You're Not Going to Believe this Week...

This has been quite the week of drama: illness, curses, stampedes, riots, and even ANTS IN MY PANTS. And something happened that surely I never expected possible. Something so terrible, so unexpected...I don't think I can ever eat torilla chips again. AHHHH

Let's start at the beginning. It was Monday, which means House-Girl-Day, which also means I Don't-Have-To-Use-Cold-Water-To-Make-Oatmeal-Day. Around 12:30 PM I start the arduous yet rewarding process of making chips and guac from scratch. Chips were about my only option as the only raw ingredient in my house besides pasta is flour. So proud of my accomplishment and completely engrossed in a National Geographic expose' on food crisis, I gobbled teh entire batch. BAD IDEA. I promised myself, woman, no more food until the sun goes down.

Naturally, 1 hour later I'm bored and realize I have (most) of the ingredients to make fudge. My jiko also had a few hot coals in it. I reasoned I'd share the treat and save the rest for later. Let's just say my green thumb for cooking all things chocolate and sugary ends after brownies. Maybe the chocolately porridge would harden inside, I wondered. Or maybe in my lap, or maybe, in my mouth? I never said I could actually execute self-control. Before things escalated out of control, I poured the cavity-a-bite mixture into the grass outside.

At this point, I was just moderately uncomfortable and took a walk to a friends house. Within the hour, however, my entire body was aching. Even my hair was tired. I went home to sit and attempt work. Eventually my best friend, the teacher and wife of the primary school principal came over. Upon learning I felt a lil ill, she insisted I go to her house and be watched. Tanzanians love to look at you when you're sick. It's ettiquette to sit and watch the sick person and help them in any way to recover. Anyway, I agreed like it was ever actually a choice in the first place. I couldn't touch dinner and by 9pm I'm dunzo.

I get back to my house and root around for a thermometer. For some really good reason (?) I was certain it was on the floor inside of my frisbee, next to the nails, matches, and nailpolish. I shine my flashlight and notice a few big ants. What could they have gotten into, I wondered? Upon further inspection, to my total horror, I saw hundreds of ants on my walls, floor, in all of my clothes, and invading my bed. And that's when I felt a stinging pain on my leg. Pulling up my pants I noticed one of the Siafu (the name for biting safari ants). The bastard bit me hard and wouldn't let go. I had a huge welt for a day. With that bit of adrenaline and an abundance of self-pity, I dragged myself back to the teacher's house and spent a sleepless night of moaning and groaning. Next to the rat in my bed, I concede that night as one of my darkest hours.

The next day, Tuesday, I went back to my house around 11am, still feeling horrible. We did a survey of the damage and found the Siafu had moved on leaving MANY dead in their wake. My friend sweeps them up and I go back to bed at her house til evening. I was so ready for my own bed and as I was about to hop in I realized, we hadn't checked out the bed that morning. A colony of Siafu had died in various layers of my blankets, pillow,and sheets. Back to the neighbors.

Wednesday: I was feeling much better. As I was outside cooking, I heard a loud crash. My only vanity allowed in Africa, a full length mirror, had crashed off the wall in a million tiny fragments. OY. I'll deal with that later, I decided. After cooking the beans, I sat in my chair and upon my 1st bite the entire steaming bowl poured in my lap. It soaked through all of my clthes and the cushion. It also drenched sauce all over my new book!
1st thought: Bugs are going to get into my book at night.
2nd thought: Shit, 7 years of bad luck-it's not a joke.
3rd thought: If I start eating the beans on my clothes and chair, there will be less clean up.

Thursday: I hadn't gotten out much this week so I took a walk to buy some eggs. On the way a bull escaped from his pack and started galloping toward me. Ahhh! crisis averted. A few minutes later a woman welcomed me into her fertizlier/alternation shop (I know, I know) and offered me an egg that was sitting on a shelf. The day concluded with no further incidents.

Friday 5:15am: I heard drums pounding wildly and someone shouting into a megaphone. What is going on? The siren on the megaphone started blaring and I'm suddenly wondering whether a riot has hit Mhaji. My 5:15am logic told me to put a bra on in case I was going to be dragged out of my house. I know, 5:15am Katie has a bit of a theatrical streak. I even went so far as to send a text to a neighbor in Kiswahili asking: Shouting-problem or not? Finally I made out some of the shouting and realizing they were annoucning a death/funeral. Once I heard the word for church, my anxiety subsided. This practice of drumming and shouting was also common in my other village but occurred at night instead. Now I know.

And now here I sit, mostly laughing at the series of unfortunate events. Dare I say, it can't get any worse? Nope, I won't say it. In a place as full of spontanaity and well, wildlife as Africa, tomorrow can bring almost anything. And while I can certainly do without ants in my pants, it all makes for a pretty memorable chapter in this strange, strange adventure.

Love to everyone. Tomorrow I'll will post a few picture of my house!

Katie