Gratuitous Post From the Past #3

Shantytown-

It is 3:30 am, and Jamie is hearing what seems to be dozens of voices or more chanting, stomping, and singing.  What could it be?  She contemplates a religious service of some kind, a late party perhaps…maybe even a loud movie?  There is another possibility too, of course, but it is one that Jamie would not like to consider. 

When you're 11 time zones from home and are lying awake in the middle of the night under a mosquito net, every sound carries with it endless possibilities.  But when you've had dreams the past four nights that felt so real that you didn't have any idea how many hours you've actually slept, your curiosity is reduced to one simple question:  is this a dream?

Welcome to the Wonderful World of Malarone, the World's Worst anti-Malarial Medication.®  Last Tuesday, Jamie began taking Malarone.  By Saturday, she was having dreams so vivid that they were indistinguishable from reality.  Sunday night, after the Not-So-Great-Walk to Rau, she started to feel nauseous, feverish, and dizzy.  On Monday night, she was lying awake, unsure if she was overhearing an interesting cultural event or just being completely wacked out by Malarone.  On Tuesday, she was suddenly unable to keep her eyes open without pain.

(Note: Andy felt similarly given Cal's weekend loss to Stanfurd, but declined to complain and mope and say things like "oh, my head hurts so much!" possibly because he is a much tougher individual.)

"Did you hear the singing last night?" Jamie asked Misty, our hotel-mate.

"What singing?"

"Andy, you heard it, right?"

"You mean with all the chanting and stomping?"

"Yeah!"

"No, sorry, didn't hear it.  But you told me about it, honey, and it sounded really interesting."

Spending two days in the hotel, unable to experience all that Africa has to offer, was a frustrating experience for both of us.  We played a lot of Scrabble.  We argued about stupid things.  We took care of Jamie.  We got Jamie food and water.  We rubbed Jamie's shoulders.  "We" did lots of things. 

Thankfully, by Wednesday, Jamie was feeling better, and today we were able to be very active, the details of which will be relayed in a future email.

There are two endings to this story, both of which have the same moral: Don't Do Malarone.

The first is that today we ventured over to CCS, the volunteer program that Andy did two years ago.  After lunch, Mama Grace, our hostess and a CCS staffer, came over and asked Jamie how she was feeling.

"Much better, thanks.  I haven't had Malarone for two days now."

"Good," Mama Grace replied.  "You know, we sell t-shirts here, for tourists and mzungus, and they say 'It wasn't me, it was the Malarone.'  You should get one."

The second ending happened Tuesday night, at about 3:30 am.  Andy had woken to the glorious sound of the rooster and was ready to catch an hour of sleep before being woken at 4:30 by the call to prayer from the local mosque.  He felt two pokes in his right side and rolled over to find Jamie staring at him, wide eyed.

"Hear that?" she asked.

"What?" 

"The singing.  Please tell me you hear it."

Andy listened intently.  He thought about lying, but decided against it.  He isn't that mean.

"Yeah, I hear it."

Jamie did a dance.