Botulism and Me

Before I begin the blog, I want to start by saying that, indeed, the little mother fers in my intestines (who graciously did not show their little single-cell organism-selves in my test but the Dr. was pretty sure they were just hiding) are dying due to the miracle drug cipro (which i'm starting to think i need to carry around with me)

And so we begin...

Yesterday, while out on my run, I came upon a little girl who was about 6 years old. She was dressed in a little red t-shirt and little blue shorts and had a brightly coloured chitenge cloth wrapped around her torso which contained her small 2 year old brother. She was purposefully bouncing along the side of the road, with half of her height hidden by the toddler slug on her back, holding the hand of her other younger sister who was probably around the age of 4. The 4 year old was carrying a very large container upon her head full of sloshing water. I was the only adult around. I greeted them, wondering if I could chat with them, but they didn't have much interest beyond saying hello to me- they clearly had a more imporant task to complete. I was saddened by their shortened childhood, by the burden of responsibility, but also so amazed at the abilites of humans when circumstance requires so much more from us.... or is it that so much less is expected of western children? Then I remembered this article I had come across a few weeks earlier in "She", a British women's magazine...

The article was called, "How to be a Great Parent" and it was structured around a series of questions. One of the questions read:
I have three children- a boy of 13 and girls aged 8 and 10. My son says he no longer needs a babysitter when we go out and is happy to look after his sisters. What do you advise?"

The answer:
I used to be a police officer and there was an unwritten law that if a child was left alone under the age of 14, or if a child wasn't yet 16 and was looking after someone younger, we were concerned. Therefore, I would not recommend leaving a 13-year old to look after his sisters, even if he's sensible and has never stepped out of line in his life. He really can't assume that kind of responsibility. Having someone else's life in your hands is a tremendous burden-no matter how old you are. Many parents find looking after two children under 10 stressful-how much more challenging would that be for a 13year old? Bear in mind that the reason you're leaving someone in charge is in case things go wrong- whether its an accident in the home, one of the children suddenly falls ill or a stranger at the door. Are you sure that you would be fully confident in a 13 year old's ability to cope? Think about it.

Well, I did. I thought about it for all of two seconds, then without a shadow of a doubt screamed- YES, I AM CONFIDENT A 13 YEAR OLD WOULD BE ABLE TO COPE!

Have these people ever met a 13 year old? They might be a bit moody and spend alot of time in their rooms but they are able to complete tasks most adults find daunting. I know. I teach them everyday. And every day they amaze me with their problem solving skills and new ways of looking at a situation.

Not to mention that I just saw a 6 year old walking down the street with total confidence in herself that she could run whatever errand she had been assigned and come back with both siblings in tow.

PS. Just on a side note- I am entering a chili cookoff tomorrow among my fellow teachers and I have to say, that just now, after tasting my Carnal Chocolate Chili, that it is one deeelicous chili!

PSS. Which brings me to another side note- one day, when i was little, my mom called my brother and me down from our rooms to show us something while she was making dinner. In her hands was a tin of tomatoes. It was bulging from the top and bottom. She said- "Do you see this can? What is wrong with it?" We described it and she then proceded to scare the living Sh1t out of us as she told us that inside this buldging can of tomatoes lived a terrible, terrible bacteria called Botulism. And that this would kill you within 24 hours- and then she carried on described all the awful things the bacteria does to you before you die. Tim and I stood there stunned for awhile before my mom happily said, "That's all" and turned back to her spaghetti sauce.

Ever since then, I've been petrified of tinned tomatoes. I study all of them very carefully before choosing one just in case one might kill me in 24 hours by paralysis and loss of control of all bodily functions. However, today, I was confronted with 100 tins of tomatoes that all looked slightly dodgy but I really needed to make this chili and I don't think God has chosen botulism as the way for me to go...

So, This might be the last thing I ever write.
Damn- I wish it had been better.
Peace.

In South Luangwa...

In South Luangwa...

The people are terrified of elephants and hippos but could really care less about lions.

There is a guide named Richard who told us a story- about how his commrade got eaten by a crocodile and his superior officer, who was not a good man, made him go into the water to look for him but then heard people shouting 'a croc got him' and thought it was he who the croc had gotten so he ran like a drunk, mad-man out of the water with his heart in his throat before finally realizing that it was not he who had been caught but rather his superior officer and he didn't feel bad about it at all when they caught the man-eating croc and slit open his belly to find two human arms inside- all without using one coherent sentence before he stumbled into the bush to go take a piss.

There are bushcamps were you wake up with the sunrise at your feet and the warm light filtering throught the soft mesh of the mosquito net.

There are also bushcamps that let you get to know whom ever you are staying with very well since all that seperates the toilet from the rest of the room is a thin sheet of fabric.

There is a place where you can dance naked in the african rain in a treehouse.

The zebra are shy and there are way too many impala.

You come to hate the impala

You meet those that are so rich they have no concept that someone would not have been to england.

You spend alot of time discussing grand ol' england and birds.

And you also meet those that ask, after a short discussion of the various ethinicities found in various areas in london, "Where has the real england gone? Are there any real englishmen left?"

You also have to suffer through many, "well spotted, good man" and I wish i was kidding.

You realize that the insect repellent you've been slathering on your skin actually takes off the nail polish on your toes and rubs the ink right off its own packaging.

You also realize that without that repellent you would be eaten alive by the tstse flies.

You think its silly that you have to be escorted to and from your room every evening... until you realize that a leopard had been prowling through camp during dinner.

You've never heard the word "thermals" used by people so regularly other than your aeronautical engineer boyfriend

Hot can't even come close to describing 2pm

Feces has never been so interesting.

When I think about my parasite...

Here I am in my office at 5pm on a tuesday thinking about the little ameobas that are living in my gut. They certainly do have a sense of humour. We've gotten to know each other over the last three weeks. They had a party in my intestines on sunday night, keeping me awake for hours. Then when I finally relented and when to the Doctor, they decided that they would not, under any circumstances be giving me any test samples. But 24 hrs later, in the middle of a class they kicked up again- however I am smuggly satisfied that now I can prove their existence and will get the medicine to kill them all.

Did you know that reoccupation with one's health and or bowel movements is an official sign of culture shock? Well, its not too hard to believe since over that last 5 years or so I have become increasingly more in-tune with my lovely intestines. However, is it just ironic that you are most likely to experience culture shock in places where your gut does become a main feature in your life?

I would also say that the amazing level of anger felt toward the quiet zambia girl in the Zamtel office as she told me for the third time that they would not be giving me dial-up in my house for the zillionth stupid reason, would come under the term culture shock.

And perhaps my obession with my "orangerie". Which, i have to say, if any of you do come and visit you will agree it is the most awesome room in the world. (oh shoot, exaggeration is also a habit of culture shock!)

So, here I am in my office at 5:15 on a tuesday thinking about how I will probably have to stay here for two more years. Not the two i signed up for but for an addtional one on top of that. Why? Out of love for zambia? I wish this was the case and it may be in a year or two but right now, its because of those meddling kids! That's the worse and best thing about being a teacher- you come to love your kids and I would never want to leave this 10th grade class until I've seen them through the IB.

Right, its 5:20 and I should have told you something interesting by now. Its much like MC Frontalot's song- I hate your blog. Sorry, I'll try harder...