On Real Sickness

Last night's adventure at the hospital was something else. My friend Festus - a Nigerian Englishman with a love of death metal and a severe attention deficit - had a fever and was getting worse and worse until by midnight, he was weak as a kitten and very nauseous. So we took him to a Ghanaian private clinic and by 1AM he had an IV in him and was being treated for a possible malaria infection. Myself, Meghan, Meryl and Erika slept on couches in the lobby overnight to make sure he was okay. By morning, he wasn't much better, but at least he's getting attention from professionals.

To add to this, now I am nursing a wicked fever. I had a bit of a cough last night and trying to sleep on a couch under a giant fan did not help my situation. When I got home I slept all morning, tried to go to my afternoon classes and found myself feeling weak, hot and disoriented. Meaghan took my temperature and it was at 101.5F. So I spent the afternoon in my room sleeping, drinking lots of water and munching on Malt n' Milk biscuits as the motherlike Meaghan took care of me. I'm not feeling nauseous, so I don't think it's malaria, but it looks like tomorrow's trip to the Volta Region is in jeopardy. Bugger.

On the upside, whilst watching Ice Cube's seminal film, Are We There Yet?, I realized that there are much worse things than having malaria.