Knackered

As no-one commented on my last entry I can either assume that 1) no one read it, 2) it wasn’t quite up to standard or 3) things have changed so dramatically there in the west that actually the contents are neither uncommon or unexpected.

I will carry on regardless…..

So…….I am knackered!

Seriously.

If it wasn’t for the fact I do want to return home one day, I would make a sworn statement about not getting on another plane for the rest of my life.

As much as I really enjoy the lesbian encounters at the airports (I swear I get frisked more than most), and the fact unlike a normal human being I get pleasure from both flying through turbulence AND eating the plastic airport food; I am not moving from this country for at least 2 months.

Another civil war could break out tomorrow, and the way I feel at the moment I think I would get myself 4 bottles of Star Beer, some popcorn, sit on the balcony, and brazen it out.

Ghana, my latest jaunt (4 days after returning from Liberia), just about finished me off. It didn’t help that I was knackered before I went and seriously didn’t want to go in the first place. Mohammed the driver had a look of panic on his face on Sunday when he dropped me at the boat and I refused to get out the car, gripping onto the dashboard in a near hysterical manner challenging him to make me. I think my cries of ‘don’t make me go, for the love of all that is righteous and holy don’t make me’ were slightly shocking, but the statement ‘if you want me to get out of this car bad boy you’re gonna have to make me’ were a tad too far for the poor man.

But I went heavy, hearted and heavy limbed.

My spirits were slightly uplifted when I arrived in Accra and caught sight of a KFC, which obviously I proceeded to frequently at my earliest opportunity. It was a bloody nice KFC too, I can tell you. Problem is I’m not sure if it contributed or not to being hooked up to the ECG machine in a private Ghanaian hospital 36hrs later!! I am quite sure though that it wasn’t the cause of the violent vomiting (mostly down myself), or the (quite literally) uncontrollable diarrhoea that I was privy to in this moderately developed West African state.

After being given the diagnosis that I had of a viral infection with a bacterial infection and moderate dehydration from a huge African doctor with (and I joke not) the voice of James Brown, his final comments on issue confirmed it. You see I was told officially, and I quote “you’re knackered”.  

So while I didn’t get back to KFC, I did manage to attend my meetings at the University to sort out problems with 2 scholarships that we have with them, before limping back to Salone.

And now I’m back.
And I am not moving.
However this in itself I think could create a further health and safety risk. You see we are now in the wet season and thus there are associates dangers with these rains.

Firstly it appears that if anything that remains stationary for more than 4 hours it  grows a lovely sheen of mould on it. I swear I have never in my life experienced damp like this. When I originally returned after Ouagadougou I had to wash all my clothes, but even on tins of tomato’s and a bloody Marmite jar I’ve found the stuff.

However a more serious and alarming issue this season is creating is, what I will hence forth term as ‘THE BUSH’. Guys I was expecting some frizz with the humidity, but what is happening to my hair is just downright worrying. How hair can frizz and yet be lank at the same time is a mystery to me.

I can cope with mysterious illnesses which make me poo my pants, but as I am now metaphorphing into someone who looks like they poo their pants, a women covered in mould with quite simply a lunatics hair  - well, we are entering desperate times!!

xx