I haven't written anything for a while, sorry for that. I was staying in Menkassim for a while, and plan on going back there soon to live there for a while longer, but last weekend I came back to Accra for a visit. Everything was nice and good until my girlfriend prepared a dish from leaves and vegetables called kotomuri. Ugh! I swear, it makes me sick to my stomach now even to think about it. But, at the time, it looked very deliscious, and tasted good, too. I kept sneaking more when nobody was watching.
So, the food was eaten. Now, another circumstance that may have contributed to what followed: relations between Katrileena had been a bit icy, and after we had finished eating and found ourselves alone together, she told me perhaps the four most ominous words known to man: 'we need to talk.' I took that as my cue to run away. I made my home through rush hour in twilight Accra, walking slowly in a bit of a dazed state, not really thinking much but sort of relishing the self pity I felt.
When I got home, I went to my room and lay down. Soon, I began feeling feverish. I put on jeans and a long sleeve shirt, and even requested an extra sheet from Mrs. Sackey, who wondered aloud why I would want one when it was so hot out. No reply. Well, I took some Tylenol, turned on some music, and lay in my bed for a few hours, and the fever passed. All's well, right? wrongo.
Soon, I became aware of having to use the bathroom. I went and passed a big 'loose stool', if you know what that is. But when I went back to bed, as soon as I lay down I immediately needed to return to the bathroom. By this time, I was aware of feeling shitty.
I have never passed a longer night. I would doze for a while, then get up and have to use the bathroom. But each time I went, I was aware that more was on its way, but I never could make it come before I went and lay down again. Then I would instantly have to stand up and return to my throne. Sometimes this would happen four or five times before I could lie down with any security.
Morning finally arrived, and I told Mrs. Sackey of my condition. She called the volunteer organization, and someone arrived with some anti-diarrheal salts and a taxi to the hospital. I did not feel like going to the hospital, though. The upset induced even by walking to my door and talking to Kwame for a minute made me rush back to the toilet and actually vomit. It was actually a bit of a dilemna, whether the urge to vomit or to shit was stronger, but I chose the former, and everything ended happily in the toilet bowl.
This shuffling between bed and toilet lasted a couple days, during which no food passed my lips but one piece of bread and a nibble of spaghetti. None the less, my body found things to pump out. Looking in the mirror at the end of the ordeal, it was actually disgustingly obvious where my body had found these things: I was visibly emaciated. Rest assured, Im back to my strong and beautiful self now, only a few days later, but it was scary then to see how prominently all my ribs protruded.
I finally condescended to go to the hospital. They diagnosed a stomach virus, no malaria or anything, and gave me some pills, and I bought a collection of Sean Connery films on DVD ($5!) as a reward for my suffering. I am convinced that what was more important than actual medical attention was just the fact that I forced myself out of the house and away from the tempting bathroom. Once I left in the morning for the hospital, I, who had previously been shitting every hour, just did not have to go that bad. Certainly, I was miserable when I was sick. But, in a sick way, I enjoyed this misery, relished being weak and helpless and the accompanying freedom from any responsibility. I'm reading Thomas Mann's Magic Mountain right now, and he has a lot to say on the subject as well, dealing with Tuberculosis patients whose illness is often nothing better then conjectural. Well, a little self pity never hurt anybody, and here I am, working hard on my blog again.
Anyway, the day after I went to the Htal, I stopped by my girlfriends place, and she clarified things. "I just want some space right now." Well, so we're through. Later that night, she stepped on a buried fire pit at a beach party and suffered disgustingly horrible burns on her foot. She's the one who believes in Karma, not me! Anyway, she had a really unpleasant time at the hospital, and now shes hobbled, hopping around on one foot, although theres usually an african guy around more than willing to demonstrate his strength by carrying her. Thats certainly a service I could never offer her for more than about twenty feet!
Last night we went out for drinks, we talked and laughed nicely, and while we were waiting outside her house for her friends she leaned on me (being a cripple) in a suggestive manner, if one can lean in a suggestive manner. That is, there was a lot of unnecessary back stroking and even a bit of butt handling. Basically, I got the impression that this cats in the bag, and I need only reach out and grab and she'll be mine again. Fine, I will do it, but girls are really very bizarre!
Okay, I've written enough, matt out!