My feet get very dark here in my sandals. I was staring at them a moment ago and noticing the lovely tan that I am getting. Then I took a shower and my miraculous “tan” washed off in a murky grey mess, the product of smog and copious amounts of red dust in the air. I am not tanned - I am just a dirty shade of orange-ish brown. The rainy season is coming and the air is humid. The result ia a soft coating of reddish-orangish-brown sand decorating my skin. Something about it makes me giggle every time it happens (which is every day.) I suppose I should be disgusted about being perpetually dirty, but each and every day, as my pseudo-tan washes down the drain in a muddy whimper, I let out a little teehee. I’ve been living in Africa on-and-off since November, and every little “inconvenience” about living here still makes me giggle.
Last Wednesday I was at a party and Adam made a comment (crack? -Ermm..) about me being rude (Moi?! N’importe quoi!) and when he said it, Virginia, my boss, piped up (with a smile so bright it even rivals those of the children here) that I was the most enthusiastic and positive person in the office “even on Monday mornings!” When she said it, she practically squealed, and I beamed so brightly.
I am constantly beaming here, and so genuinely. I mention in my profile that I have never been so physically uncomfortable or so happy in my life: The latter is definitely the truth (who would have known that a person could love life so incredibly?) the former, I had been so used to it that I stopped noticing any difficulties.
Until recently.
Until 4 days ago, I was genuinely, completely, unequivocally, the happiest I had been in my life, and possibly the most uncomfortable, but really hadn't noticed the latter anymore. However, for the last four days, one tiny thing has thrown my days off-kilter, and the result is that I spent the entire weekend (let alone Smiley/Happy/Cheerful Mondays) not only being unenthusiastic, but being positively negative. On Monday, Brian, our logistics manager and my personal hero, cheerfully asked if I had had a good weekend: I pouted and shamelessly hurled out a resounding “NO.” ...An answer I had never (ever) voiced before at work. But now, since my work has moved me to a new apartment, and since I spent a miserable weekend, I finally voiced it:
NO. I did NOT have a good weekend. And on this Monday Morning, I was NOT HAPPY.
The "dire" issue? : My new bed:
I moved to a new apartment on Friday. My new bed is so hard that I checked under both the sheets AND the mattress to see if possibly the last tenant had slipped a sheet of wood under there, if not a whole plank of solid concrete. I have lain in bed over the last several days and literally (seriously) contemplated whether sleeping on the floor on a pile of clothes might be more comfortable. For the first three days I suspected that perhaps this might be a case of princess-and-the-pea-syndrome since my last apartment was such a palace (and, let’s face it, I am the quintessential Spoiled Brat: Fortunately so, because I’ve been so incredibly lucky, and Unfortunately so, because I fear it makes me a less-likeable human being), but I have since had the bed verified by two girlfriends of mine and they have both responded in ways that confirm that my whininess has been legitimate. Temporary Roommate pushed on my bed with her fists and said (with genuine shock), “Oh, wow.... That is hard!” Temporary Roommate invited a friend over, and since Friend had no You-are-my-Roommate-so-I-will-be-Polite reasons for lying, her yelps upon touching my mattress caused me to give out a sigh of relief. I am not just a Western princess complaining about her difficult life: my mattress is unbelievably hard. Like, maybe-sleeping-on-the-floor-will-be-more-comfortable-HARD. I sleep for only about 3 to 4 hours a night. I spend the rest twisting and contorting my body against the most solid substance I have ever had to lie upon, kicking against my mosquito net and wishing that I could just fall ASLEEP but OW my SKIN and my MUSCLES HURT OW...
The result is that I spend my nights wanting to cry about the fact that crap, my bed sucks, and crap, crap, crap, I am such an (expletive) spoiled little Western (expletive) brat.
Since Friday, I have woken every morning in cranky tenderness, contorting my muscles and moaning in pain as my bones creak against one another. I groan and mope over to the bathroom in the mornings praying that there will be hot water in the shower to soothe my muscles before I trudge over to work. Except that in this apartment, not only does my shower not work, the feeble trickle of water dribbling from the showerhead feels like it’s pouring from my (ineffective) air conditioning unit. The result is that I can’t use the shower at all, and instead of having hot water pour over my aching muscles, I am back to dunking a bucket in a tub of cold water and pouring it over my head repeatedly, praying that it will be enough water to rinse the suds out of my hair and trying not to cringe from the cold, since that just makes my bones and muscles ache further.
It’s been very difficult for me to deal with this for the last four days because a) I’m obviously finding it painful, but b) I’m fully aware that this is no big deal. I am one of the most privileged people I know. I actually *have* an air-conditioning unit, while most of the country is sweltering in wooden shanties with thin tin roofs. I actually have access to purified water, and I have the opportunity to bathe every day. I live in a country where very few of the nationals actually sleep in a bed at all, let alone on a solid mattress. They sleep on concrete, on wooden planks, on dirt. In the rainy season, the concrete, the wood, the dirt, is wet. I, A-Lok, cannot complain.
But I will admit that my skin and muscles still do.
No comments:
Post a Comment