I should have known by the rambling, wordy, preachy tone of my last post that I was getting ill. The mental clarity is always first to go. I had wanted to write a simple post about a short ride. Instead of just appreciating the man in my life for qualities I love- his sensitivity to others, his willingness to go out of his way and do the unexpected- I ended up getting swept away by the frustration of the entire situation of street kids in Kinshasa. And my inability to actually do anything to change it.
I've been thinking about them the entire time I have been sick. Because the illness descended upon me the next day like a plague and as sick as I've been feeling, I am thankful to have a bed to crawl into. Clearly 2014 is not the year of health. I am doubly "blessed" to be living on campus and working in a school- both situations which make me highly susceptible to plagues. Living on campus means it is possible to go to work - despite being slightly ill- and return home all the while never really leaving 'home.' Its so much easier to trick your mind when getting to work only involves a 5 minute walk- though, admittedly, sometimes that walk can seem like miles.
Working in a school of course means being locked up with 26 kids and all their germs for 6-7 hours a day. Every day. It's always a bit scary to me to witness how fast the germs spread. Half of my class was wiped out for a week. And then it was my turn. As I struggle to get back to feeling 100% (I'd settle for 75% at this point) I watch my colleagues all fall, one by one taking their turns. If it were yellow fever or something deadly, well, our story could easily turn into the next blockbuster disaster film.
I wonder why getting sick has seemed so much more intense over here in Africa than anytime I've been in the US. I've tried to think back accurately- not with the cloudy haze of time and memory influencing- and I feel pretty certain that my illnesses here hurt more, last longer and feel closer to actual death than anything I've experienced in the US. Here are a few of my nonscientific thoughts on why:
1. Bigger, badder bugs- simply put, this tropical climate is the perfect breeding ground for the biggest, baddest germs. The hot, moist air is just what those invisible guys need to grow to their biggest unseeable selves. Just when you think you've gotten them beat, you step outside into that thick humid air and they get a second wind, springing back into life and kicking your butt again.
2. Small, stingy vegetables- Maybe this one only relates to Kinshasa, but I am convinced the small vegetables that look as though they clawed their way out of the ground, survivors of some weird vegetable holocaust provide such little vitamin content that most of us are walking around in a nutritionally depleted state to begin with. The germy bad guys move right in with ease since our vitamin armies aren't up to the task of taking them on. Of course, nuclear vegetables should be able to put up a good fight. I'm probably just buying in the wrong places. Surely there are healthier places to get vegetables, like the cemetery.
3. Everything in Africa is more intense- just to remind you how precious life is. Most of the things about daily life in Africa have more to them. (And remember, it's ok for me to be completely biased because my disclaimer clearly mentions a nonscientific study.) People don't just go to the store- they dress up in their finest cloth with mesmerizing patterns and bright, bold colors and parade through the aisles with a regal air. Kids aren't just cute and adorable here- they have huge, deep eyes that seem to be able to look into the depths of your soul and smiles the wattage of sun rays. They dance and sing and move through their day with agility and fierce joy even if they happen to be lugging gallons of water or carrying a smaller sibling off to get candy at the corner store.
The streets don't just hum with commuters, they sing and sway with the greetings of neighbors. Sometimes they break out in pushing, yelling fights. They laugh and cajole and suck their teeth in disbelief- look at those two fighting...tch tch tch. Cars don't just roll down the streets at quitting time- they belch and burp and cough out fumes. They squeak and rattle and wheeze, and every so often, they explode like gunfire.
No one just hops in a taxi- first there is the seduction of the serenade - the singer of destinations. Next you are swallowed into a crowd of strangers, possibly entering a shoving match with a mama or a papa and then you must throw yourself into the already moving car, slamming the door just before a motorcycle comes whizzing along the side nearly taking your arm and half the door off with it.
Once sealed inside the small steel oven, traffic coasts to a standstill. It doesn't just get backed up- it tangles and weaves and takes up three lanes on the wrong side of the street. It flows over onto the sidewalk- drivers honk and bang on rooftops, they squeeze through narrow openings, cut off oncoming traffic and idle in fast anger going nowhere. More small fights brew, further stalling progress, more commentary is shared on the deplorable state of the state, papers become fans while pocket tissues are bought from sidewalk sellers to wipe the streams of sweat and taximotos zoom in all directions using every inch of available space. Pedestrians jump from hood to hood of motionless cars in an effort to cross the crowded streets. Heads lean back and naps are taken. Stomachs growl.
Food to go isn't just sold from sterile stalls along the roadside packed in Styrofoam containers and plastic bags - goats are whacked and hacked in front of you while their little cousins bleat nearby nibbling on stray cardboard and patches of grass awaiting death. You get to pick out the exact part of the carcass you'd like roasted before your very eyes while beers are served and bottle tops are unhinged with bare teeth. Little packets of meat are wrapped in brown paper served with fermented flour in a banana leaf and handed over like French cuisine.
With this kind of excitement, why would anyone expect to just get a little cold and get over it? No, you get exploding headaches and all over muscle soreness. There are mists of nausea and waves of dizziness. Your body fluctuates between hot and cold. Doctors everywhere want to offer you the quinine drip which results in ear ringing and vague staticky radio sounds. Coughs dig deep into the lungs and those little germy guys build whole cities down there. And if you want a bowl of soup to comfort you, you need to get up and start chopping vegetables.
I miss comfort food most when I am sick here. I dream of soup from a can and would happily consume all that extra sodium and brave the risks of eating food laced with BPAs. I miss Tylenol in a liquid form for the boys- though this past bout with the mystery plague and side dish of fever has me actually impressed with Doliprene and it's amazing all over fever and pain reducing effects. I didn't take it myself, but the transformation in Mohamed was stunning. I guess the medicines have their intensity value as well. Everything is more.
For me? Well, after 4 days I finally started chopping vegetables. I came up with a soup even Healthy Choice doesn't offer I think- potato-onion- noodle- corn- spinach- eggplant- thyme and extra garlic. Despite the random ingredients, it held true to that northeastern soup taste I was hoping for. A little comfort to get me though this last plague before heading out of Kinshasa forever, as the kids say.
