For the past few days, I’ve been pretty sick. Above and beyond the mental/emotional/spiritual exhaustion, I’ve also had some aggressive digestive ailments to add to the physical side of things.
I thought it was just Ghana, and felt like I had a reasonably solid theory on that, but it seems that it was either way off, or whatever I picked up there, I’ve brought back with me here.
So here I was, my third solid day lying in bed, on this poor excuse for a mattress, thinking about how damn hot I was, and that if my body could please just rehydrate itself, thank you very much, then maybe I could better temperature-regulate.
(Though a quick check to my weather app does tell me that it is reported to be 34/feels-like-39, which is not quite as hot as it was in April, but still is, you know, warm, and maybe worthy of this overheating regardless of physical wellbeing.)
Justified or not, I was the good old sick and tired of being sick and tired, and thought maybe I could do something about it.
A few days ago, in a sudden burst of ambition and temporary wellness, I went to the Azar supermarket nearby and got myself a gingerale and a packet of Oreos. And it was amazing. 8+ months is far too many months to live without gingerale. So today I decided that I would venture out and rehash this wonderful moment of my life. Dizziness and overheating aside, I was getting that damned Canada Dry.
So off I went, gingerly (ha) easing my way through the moto paths of Badalabougou (yeah, that’s the name of the neighborhood), only to find it… closed. For lunch. The supermarket!
Lord, have mercy.
So now I’m back, annoyed, still hot, trying again in vain to read this silly French book, and dreaming of cold, fizzy beverages.
And kind of wondering why in the hell anyone lives in Mali.