don't really know what to write anymore

It's been tough motivating myself to blog because I know that I do not have the time or patience to fully describe all my day-to-day thoughts and experiences. Well, given that disclaimer, here's a few pitiful paragraphs.

This past Sunday's events were quite comical now that I think about it. I woke up Sunday morning with a weird feeling in my stomach. I laid down for a while but didn't think anything of it because I figured I was just getting sick from all the bug spray I was spraying around in the room. (killing moths, roaches, spiders, flies, mosquitoes, you name it.) I made myself get up and go to a church called Fairview Baptist with two expat friends. (By the way, I think I'm going to settle down at Fairview Baptist...wow, look at me, I'm a Baptist!) So I go to the church service, but the entire time I'm feeling slightly nauseous and saliva is collecting in my mouth. I leave the service a couple of times to go outside and spit out all the excess saliva. (One time, in the middle of one of the Bemba worship songs.. Bemba being one of the local African languages here...)  After the service meet and greet,  the expat girls and I meet up with Betty, a small, elderly Southern Baptist missionary lady from Texas with a pleasant Southern twang. (The funny thing is, she's lived in Africa for TWENTY years..... 15 of those years in the African bush.......... this is why she's so awesome.)

We pile into her pick-up truck. (Yes, a pick up truck.) It was a hilarious moment. There we were -- me, a Chinese-looking female, a young white female, and a young black female-- in the backseat and passenger seats, with a small, elderly Southern woman droving stick in the front.

We cruised our way to a cafe in Manda Hill, one of the two strip malls that represents the most upscale areas of all of Zambia. [You don't know how comforting it is to walk around a strip mall when you're in Africa... well for me at least....] We ordered. I ate oatmeal. We talked about Betty's experiences living in the bush. We talked about Zambian culture. And we complained about all the annoying things we had to deal with day to day while living here. It was quite cathartic.

Then we paid our bill, got up, and walked outside. On the way to the car, I started feeling really really bad. I limped over to a trash can. I spit out more of the collected saliva. Then I started gagging. Betty and the two other girls, who had gone ahead, came back and crowded around my hunched figure, concerned. Then... I threw up some oatmeal. They clucked in concern and handed me some tissues. I threw up some more oatmeal. They handed me some water. Several Zambians walked by me curiously. Normally, I would have been mortified if I was vomiting in public. But, I didn't really care-- I felt awful and it's not like I didn't stick out already. When I was finished, I rinsed my mouth, wiped my face, and said "Wow, I feel a lot better." Then we walked back to the pickup truck.

We went to Betty's house to hang out for the rest of the afternoon before the "International Bible Study." That's the expat / missionary Bible Study on Sundays that I've been regularly attending. (It's where I've befriended the Southern Baptist missionary couples.) It's run by the Southern Baptists, but open to any and all. At Betty's house, we lounged around. I looked at Betty's wall of books, and picked up John Eldredge's "Wild At Heart." I'd heard about the book, and had heard many Christian friends rant about and/or make fun of John Eldredge in general. I skimmed through it, and read about the deepest desires of all men's hearts-- something about adventure, battle, and beauty. The part about men longing for adventure struck a chord with me. I felt like that section described some of the deepest desires of my heart. I put down the book and went through one of my "I-should-have-been-a-guy" moments.

We went off to the Bible study. Despite feeling not-so-well, it was still a good session. A white South African man gave his testimony about accepting Jesus 7 weeks ago. Then 3 newcomers introduced themselves; they were part of the "Flying Mission"... I was unclear about what they did exactly...but from what I gathered, it was missionary work, but cooler, because it involved flying a plane. We went through Exodus, the part when Jethro starts giving Moses advice about how to organize the Israelites.

I started feeling aches and chills. I told my friends about it. "Maybe it's malaria," they said matter-of-factly. "Yeah, maybe," I replied. Visions of lying on a hospital bed for weeks close to death started forming. Then I remembered that I read somewhere that the malaria parasite only needs one night to multiply 2 or 3 fold. I began to panic a bit. I asked one of the Southern Baptist missionary couples who I'd befriended (not Betty, but another awesome lady) to take me to the 24/7 expensive expat medical clinic to get a blood test to see if I had malaria. By that point, I was 90% convinced that I had malaria.

When I described my symptoms to the doctor (a spectacled light skinned Zambian man with dreadlocks, a T shirt with Jamaican flags, and a lazy eye) and demanded that I get a malaria test, he started chuckling.

"You definitely do not have malaria," he said. He pointed out that I myself had said I had not gotten any mosquito bites for the past two weeks. He also pointed out that my temperature was normal.

"But, I have aches, chills, vomiting, and I feel weak," I protested. "That's most of the malaria symptoms right there!"

He grinned. "If you really had malaria, you wouldn't be able to argue with me," he said. "All first-time malaria patients have extremely severe symptoms."

"If it isn't malaria, then what could it be?!" I grumbled.

"Probably a virus of some sort. They're going around. Here, I'll prescribe you some anti-nausea medication."

"But.... how about some malaria treatment just in case?"

"Don't be like other Zambians," he said. "Every time they get sick, they think it's malaria. Most of the time it's something else."

Eventually, I conceded. I said I would visit the next day for a blood test if I still didn't feel better.

I went to bed that night worrying about malaria.

But I woke up the next morning, feeling almost completely better. So, it was indeed a temporary stomach virus. Whew.