And so I ended up going to Ruvuma Hospital in town. Again. In the middle of the night. The same hospital who diagnosed me twice with malaria when the main symptom was noisy diarrhea. And then didn't give me any information about what the drugs they gave me would do to my body. Which resulted in me being on a drip. With more of the same drugs.
I think you can see where this is going.
I thought I was getting really horrible malaria, when in fact I probably didn't have malaria when I arrived in hospital (and suspect that I only tested "positive" for malaria in the first place so the hospital could sell me medicine). What I had was ridiculously low blood sugar, no appetite, and rapid bowel movements.
Yay for being made more ill than necessary for three days, being fed food I couldn't stomach before eventually being told that the ill feelings were caused because I was severely hypoglycemic, and then having to wait another two days before being given medicine to stop the diarrhea, which was the main cause of the problem. While I wasn't really in a fit state to argue about it.
Once I understood what was happening to my body I could largely look after myself, getting people to bring me the sorts of foods I could eat. Apart from the day I drank too much salty meat broth and gave myself high blood pressure. That was fun.
I ended up staying until last Saturday, and just spent a week at Oswin's, resting and trying not to make his mzunguphobe 20 month old daughter cry. Annoyingly, I missed the whole of Lucy from COCO's visit from Thursday to Thursday. I saw her and she brought me Private Eye and chocolate and it was lovely to see another friendly face, but I couldn't go along with her to any meetings, which would have been really useful.
I also didn't get to make the amazing blog post I had planned about baby urine, the man who cured himself with alcohol, and the day Mwenyekiti at a goat's head. I'm afraid you'll all have to struggle on without it.
This last week, and the last three days in particular, have been about befriending Rosie. She's a lovely friendly little girl but she takes a long time to get used to white people, and she's already throwing some quite impressive tantrums (and there are enough people around the house that she can often get someone to sympathise with her).
She also sees and then wants ("Rosie are you just seeing things in the room and then saying you want them?"). Then she cries when you say yes and tell her to come over, because she thinks you've said no. She seems to be getting used to me saying no sometimes to her, which is good.
Yesterday saw the advent of Rock Baby, which involved Rosie carrying a rock around with her and calling it "Mtoto" (child) and then getting her grandmother to tie it onto her back with a sling. Oswin tied it on for her once yesterday and Rock Baby fell out onto the ground. Oswin the Baby Killer.
She seems to have got used to me now, and makes me ride around on the back of her imaginary pikipiki at regular intervals. We only seem to travel about three inches before she picks it up (it's a small stool) and then carries it a couple of yards away and makes me ride it again. She also appreciates "This is the way the Lady rides, etc".
The winner (and indeed only entrant) in the Armpit-Hair-Soap Competition, is my sister and her partner for their kleptomaniac hair suggestion. They win half a biscuit each. Congratulations!
I'm also wondering about best sites through which to sell t-shirt designs. I'm already registered with spreadshirt.com, but any other suggestions are more than welcome.
Dish of the Day: Intestines. On Saturday I ate them. Twice. And then had a third opportunity on Sunday, which I declined. They taste okay, but they make the roof of your mouth a bit furry.