It’s been a slow week. Mohamed has taken 3 days off so in turn that means I have a few days off. No home visits or village talks this week. I spent time in Kilifi and Takaungu last weekend and just hung out with my host family, and their families. I went into Mombasa on Monday, which has been getting easier and easier. It’s only about an hour bus ride south of Takaungu but it’s busy, so busy. The streets are crammed with matatus and tuk tuk’s (little motorized carts with 3 wheels that act as taxis) and people swarming. Street vendors are among the most aggressive I’ve ever seen and I feel like I have to watch my back every second. When I first started going there it really gave me a lot of anxiety, but now I’m able to appreciate some of the shopping and places to eat a little more, plus it’s where I have to go receive mail. P.s. I don’t suggest sending me anything at this point as it may take longer than I have here to get. The Kenyan postal system is confusing and honestly quite inefficient. So while in Mombasa I figured it was the best place to pick up some Kenyan music. Little stands with speakers blaring always have the best picks. I went in and told the man, “I want the best Swahili and Reggae CD’s, your favorites, ya know, the stuff they play in the matatus.” He hooked me up with 2 discs (one ended up being a music video DVD which is just awesome.)
On Wednesday Kris decided to visit Mnarani club, which is a resort not far from Takaungu. You can pay a day rate and sit by the infinite pool that overlooks the beach and get a pretty decent buffet lunch. It’s a real treat. I wasn’t feeling 100% when I woke up Wednesday morning but it wasn’t bad enough to hold me back. After lunch however things took a turn for the worst. By the time we got back to Takaungu I was doubled over and the vomiting started, with no signs of stopping. Maybe it was the coconut fish, perhaps the water had finally caught up with me, or maybe I picked up a germ from one of the many kids who high-five me throughout the day. My house is usually bustling with family members, and their family’s family members but last night felt particularly busy. All eyes were on the mzungu dashing in and out of the bathroom. Fatima, Saadiya’s mom started speaking to me in Swahili, something about a curse. Saadiya translated that she was telling me that I must be ill because a person who didn’t have food probably had seen me eating and cursed me for it. All the older woman nodded in agreement. Saadiya is of a different generation, I don’t think she took the implication seriously. Either way, as I lay in my bed in total discomfort one of the women came into my room and said, “come, bring your water”. I mustered up some energy and went out to the kitchen area where everyone was sitting with klean kanteen in hand. Fatima pulled up a small bench and had me sit facing her. One of the children brought over a coffee mug, 1/4 full of something. I asked what it was, vegetable oil and a spoonful of salt. Fatima put the class in my hand, all I could think was “it’s hard enough for me to keep from vomiting just sitting here please don’t make me drink it.” She opened my kanteen and started splashing handfuls of water into the class. Her hand accidentally struck the class and I was too weak to hold onto it, it went crashing and shattering onto the concrete. I felt terrible. She summoned one of the kids to start over, more oil and salt. One of the other kids swept up the mess of greasy broken glass. This time she put the glass down before violently throwing water into it. She then took a knife, and as though cutting a pie into 8 pieces dragged it through the mixture. Then I saw a large flat ladle full of hot embers. I thought, “if she heats it up and dissolves it, maybe I can get it down”, her thoughts were not for me to drink it. She quickly grabbed one of the red embers and plunked it into the glass. The oil was sizzling and smoke was pouring from the glass, she shoved it under my nose, motioning for me to breath it in, quickly. I did as I was told over and over again. I could feel hot splashes of salty oil on my lips and the smoke tasted like a camp-fire. I looked at Saadiya with watery eyes, “it’s Swahili tradition,” she said. If it stopped the nausea I was all for it. Once most of the mixture was evaporated she pulled out the cold soggy embers and began rubbing them on my head, mixing them with my hair, it really couldn’t have been more bizarre, or could it? After all the embers were in my hair she motioned for me to pull up my shirt. I looked around for an explanation. “Your stomach”, one of the kids said. Again I did as I was told and exposed my stomach. She dipped the knife into the remaining liquid, now black from the soot, and gently drew a + across my stomach. Then I was fed a spoon full of the liquid. I wish I could say it stopped the illness, but unfortunately it continued through the night, however I was very appreciative for the ritualistic effort. Saadiya has been making me mild meals; free of the fried items I’m typically given. I had been prescribed cripro, a really strong antibiotic before leaving the states in case of situations like this, I wasn’t well enough to keep one down until the morning but think I’m on the upswing. I was even able to visit the juice man tonight.
Kris said her host family also immediately agreed that I must be ill because of someone less fortunate cursing my food and me. It’s interesting because the same people often will offer a tablet of an Imodium equivalent or suggest seeing a Dr. but many people will just wait it out, or seek the help of a medicine man. It begs the question, “how can someone who suggests modern medicine more readily blame witchcraft for an illness over a bacteria?” I’ve heard a few stories of people dying in the village of very treatable illnesses and I wonder how many of them are explained by witchcraft and never properly treated. There are 2 well equipped dispensaries (health clinics), one in Takaungu and the EAC dispensary in Vutakaka, not to mention the Kilifi hospital which is relatively close and from what I hear a very good hospital. I often reflect on things I learned while studying anthropology and compare them to my experiences here. It can be difficult to stay unbiased but also very interesting to witness first hand as modern ideals crash into ancient beliefs and rituals.
Tomorrow Kris and I are venturing to Malindi and Watamu for the weekend, 2 beach cities located north of Takaungu. There are some ruins in Watamu and you can rent bikes to visit them, cirpo willing it will be a great weekend. The rains have stopped and the weather has been nice. Although the heat is squelching there’s usually a nice breeze.
Tonight I’m going to enjoy some ginger tea and reggae and hunker down with a good book.
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