In the early twilight hours, the girls and I set off for our next destination: Arba Minch, the land of 40 springs. Location: Just about as close to the Kenyan border as Peace Corps would allow. One of our friend’s land-family had a sister who lived in Arba Minch, and generously offered to host us for our stay. Upon arrival, my friends and I were instantly bogged down by the heat and humidity and somehow, it only got worse after the sun went down. As we were sitting in our host’s living/dining room waiting for dinner to be ready, each of us was gleaming with sweat and trying to distract ourselves from the stifling heat and swarming mosquitos with a couple competitive games of Catan (which I won…if anyone was wondering). But alas, the distraction wasn’t enough to thoroughly enjoy our meal. While the fish soup was delicious in a way that homemade dishes only can be, the heat of it (both in temperature and spice) set our tongues ablaze and bodies in heat-stroke territory. We all felt obligated to be polite and finish our ‘Fire Fish Soup,’ while mutually commiserating with each other through eye contact. How we got through that meal without laughing…or tears…is still a mystery to me.
We then started getting ready for bed, only to realize that the 6 of us would be sharing a tiny room with two twin size mattresses. We embraced it in the beginning—we were PCVs after all; we could handle it. But ohhhh, were we wrong. If we thought the living room was stifling, it is nothing compared to our bedroom. The window was only able to open about 3 inches because a wardrobe blocked it from being opened any further, so the fresh air was hard to come by (and we were desperate for it). And because the window was screen-less, those nasty little mosquitos found it much too easy to find their way into our room to bite every inch of our skin and buzz around in our ears to the point of insanity. Luckily for us, we found a racquet-shaped bug zapper readily-charged to massacre as many mosquitos as possible every hour throughout the night. In just one swing, the zapper popped and crackled continuously like a sparkler. Jumping around and swinging the racquet around was the comic relief we needed to make it through that first night…and the second. It was pure satisfaction…and the only satisfaction we got in those dreadful hours. Unfortunately, the mosquitos weren’t the only bugs wreaking havoc among us. The three of us on the floor mattress were laying on it perpendicularly, so that only about half of our bodies were off the floor. And that mattress was riddled with bed bugs. I had had my bad case of bed bugs many times over the two years living in Sheno, but this episode was in an entirely different league. Out of the 6 of us, it seemed like I was the most sensitive to them and to put it lightly…it looked as if I had contracted small pox. Ask the masseuse that gave me a full-body massage at the resort on our 3rd day…she was reluctant to touch me, fearing that she too would contract these hideous spots. The 343 bites (yes, we made it a competition and counted) that I had acquired over our two-night stay covered my calves, ankles, lower back, hands, arms, neck and face. Basically, anywhere where my clothing shifted while sleeping, exposing my skin. Thinking about it in such detail now is giving me the heeby-jeebies, so I apologize if it’s having the same effect on you. Originally, we were supposed to stay 3 nights, but we couldn’t bare it. Instead, we told our hosts that we had changed our plans to head home a day early…but really, we splurged on a ‘luxurious’ hotel where I had MY OWN twin mattress with a BED NET. And for the first time in days, we were able to get a solid, good night’s sleep.
For weeks to come, I would wake each morning with the fear that malaria would surface, or I would come down with another bout of typhus. It felt as if the gallons of mosquito repellent or malaria meds that I had cautioned myself with didn’t make a difference; I was bit so many times that I was convinced that that would be how I ended my Peace Corps service. But...that fate never came to be, and for that, I can look back at this experience and laugh at this miserable experience (almost fondly). After all, it is now one of my favorite stories to tell.
