19:00, Thursday, 2 August, 2012

Golly, so much for staying on top of writing this week.  At least this time it wasn’t my fault, as my free time has been spent recovering.  The night of the 29^th I became very ill, waking up to puke every hour.  I have never wanted my mom so badly.  For once I was relieved that no one was poking about outside my tent so that I could remove the horrendous smell of my ever-full bucket.  On one trip back in I couldn’t even make it back to my bed without collapsing on the floor.  It took all of my willpower to get up and close the zipper; only Kay’s stories of hyenas entering opened tents could have gotten me up, and that’s exactly what did it.  The rest of the night I fretted about dehydration; every time I tried to replace my lost water, it came right back up again.  Visions of being flown to Nairobi for an iv and reinstating my dad’s shingles, the ones he got when Joe ended up in some random hospital in El Salvador, waved through my head.  Luckily the morning brought an ability to drink the water Dr. Michelle brought me.  It exhausted me to walk to the kitchen tent and back, and I went all day only eating the two slices of bread that Nora very sweetly delivered.  It was an experience, but all is right now Dad, so no shingles! 

Jackson was diagnosed with typhoid two days later.  Thank goodness he is okay now, having gone to the doctor.  It would seem like quite the coincidence for us to get sick with two different things so close together; I’m intrigued to know if something you have been vaccinated with can still give you symptoms before your body recognizes it.

All of that aside, I am stuck trying to organize everything that’s happened yet again.  I think I will try something new and write about each day by date.  Good thing I keep a few scattered notes; the days run together like you wouldn’t believe!

The night of the 23^rd brought lightning that was nothing but beautiful.  Normally lightning strikes an evolutionary response within you as something dangerous, even if you are not conscientiously afraid.  This lightning was different.  There was no rain accompanying it, and it held only beauty.  The terror was oddly absent as it lit absolutely everything for a second at a time, the night falling immediately back to black.  It was forkless and incredibly bright, illuminating the savanna, bushes, acacia trees, and animals in static glow as electrons jumped from cloud to cloud.  I wanted it to continue forever.

On the 24^th we did a startle-response test at the den.  Nora is piloting a study for Julia, who wants to compare the response of cubs to a pop-gun in undisturbed Serena versus here.  Interestingly, the cubs in Serena couldn’t care less when the pop gun goes off, while the cubs here who live near people stop, pause, and then become frightened and dart off.  Humans seem to have a big effect on their psyche.

The pop gun has given us entertainment in other ways.  One night out on obs, Benson and Charlie, Ian and I were headed to Fig Tree when the other car suddenly pulled up beside us.  Nora hung out the window, Tyler’s do-rag tied around her mouth as she held the teeny pop gun out of the window like a bandit, sending us all into fits of laughter.  We quickly returned the favor by speeding up slightly to catch them, jokingly (and very carefully) holding Charlie’s jack knife out the window yelling “Arrrrr!”.  Fisi camp mini weapon wars.

22:00

Returning home from night obs on the 24^th, Nora was driving.  She proclaimed how much she appreciated driving here after being in Serena; here she didn’t have to worry about running into hippos.  Not five minutes later, we came upon some oddly orange-glowing eyes, set far apart.  The headlights revealed the very first hippo we’d come upon in the car all summer!  The rest of us found it a lot funnier than she did.  No one could ever convince me God doesn’t have a sense of humor.

Kelsey enjoyed the guacamole I held out on my hand for her that night.  Her raspy tongue tickled my fingers.  I’m convinced she knows me, because regardless of where I sit she always comes to my chair first.  It makes me feel so good; how I love her!  I can recognize another genet that comes around now as well.  We call her Verna.  Verna is longer than Kelsey with a bigger face, and much shier.  I held out some bread for her one night, and she made me laugh aloud as she finally worked up the courage to come and get it.  She sprinted in, gently grabbed at one of my fingers with her mouth thinking it was the bread, and ran off empty-handed, looking confused when she reached the edge of the awning again, her courage having yielded nothing.  I could just see her wondering, how does Kelsey do it anyhow?

On the 25^th, Wilson gathered everyone in camp around the table and announced that he will soon be getting married!!!  His wedding will be in September, and everyone is invited, although Charlie and I will be the only ones still here at that time.  I am exquisitely excited to attend a Maasai wedding!  It is going to be very traditional.  When we asked Wilson about his wife-to-be, he said that his father arranged the marriage.  She is 17 to Wilson’s almost 25.  He knows and likes her, but it doesn’t sound like they know each other real well.  Usually I would feel bothered by a girl’s family choosing who she will marry, but she could only ever be lucky with a guy as sweet as Wilson.  I sure hope she realizes how great he is.  Two seconds following the announcement, Michelle blurts out, “So, when are the kids coming?”  Leave it to Michelle. 

The rest of that night the guys chuckled as we attempted to learn a popular Maasai song.  Wilson had written it down at our request, and all of us wazungu gathered around to sing (if one can call it that).  We were very good at the “eee” and “aaa” parts, but everything else needs some disciplined practice.  Following are the first two lines, the only ones that I (almost) have memorized (it is in Maa):

Emyiana enkaina naishooyo eee!

Peelangu enkaina (something) aaa aaa!

It’s such a culturally embedded song, about giving more than you receive, and I love it.  We want to get good and perform it at the school; I know that children would be flabbergasted and overjoyed to see some white people actually engaging in their culture.

The next morning Benson and I practiced singing the song on the way to Prozac territory.  At one point we decided to switch roles; Benson sang in a ridiculously high squeaky voice like a Maasai woman, and I belted in the lowest voice I possibly could.  We sounded absolutely ridiculous.  But hey – you’ve got to stay awake somehow at five in the morning!

Looking for your headlamp when it is on your head = time to go to sleep.  More tomorrow.