In America

Well. I am in the Atlanta airport, sitting in a restaurant called “Paschal’s”, drinking a mixed drink in a fancy glass, waiting on my first plate of restaurant nachos in 15 months.

You must be wondering why I’m in America. Well, my grandfather passed away over the weekend. My mom called and told Peace Corps how important he was to me and they granted an exception and gave me emergency leave (usually they only grant it for parents/siblings). So my flight out of Bamako was delayed like 3 hours last night and we didn’t get in the air until like 2am. Got to Paris, left on time. I just arrived in Atlanta not long ago at all. Once we got off the plane, we had to go through customs, where a dude with a Brooklyn accent cleared me in moments. Then I had to wait what seemed like FOREVER for my bag. I was in such a rush, thinking I was going to miss my flight, I threw my bag on top of my head, making it obvious to everyone in the airport that I have lived in West Africa for the last 15 months. People were looking at me like I was crazy. But I was in a rush, and it was much easier to carry it on my head.

So I dropped that with the re-check-in guys and BOOTED it to get to my gate. I get there, I hand her my stuff and tell her I need to check in for Greensboro. I’m wondering why they’re not boarding yet. Then she tells me that flight is cancelled and so have the last 4. I was like SHIT. What about Charlotte? She said same thing, the weather in that part of North Carolina is just not good right now.

So I’m rebooked for a 7:10pm flight to Greensboro, and inshallah, it will take off. The gate agent was nice enough to lend me her phone to call my mom because she said the pay phones were “way too expensive”, and my mom said that the snow in NC was letting up. So a girl can dream. Linda said that Maggie was having the same problems.

So, verdict on the nachos is “OH MAN, it’s that crappy nacho cheese and not REAL cheese. And no beans! But a healthy dollop of sour cream.” So I didn’t eat all that much of it. I thought, “in Mali there’d be a little African child to give these leftovers to…here they are just going in the trash.” Sigh.

But these drinks she’s been bringing me have been good, and strong, like she promised. I’m on #3, which will be my last one. They’re like $7 apiece and they’re the cheapest one. America is expensive.

So. My flights have been painful. And not because of the armpit infection. That one feels fine. It’s the one on my abdomen/hip. It’s been hurting like a bitch this whole time. In the Paris airport I went to the bathroom and took the band-aid off it, reapplied triple antibiotic, and recovered it with gauze and tape this time, because I thought the band aid was what was hurting. Towards the end of the flight from Paris to Atlanta, it started feeling wet. And not hurting. And I was like that’s weird. So I went to the bathroom here in the Atlanta airport after finding out my flight was cancelled and apparently it burst or something. There was gross pus-y stuff all over the gauze and there is a HOLE in my stomach! I’m like FUCK. I hope that’s a good sign. I cleaned it with a moist towelette, put more triple antibiotic on it, and put a new gauze and tape on it. It’s been stinging since then. I don’t like seeing sort of large holes that open up into my insides. That is pas bonne. Luckily my aunt Sue should be able to at least help me clean it good and tell me if it’s normal/good when I get to NC. She is a nurse at a hospital. I’m thinking getting pus out, since there was evidently some in there, is probably a good thing. Considering what they did to me at Clinique Pasteur yesterday.

Oh I haven’t even told this story. So I get into the bureau and show doctor Dawn the ping-pong sized ball in my armpit. She’s like oh, well I will stick a needle in it and see if I get any pus out and if I do I’ll send you to Clinique Pasteur and let Dr. Toure cut it open and drain it. So she sticks the needle in it and pulls the plunger and a little droplet of pus comes out in the syringe. Awesome. So they send me to CP. And after a WHILE, I finally get called into the operating room. The nurse (who seemed like a pretty capable dude), started shooting me up with local anesthetic. That HURT. Not really the needle, but the pressure of all the liquid anesthetic. So then we wait a couple of minutes for Dr. Toure. He comes in. No pomp and circumstance. I don’t even think he said a word. He just walked right in, picked up the scalpel, and stabbed me. He and the nurse were holding me down. I was trying hard to be a good patient. Then he picked up scissors. I was like, “WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU GONNA DO WITH THOSE SCISSORS???” And he cut me with those. And THEN, the real pain started. They started squeezing the ping pong ball, all around it, as hard as they could. I was involuntarily screaming and kicking my legs. It fucking HURT. They keep wiping with gauze and getting new gauze and Dr. Toure is saying, “trop de pus! Trop de pus!” And then they finally stop. And I’m like HOLY SHIT. And he’s like, “ok, we got all the pus out, you’re good. The nurse is gonna patch you up now.” So then the nurse starts like shoving gauze with antiseptic on it into the wound and I’m kicking again, but Dr. Toure has left. Mercifully, he finally finishes (after shoving a piece of gauze INTO the wound and covering it) and I get to get up. I almost fell when I tried to stand up. They give me antibiotics and a painkiller and send me on my way.

Aissata was like, “let me sit down before you tell this story” because apparently she doesn’t like gore, when I was telling her and Dr. Dawn about it when I got back to the med unit.

So hopefully I am in better shape than before. But I’ll tell ya…that shit was painful. Welcome to West African medicine. And this was at a patron clinic. If I’d been at a vrai centre de santé, there would have been no anesthesia, next to no sanitation, and probably a ton more pain (and more people holding me down).

But hey, if anything goes wrong now, I get to see an American doctor. Who will hopefully know what to do. There was a horror story from someone in Guinea who came to the US and came down with malaria and the doctor had no experience with tropical diseases and ended up making her recovery way worse than it had to be (she was in the hospital for like a week).

America is weird. People talk/complain about the weirdest shit. I may have thought this before Africa, though. Americans are so fat. And I can’t believe we eat some of the disgusting stuff we eat. Like the nachos I had earlier. Gross. I am sore about it, too, because now I am at the Samuel Adams restaurant and THEY have nachos with REAL cheese AND beans.

All I want to do is eat. Food sounds delicious. I need to pace myself. And not eat anything disgusting. I have a month. Just have to keep reminding myself.