Malaria and other Monsters

  Banjul, Gambia
Thursday, June 14, 2007

Recently I've been taking a hard and accusing look at the animal kingdom.

When picturing Africa and Wildlife before I came, it was mostly quixotic images of Big Game that sprung to mind. Lions and Tigers and Bears. Oh My.

The closest I get to African Game

It wasn't that I had expected a savannah view from my front window with herds of majestic wildbeast thundering across the horizon whilst lion cubs frolicked in the foreground for my amusement. Not exactly anyway, although the odd close encounter with a rampaging rhino wouldn't hurt.

Trips upcountry have brought me closer-than-is-comfortable to hippos, crocodiles and baboons. But on a day to day basis my battles with nature's bounty tend to be with much smaller creatures. My house is the venue for an ongoing battle between the ant and cockroach populations, each ever-failing to gain an upper hand.

Ants vs Bug spray

I regularly get scolded by people in my compound for scampering around barefoot without paying heed to the other inhabitants, namely scorpions, snakes and blister-beetles (charming little bugs that spit burning acid). But in the last week, my attention has been focused on two particular pests; mosquitoes and lizards.

Hostilities between mosquitoes and myself reached new heights last week when I developed malaria. This actually wasn't as bad as it sounds, mainly because I received medical attention so quickly. Other than the first evening which was possibly the least fun night of my life, once the meds kicked it, it was pretty much like a nasty dose of flu. I don't mean to treat it lightly, because Malaria is one of the world's biggest killers, but thanks to a perceptive and persistent friend (who ordered me to the clinic rather than going along with my inclination to "sleep it off") and once again the unfair but useful advantages of being a volunteer here, I was A-OK in no time.

My main lesson from this incident was the revelation of the scheming and Machiavellian nature of mosquitoes. They observed my smug zealousness in anti-mosquito protection in my early days in The Gambia, slathering myself in so much repellent that I dripped a trail of poison behind me wherever I went. "It won't last" they cackled to themselves, "We can wait". And so they watched on as my enthusiasm for repellent dwindled first to "when it rains" to "when it's dark" to "when I remember to buy some".

6 mins later this was someones lunch

They gloated when I decided the advantages of sleeping under a mosquito net were outweighed by the disadvantages of being in a hot and sticky tomb-like contraption. The little b*stards rubbed their hairy hands with joy when I was adopted by a cat who mistook the netting covering my windows for an adventure-climbing frame and tore great holes in it which I failed to fix. And finally, when I lost my phone and with it, the recurring reminder to take my prophylactics (despite my enjoyment of the associated hallucinogenic dreams) for three weeks running, they decided their moment had come and enjoyed a great feast of my blood, in exchange for which they generously donated their own parasite-ridden fluids. Now older, wiser, if slightly weaker, I will not underestimate them again.

My other sworn enemies at the moment are lizards. The outside walls of my house are home to a number of gheckos who laze away the days sunbathing on the walls, lolling their tails just out of reach of my increasingly frustrated cat. I've always found them rather cute with their oversized heads which they waggle with excitement before leaping on some poor unsuspecting fly. This affection expired with a bang in an incident of extreme embarrassment and panic earlier today.

There I was, minding my own business on the toilet when I become aware of a splashing sound.. I ignored it as one does when one is still sleepy from an afternoon nap and has failed to check if the cubicle is already occupied. The splashing continued with vigor and as realization dawned, I froze in fear. After a quick reality assessment- no, I was neither dreaming, nor filming a Hitchcock horror movie, I became paralyzed with indecision. Visions of bloodthirsty water monsters floated before my eyes. Neither staying put, nor moving and possibly thereby angering the Toilet Beast seemed like a good idea. In the end I settled on hurling myself forward headfirst out of danger and into the doorframe (no easy maneuver when your trousers are binding your ankles together).

First hurdle over, I crept nervously back towards the now eerily silent toilet bowl, brandishing a nearby bleach spray to defend myself.

The "monstor"

Just as I was psyching myself up to peer inside and thereby prove to myself I had imagined the whole thing, I came nose to nose with a terrified lizard making a list ditch (failed) attempt to hurl himself to freedom before plunging back into his white prison. It's difficult to know who screamed louder.

Three hours, a dozen flushes and several slugs of whiskey later and my new companion and I were still unwilling co-residents. Neither of us were happy about the situation. Pleading phone calls to friends elicited only hysterical laughter. Finally a suggestion was made that poking a branch down there would enable the lizard to climb out to freedom. Willing to try anything at this stage, I gave it a go, much to the disgust of the lizard who pointedly ignored it. Great, now I had both a lizard and a stick stuck in my toilet.

a real monster

Finally in desperation, with both bladder and heart rate at breaking point, I was forced to close my eyes and praying loudly, thrust my hands in (protected only by a flimsy carrier bag) and seize the struggling soaking creature. Running wildly through my house I hurled it out of the door, whereupon it blinked a couple of times dazed, and was promptly pounced upon by the cat.

I am seriously considering digging a pit latrine in my back yard.