M*A*S*H-anga

No longer locked in the house in Chimoio, I was finally able to leave for Machanga. I don’t know why, but every time I am poised to return to Machanga, there is a part of me that actually looks forward to it. I know that I will be itching to leave almost as soon as I arrive, but still, it’s nice knowing that I’m actually coming “home.” Or maybe, I’m just ready to be in one place for more than four days.

Bryan, who was heading in the same direction as me, and I headed out at just the right time: early enough to get a car heading south, late enough to get to an open market. We each bought up some goods for our sites – his situation is pretty equal to mine – and we were on the road. Our chapa for Inchope, the main crossroads, left promptly; the travel day was off to a good start.

We made it to the crossroads in about an hour, and then no less than half an hour later, we had a slow moving truck heading south. In that half hour, though, things took a small turn for the worse. Usually, I manage to avoid going to bathroom on these long journeys. A combination of starvation and dehydration usually do the job. But on this day, I had no such luck. My stomach was reeling. There was no bathroom in site. So I did what anybody here would do: I left my stomach, as well as a fair portion of my dignity, in a field next to a road. I hope I never have to do that again.

I figured I would take it to Muxungue, the next big truck stop, and then try to catch something going south. Once we got to Muxungue, I asked the driver how far he was going. He said Machanga. I wanted to say “Get the fuck out of here!” but not only do I not know how to say that in Portuguese, I don’t think it would translate well. No one ever goes to Machanga. In spite of the small take I made with the driver, I still had to fork over the 230 Meticais for the ride.

The road into Machanga, although still dirt, is considerably better. It has been smoothed out pretty nicely. The lack of rain has helped, but it looks like that the road repair people are actually working on it. They say it will be done by mid June. I don’t know if that means pavement, but it sure would be nice.

Exhausted from the day – or days – of travel, I tried to nap, but my body wouldn’t let me. My stomach was still killing me. I cooked dinner, but couldn’t eat more than a couple bites. It’s a shame because the sauce I made for the spaghetti was actually pretty good. I went to bed, feeling full despite not eating.

Monday wasn’t so much better. I managed to sleep in until about 8, a nice treat for sure. But I still felt full and my stomach wasn’t any better. Maybe this was more than just a little stomach bug. I figured it would pass; I would just need to get back on my regular eating cycle. After all, what we did to our bodies over the past couple of weeks was nothing close to healthy.

Before my classes were scheduled to start, I walked over to the administration building to see if any packages or mail had arrived. Lucky me, four packages from three sources – my parents, my grandparents, and my best friends and their parents – arrived with a bounty of food and reading material. We appreciate these packages more than anyone can understand.

I was scheduled to have a full load of classes on Monday, but when I showed up at the school, the vast majority of my students were not at school. I somewhat expected this, but I didn’t think it would be this bad. Resigned to my fate, I canceled classes for the day and hoped that tomorrow would be better.

Richie came back late in the afternoon looking defeated. He had narrowly missed the chapa heading directly to Machanga, but managed to catch up to it using another chapa – very impressive. The energy came on and, with both of us not feeling great, made less food than usual. We finished watching “Team America: World Police” with a couple of our neighbors. We didn’t even try to explain what was happening.

Whatever hope that I had of teaching on Tuesday disappeared very early Tuesday afternoon. I walked over to school, prepared to go over the final exam from the first trimester. In a class of 55 people, ten people sat in class. Is this really worth their time – and mine? Of course not. I passed through the other classes, some with twelve people, some with zero. They all said that next week would be better. I knew this to be true, but I didn’t want to believe it. Reluctantly, I canceled classes for the week.

My afternoon wasn’t a complete waste though. After teaching basic English for the first trimester, I am committing myself to teach the curriculum that the government actually wants me to teach. I spent some time going through the twelfth grade curriculum, picking out the parts that are teachable – given my lack of resources – and what the students would be most interested in learning. I was able to map out about half of the upcoming trimester for my twelfth graders, which is good news.

For dinner, Richie and I made ourselves a little treat – macaroni and cheese that my best friends and their parents had sent to me. We were still pretty beat down, feeling particularly lazy, and I still couldn’t eat as much as usual. After eating, a couple students joined us to watch a couple episodes of “House.” I don’t know how much they get out of it, but they may be picking up words here and there.

