You must be wondering what passing an African New Year looked like. Well, I would like to tell you that I set off my own fireworks made with a medley of scrap metal, elephant tusk, and motor oil. I would like to tell you that I boogied to some reverberating bongo beats and bounced a bubbly African baby on my knee while kissing a tall, dark, and handsome stranger at midnight, but in actuality, I spent my New Year’s Eve lying on my malfunctioning air mattress with Malaria ravaging through my body.
Did you know that Malaria medication doesn’t actually prevent you from contracting Malaria? It just prevents the symptoms from getting extreme when you do get it.
…
SURPRISE!
Lucky you, Tiffany, that those 50 some-odd bites that you had on your right arm (is there something particularly tasty about my right arm? Because my left arm was left untouched) turned out to be the root of your subsequent demise:
Reoccurring fevers, aches, shakes, shooting muscle pains, throbbing headaches, and sensitivity to light because your eyeballs feel like they’re burning out of your skull for three days straight. . . even a test that came back negative! Probably my sole comfort during this time was the nonchalance in which Felito and Anna approached the diagnosis. “Yeah, we’re pretty certain you have Malaria. Take these pills and lie low. You’ll be fine.” Apparently Malaria occurs so frequently that it’s like the common cold.
“Can’t come into work today, I’ve got Malaria, but don’t worry, I’ll be up and at ‘em in a day or two.”
“I’m going to miss class, I’ve got Malaria, can you take notes for me?”
I was under the impression that contracting Malaria was like contracting what that screaming naked woman I prayed for a couple of weeks ago had. I can tell you it’s not a very pleasant “third-world disease,” but that it’s pretty unavoidable around these parts.
Anyway, if I had reason before to view every mosquito as a demon incarnate, I have more of a reason now. I find myself screaming, “OUT, IN JESUS’ NAME! $(*%(” to every bloodsucking mosquito jerk I see puttering around my face. My body convulses whenever I hear one buzzing in my mosquito net at night, which then graduates into a 35 minute-long empty air-slapping spree until the hunt is satisfied with a palm full of guts and blood. My butt clenches when they’re flying around my feet in the toilet. We’ve had many casualties in this particular part of the house.
I suppose I should say that I saw this coming. I have a pretty good track record for getting some kind of sick every month I’ve been on the field. My immune system has never been as fickle as it has on the Race. Nice timing, don’t you think?
So, apart from the Malaria, my New Year’s was well spent with the Utuie family – keeping Issachar from licking dirt, which he does anyway, from chasing chickens, which he does anyway, and from using his middle finger, which he recently learned from the neighbor kids. . . and he still does anyway. Christmas was spent likewise: eating, dancing, stargazing, and, oh yeah, baking a whole lot! In many ways, Daddy has blessed us so abundantly this month by placing us with this family – especially during the holidays, because they’ve welcomed us in their home. Not everyone is entirely willing to bless 5 awkward Americans + the Canadian, hey? It wasn’t easy for me to get through this month with zero communication with family or friends, but it was something that I was called to surrender to Him, and for that, I hope you’ll forgive me and read these blog updates with grace and patience.
Four weeks have come and gone, and I feel like I’m still waiting.
I’m trying hard to believe that this new year will hold promises that I will no longer try to anticipate, but that I could just trust in. I trust You, Daddy, not with family, friends, love, the past, the future, ministry. . . I just trust You, period.
