Getting sick in the bush of Africa is no joke.
I was up all night—sitting up because if I had laid down, I’d puke all over the place. Not to mention, the diarrhea. I had to second guess myself every time if the bathroom (which was a hole in the ground) was an absolute must have, and it was that way every single time.
The difference between going to the bathroom in the middle of the night at home, vs. in Maasai Mara (MaasaiLand), looks a little like this:
AT HOME: you get up, maybe run into a door or wall and zombie walk your way to the porcelain throne, flip on a light, do your thing, and stumble back into a warm cozy bed—all to do it over once again.
BUT THEN THERE’S…
THE BUSH OF AFRICA LATE NIGHT BATHROOM ADVENTURE: you wake up, all zipped up in your sleeping bag and deflated air mattress, question if the bathroom is really worth it, hear hyenas calling to each other in the distance with distressed donkey and cow calls right afterward, and decide that your stomach is yelling louder. So you don the head lamp, and after what seems like five minutes (the longest of your life) you’re finally all unzipped, Chacos on, toilet paper in tow, and head off on the longest 150 meter walk of your life. (*when I was sick I was blessed to make this journey at least five times)
Without the God-send of your headlamp, there is absolutely NO light (the millions—literally, millions of stars in the sky aren’t enough light to even see your hand in front of your face). In the distance, from the beam of your headlamp, you see the small tin shed—the goal, the prize, the bathroom.
Hearing the strangest animal sounds of your life, coupled with the sudden wind chill and cold dew on your feet from the grass, you set off—quickly—in the bathroom’s direction—with nothing else except for one thought: to keep alive your will to walk on through the night (I had multiple thoughts that night of how ridiculous, scary, and incredibly awesome my self-defense tactic was: if a wild boar, hyena, lion, or a witchdoctor came at me—I’d just throw up on them… joke’s on them that way)
Anyway, as that thought gives you enough motivation to carry on—you finally reach the shed. Relieved to be separated from the outside world you do your thang—crouched into a teeny ball, surrounded by flies, you begin to pray that everything makes it into the 4 inch by 4 inch hole directly below you this time. (Ain’t nobody got time fo’ regular toilets) After you do your business, you get situated again, and begin to pump yourself up for round 2 of walking the 150 meters through a scene of a night time documentary of Africa from National Geographic.
You make it back to your tent—waking everyone else up around you in the process, and as you begin to get back into your sleeping bag, you beg God to let that be the last time you get up for the night. After laying awake for the next 30 minutes, the questioning of if you really have to use the bathroom again starts—and you do it all over once again.
Getting sick in Africa is no joke!
I'll never complain about getting sick back in the states again–that's fosho #hardcore
p.s. this is the third time i've had to repost this. three cheers for African internet!