I was happy not to have class Wednesday, as it was probably my worst day – medically speaking – since arriving to site. My stomach was in knots. I felt terrible. I am glad I didn’t have to go anywhere because most of my day was spent walking the six feet between my patio and the bathroom. I was not at all happy. I was hoping that this stomach ailment was just from the travelling: after all, people often have stomach problems right after they travel.

This, though, was more substantial. Our neighbor told me that he had spent three days in the hospital during the school break because of bad water. This immediately raised concerns for me. Cholera is not unheard of here, and while we do a decent job of keeping ourselves protected – cleaning our water, washing our vegetables – we could probably do a better job. I think, more than anything, paranoia set in, and I started thinking that I actually had cholera.

My thoughts were only reinforced during the evening. After a stir fry dinner which I barely finished, and a couple episodes of “House,” I settled in for bed. Sleeping, though, was a challenge. No matter how I turned, my stomach hurt. By midnight, I had surrendered. The bathroom called, and I had to answer. Twice. I was not happy, but Richie – who also happened to be awake – was slightly humored. Three peaceful hours of sleep and two Peptol-Bismols later, I was up and running to the bathroom again. This was not going to be a good day.

I woke up feeling terrible, again. This is not fun. I stayed in bed until 9 AM, feeling lethargic. I hate being sick. It makes me feel useless. I only got out of bed when the bathroom demanded it of me.

I decided to stick to basics throughout the day: bread and butter, potatoes, and water. By the afternoon, my bathroom trips had become less frequent, my stomach not writhing as it had been for the last few days. I guess when one has reached the bottom, there is nowhere to go but up.

The day, once my stomach was settled, was relaxing. I read a couple of magazines, catching up on news from Obama’s first hundred (okay, in reality, first thirty) days. I napped extensively. And by complete surprise, our energy came on a full hour early. Richie, feeling good, took care of dinner. We watched a couple of episodes of “House,” with our neighbor, which has become custom as much for him as it has for us.

By Friday morning, things were getting back to normal. Whatever I did, or didn’t do, yesterday helped my stomach a lot. I knew as soon as I woke up that the day couldn’t be worse than the last few. It was nice to feel like a functioning person again. And by functioning, I mean sitting on my porch, doing Su Doku and reading magazines.

After lunch, Richie and I made a joint trip to the market, a rarity these days. Even though the market is just a few kilometers away, it isn’t worth it for us to shop together. But for the better part of the week, the weather has actually been mild. In fact, the nights have been cold to the point that I have needed a sweatshirt and sweatpants to sleep. And on this afternoon, the sun actually felt good. We stopped in a bar for a beer before buying some groceries and an esteira (eh-SHTAY-ra), a large mat made of something like straw. For sitting under a tree, they are perfect.

Once we were home, we were close enough to energy. We started prepping our food when we had an unexpected visitor – our school director. Our director never talks to us. This can’t be good. After all, we did cancel classes for the week. After pleasantries, he dropped this bomb on me “Estou a pedir fimes para meu iPod” – “I am asking for movies for my iPod.” Crisis averted, stress relieved. While Richie cooked dinner, I loaded up our director’s iPod. I cooked a killer cake while watching some television. After watching “House,” we were greeted by a creature we never want to see again, but we are sure that we will: a tarantula, in our bathroom. Not what we needed right before sleeping.

Or at least, trying to sleep. I don’t know if I passed on whatever I had to Richie, but he got something good. Three rounds of vomit in a squatty potty is not pleasant. He looked terrible. Our house has become a MASH unit. I knew I had to take care of everything today. What goes around comes around: he had been shouldering the load for the better part of the week.

While Richie slept off the pain, I did work both inside and outside the house. Our garden, which we planted before leaving Malawi and which has been tended to by our neighbor, has germinated beautifully. Six tomato plants, corn, cucumbers, green beans, cantaloupe and watermelon are growing well. Only the carrots failed to sprout. Along with replanting carrots and some corn, we transplanted our tomatoes into better ground.

I ate lunch by myself, which was strange. I don’t blame Richie for not eating: if he can’t hold down water, he’s not going to hold down food. Even though he wasn’t eating, he did seem to be in better spirits. With him down and out, I kept on with the household responsibilities, prepping a decent dinner, which he actually ate. We watched “House” and crashed.

If only House were in Africa, he could figure out what is wrong with us.