A few things about being sick

Written Sunday, 7 October 2007

 

 

Last week I had a stomachache and my host mom made me a traditional medicine tea out of tree bark.   It tasted just like chicken broth – delicious.  My stomach was already feeling mostly better by then though, so I can't say whether it had much effect.

 

After recovering from my minor stomachache, a few days ago I woke up with a terrible headache and a fever.   After lying in my hut miserable for two days, and upon the advice of the Peace Corps nurse (who I called on my cell phone), I decided I needed to get up to Tamba, so it would be easier for me to get to a doctor if I needed to.   Plus my cell phone battery was almost dead, and I didn't want to be stuck in my village with no way to get in touch with Peace Corps in case I got even sicker.

 

So it was time to evacuate.  But there was a problem: I was definitely not feeling up to biking ten kilometers over the mountain to get to the main road, where I could get a car to Tamba.  I had been wondering about what would happen in this situation pretty much since I moved to the village – how was I going to get out if I couldn't bike or walk myself out?  

 

So I went and told my counterpart I needed to get to Tamba and that I didn't feel well enough to bike out of the village. So then he started running around for me trying to figure out my transport.   First option was to see if the Park Service guys could give me a ride out in their car, the one car in my village.  But no, their car was broken down.   So option two was to try to find someone with a motorcycle who could drive me out, with me riding on the back (this is against Peace Corps policy and grounds for being sent back to the US, but I was too sick to care at this point – I just wanted to get out).   But this time it was bad timing – it was Friday at 2:00, which meant everyone was at the mosque for the long Friday sermon and wouldn't be done for at least an hour, by which time I would have missed the last car going up to Tamba.   Riding out on a donkey cart was another theoretical option, except it would take at least two hours to go the ten kilometers, and by then again I would have missed the last car.  

 

Finally one of my friends offered to ride me out on the back of his bicycle.   So I sat on the luggage rack on the back of his bike, and he biked me over the mountain to the road. 

 

People ride people around on their luggage racks all the time here, so I guess it is not that big of a deal, but I still sort of feel like he saved my life (not that I was that sick, but I was pretty miserable).   And it is comforting to know that when it becomes really necessary my villagers will take care of me and get me out of the village and to a doctor.

 

Now I am feeling better and trying to think of a good thank-you present to take back to my friend.