well, at least some of the money spent on research in these areas can be applied to research in sickle cell disease. Some of this money can, hopefully, find its way to researchers in Africa where the burden of the disease is greatest, and perhaps, combined with the vast riches in the African eco-system, productive connections can be made for effective therapies for the disease. That would be fantastic. After all, sickle cell is the human genome’s response to the gauntlet thrown down at it by another forest-dweller, the malaria parasite.

Too bad Bill Gates does not read this blog.

Tell Fren Tru

Post Script: June 19 is World Sickle Cell Day

A look into "The Freetown Bond. A Life Under Two Flags"

I don’t know what it is about Freetown. It is a small city, spread along a narrow strip of land between the Atlantic to the north and a range of mountains to its south. And as far as cities go, it is somewhat unprepossessing, and is not all that old, either, compared to say, Jerusalem, Timbuktu, Rome or Benin: Its most recent founding dates to not much more than a couple of centuries ago, although in some contexts it has been known to describe itself, not without a touch of irony, as “ancient and loyal”. Perhaps it is this sense of rootedness and loyalty that ensnares the imagination of those who were born there and who grew up among its narrow streets and lanes.

But it is not just its own citizens, but outsiders too who, for good or ill are drawn to it and who never seem able to divest themselves of its charms. Indeed, some have written about what amounts to a love-hate relationship that arises from the city’s irritating habit of seducing and repelling almost simultaneously. Others are much less ambiguous and remain captivated till their dying day. However, the telling of its story has not always been worthy of the city and it was with much anticipation that I looked forward to Eldred Durosimi Jones’ telling when I heard he was writing his memoir. I fully expected that he was going to give an account in which the city was bound to be a prominent participant.

I have not been disappointed. Man and boy, Eldred Jones is the quintessential Freetonian, with connections spanning the city from the Maroon Town neighbourhood in the west where his mother's family originated to the village atmosphere around Holy Trinity Church in the east where he grew up. His description of his early school days at Holy Trinity Infant School is especially evocative because this blogger also started school there and remembers the formidable Teacher Carrie, who left her mark on her charges, if you know what I mean. Perhaps some of us needed a firmer hand than others, but the progression to the CMS Grammar School was more or less a natural trajectory that Eldred Jones made with enviable ease.

That school, now called the Sierra Leone Grammar School, is another institution that has left a mark-all along the West African coast and even beyond-and is only a few decades younger than the city itself. Jones’ descriptions of what went on there are highly entertaining, and indeed provide some lessons as well. He reminds us that the school was a creation of the Church Missionary Society, which also founded the first institution of higher education in sub-Saharan Africa, and which, in due course, Jones was to progress to as he dug his roots deeper into the city. The fact that the college, Fourah Bay College, was temporarily displaced by the exigencies of the Second World War to a place outside Freetown only emphases its pathway towards becoming a national institution. Now Fourah Bay College is part of the University of Sierra Leone and the mark it has made in the development of higher education and in other spheres not only in Sierra Leone, but in the whole of West Africa as well and even farther, is almost legendary.

After graduating from Fourah Bay, Eldred Jones went on, in the mid-fifties, to read English at Oxford. Predictably, after that, he went right back to Freetown, pulled by that bond in the title of the memoir. Apart from sabbaticals abroad, necessary for recharging his batteries, he has stayed at Fourah Bay, deeply entrenched in its academic life but also in the social life of the city as well, weaving town and gown together into a single seamless garment. Besides, the college was a vantage point from which he observed, participated in and indeed occasionally become embroiled in in some of the tumultuous events that engulfed the city, as the capital of a country, stumbling its way into democratic governance.

As Eldred Jones relates in modest and subdued tones, his academic achievements and honours, combined with his commitment to duty mark him as one of the truly great personalities of the city. This is even more remarkable because for the best part of two decades he has been vision-impaired up to the point of blindness. But by his own admission, a lot of what he achieved would not have been possible without the help of his wife, Marjorie, who also co-authors “The Freetown Bond” and who, in her own right, is a most remarkable Freetonian too.

The question then is, is “The Freetown Bond: A Life under Two Flags” worth its $45.00 price tag? Well, the answer to that depends. If you enjoy a western income, it is worth every cent of its 174-page content. But for the earner of Sierra Leone Leones, the price may very well be too steep. But wherever you derive your income this is a book that you must try your best to get hold of.

Tell Fren Tru

Tears & Cheers

Spring has been unusually late this year, so the strategy of hibernating in the tropics during the northern winter has not been wholly successful. Instead, we walked right into a barrage of chilling winds, sleet, snow and rain.

            But now, at last, thankfully, Nature is showing signs of reverting to its usual rhythm. The sun shines and warms the air to a pleasing 18C. Not before time. Time too, evidently, for a lady of iron to die in a stylish venue. Can’t imagine how or why she should have chosen to die at the Ritz Hotel in downtown London except, perhaps, that it was a final act of provocation towards the proletariat with whom she had those epic fights during her heyday.

            Even without her dying where she did, the old battle lines are still as fresh as they were thirty years ago, and some with appropriately long memories are showing little respect for the dead. One has often heard it said that “people will dance in the streets” when some controversial character (usually a family member) or the other dies, but it must be highly unusual to actually witness a literal execution. There was always the possibility, I suppose.

            These local wars are of course interesting, but where I was taken aback was to hear that Mrs Thatcher was a great anti-apartheid warrior who fought tirelessly to have the ANC unbanned, and for Nelson Mandela to be freed from prison so that he could lead his nation to a better place. 

             In 1996, the Independent newspaper reminded us of Mrs Thatcher and her party's attitude to justice in apartheid South Africa. It was not pretty:

http://www.independent.co.uk/news/world/from-terrorist-to-tea-with-the-queen-1327902.html#

         

            So, I can’t imagine what the conversation would go like when, in the fullness of time, Mandela and Thatcher shall meet.

Tell Fren Tru