6 keys from the edge…

 

You’d think moving to a new place would mean a fresh start, right? You’d think wrong. See, my lifestyle may have been upgraded somewhat, but my immunity’s still a bitch.

How was your Christmas Day? 

I got off to a decent enough start. You know, the sporadic load-shedding that suggests someone at the power company is sending you signals by Morse Code.  Apparently you can’t sue ‘em because of something on every bill that indemnifies them. I think it’s the bit at the bottom where they tell you they will disconnect your power supply if you have not paid up by the time the silly uniform has walked through your gate

Then there was the rain.

Whoever goes around blessing the rains down in Africa has not experienced a Christmas shower in Uganda… or is some sick perv. I’ll let you think about that for a bit before you pass it on to the Red Pepper’s Hyena as one of your own. 

I woke up to bad weather, but it was okay. Sometimes Christmas means more than that.

Then it kept raining, like someone was trying to prove a point.

And then, just in case I couldn’t take a hint, it rained some more.

I felt a little, I don’t know, off-ish, so I skipped the beer and the wine, figuring I’d go see the doctor and follow through with my traditional self diagnosis thing…

It didn’t work. 

I thought I had Malaria. I didn’t.

They thought I may have Typhoid. I did.

It’s been called the poor people’s disease and I think that’s a pretty dumb thing. (Oh MJ, why did you have to go??)

I asked the doctor what options were available, secretly hoping that there was an injection that they could administer that would magically make it all go away. Seriously, I didn’t care where that needle was going to be stuck, provided I was fit for thirty first (yeah, take that one too).

There was an injection, but it was one of those intravenous (read; drip) things and I would;

1. 1- have to endure about 15 minutes of drip drip action (thing is, they’d said that my blood test results would be ready in 10 minutes, then proceeded to walk the dog and bring them back after 30. Clearly they were liberal with their minutes, there was no telling how long I would be in union with syringe)
2. 2- feel very very nauseous after all that. I’d gone to bed feeling like if I put my mind to it, my walls would be covered in a new coat of ewwww.

So we settled for pills. Actually, that’s a lie. The lady with the certificate really wanted to give me the injection, but I politely declined. Even her pleas that I take one “starter dose” was met with a well practiced, soon to be perfected shake of the head.

She said it was alright and proceeded to write out a prescription for me. Between you and I, I’ve been to pharmacies that stock less drugs than the stuff that was on that slip os paper.

Oh, and it would take me way past New Year’s day. Naturally, I asked the most pertinent question at the moment…

“So, can I drink?”

she: drink what?

Me: alcohol

She: what alcohol do you usually drink…

I paused for a bit here. I have never thought of myself as a rigid drinker. Do I infact have one particular poison?

Me: oh you know, er, uhm… *cough cough* beer… whisky… the usual

She: You can drink wine

Me: Huh.. what?

She: What’s wine made out of?

Me: Er… fruit

She: There you go

{what the heck is sambucca made out of… isn’t one of these drinks made out of jackfruit? You know the one… the thing that tastes like funny scented glue}

I thought things couldn’t get any worse.

I was wrong. Come on, you saw THAT coming.

The lady in charge of dispensing the drugs made a show of the whole thing, it felt like I was back in primary school;

“This one is 1 times 2. Strictly after meals”

This was, in fact, written on the little medicine pack.

“You take one, eh. Two times a day. After you have eaten food.”

I think that’s what the pack had written on it, but shit, what do I know? I have Typhoid…and a pair of eyes.

“So, if you take one now, you take the next one after 12 hours… after food.”

Well, I’ll be damned. Does that then mean that I should take 1 two times a day after meals?

The math lesson went on with all the drugs and a part of me felt really bad that none had to be administered with every bowel movement. I’d have wanted to see how graphic she would get. 

“Kati, let me go to the toilet and then come back and swallow this medicine…you get?”

Obviously, I sought a second opinion.

My other doctor, the one I would have called Dr. Favourite if I was Carrie Bradshaw or one of those happy males that watch Sex & The City, said I was on the right track. Except for the Ibuprofen (whoa! I got the spelling right, bring on the Spelling Bee). 

Apparently, my stomach was going through enough shi… stuff as it was, throwing in a drug that had some acidic tendencies was NOT going to do me any favours. So I asked whether I could take my personal favourite; Zerodol. (How is it that Microsoft Word gives these things the green light, but is quick to throw squiggly red lines under Eid?)

Oh, and as to the question to end all questions, yes, I can drink one or two beers. After all, I need my fluids, right?

Man, I love the Hippocratic oath.

Finally experienced loadshedding Ntinda style. That’s right, I’m still calling my area Ntinda. I have been told it’s actually called Kigowa, but my mind won’t process the word. Understandable really, you don’t want to be jumping into a cab after hanging out and slurring that you are going to Kigoowa. It sounds like a haven for thieves and ladies of the night… or thieving ladies of the night.

So anyway, the black out…

When I was moving in, I carried the notion that this side of town had ministers and such, so I wouldn’t have to worry about the forces of darkness striking. I was wrong.
The reach of Minister’s Village is limited…and ministers have generators and inverters.

I relied on the light from my phone, as it kept dropping hints, suggesting its calling did not extend to illuminating my life. It’s battery was not so charitable. Where my phone merely implied that it didn’t want to help me, the battery realised what was going on and chose right then and there to quit.

Fortunately, I found candles. Long blue, icky-feeling candles . . . that smelt oba-how. They also had an annoying habit of blacking out after a while. The housemate later told me that they are insect-repelling candles. I guess candle lit dinners have got that going for them.

Speaking of…

The housemate does exist, just not often enough. It’s been suggested that I might have actually fabricated the whole thing. That I have a beautiful mind and he is a figment of my imagination. The thing is, it is sort of true. I do have a beautiful mind, but I know he exists and intend to issue proof of some sort as soon as he gets back.

Evil in diapers has since taken a sabbatical and won’t be bothering me for a while. I really don’t know where he went, but I’m not one to question a good thing. I now know the meaning of peace and quiet…and it’s no thanks to the new pillow. I’ve tried to break it in, but it seems to be having the upper hand in this fight.

My neck can’t take this stuff anymore.

Not because I can’t do it myself, but because I don’t have the time, I had someone bring some cleaners over. They did a so-so job with the clothes {I suspect if I’d left them out for a couple of days, the combined effort of the rain and the wind would have done a better job ridding them of Friday’s sweat (no one sweats before that. FACT)

Also, I think the cleaners used my toothpaste. Scratch that, the thought conjures up images of some random person using my toothbrush as well.

Let’s say they ATE my toothpaste.

Meanwhile, I’m in the market for cheap food. Cheap as in, ‘inexpensive’. I’m tired of contributing towards the take-away next door’s paint job, I need something else. Their food is not bad..as such, but my fries seem to be going through a rough patch or generally react badly to cooking oil.

Does anyone in the Ntinda massive know a kikumi-kikumi joint I can put on retainer?

I’ve briefly considered fluking meals at my friends’ place in Ministers’ Village, but getting a hold of them is just too much work. I miss the old days, when people walked to school and showed up unannounced at your doorstep during mealtimes.

Man, I miss the 90s.