I guess it’s like midnight:01 and I’m burping in my hotel room.
I’m not drunk, you weirdo. Just sick. Which is a type of being drunk, if you think about it. Drunk from being healthy. But all metaphors and allusions and blah blah blah aside, I don’t drink. You should know that by now.
No, I’m cooped up in my hotel room in Nairobi. Been here just over a month. Been sick the whole time.
It’s a crazy story. At first I thought it was food poisoning, then travelers’ diarrhea, then anxiety, and then…. Whatever man.
Long story not so long – I went to a clinic last Tuesday and they told me I had Typhoid fever.
Strange. I just got vaccinated for typhoid fever right before I left Minnesota. So what gives?
See, I’m a literal guy. I take people for their word. In my world, you say what you mean. Nothing less nor more.
That’s why it boggles me when people ask me DO YOU REALLY MEAN THAT? Why in God’s green earth would I say something that I didn’t mean? Anyway.
That typhoid diagnosis was a bald-faced lie. It was an open-faced sandwich. How do I know?
Because the medication they prescribed me did nothing but make my condition worse. And it only got worse until I found myself in the ER. This is Africa, my friend, they will take every penny you have. And when there is nothing to take, they will take even more. How much is your health worth to you?
I was on the phone with a friend today and she said “I’m pretty sure a lot of the hospitals over there survive on the money they extort from concerned Diasporans.” I had to agree. Remember when my brother was sick, we paid thousands and thousands of dollars to get him from Somalia to Kenya. Ultimately what he needed turned out to be a quick fix, but we got hustled and scammed and bled dry from one place to another.
Isn’t it interesting how 5 different hospitals will give you 5 different diagnoses? That doesn’t happen in other parts of the world. But this is Africa. Home of corruption.
Something’s bothering me… I never cussed out those people for giving me a false diagnosis and taking my money and giving me medicine that only made me worse. Truthfully, I haven’t had the energy. I’m too busy thinking about worst-case scenarios and how imma get back home. And burping. A lot of burping.
The friendly folks at Aga Khan University Hospital told me two nights ago that I have no typhoid. Which was a relief and a shock. The doctor said the medicine you were taking likely made your condition worse. So what do I have? Blastocystis hominis. A digestive tract microbial parasite. It’s nasty stuff, you don’t even wanna know my symptoms. Whatever happened to good old H Pylori? 7 days of antibiotics and you’re back on your feet. Results by day 2.
This stuff is a lot harder on me. I haven’t gotten rest. I tried sleeping but woke up shivering. Burping. Distended, stummy bloated. This is not fun.
Thankfully my diarrhea is no longer diarrhea and just loose stools now. But I’m still going to the bathroom more than I’d like to. And the symptoms seem to hit in waves. Earlier I had a metallic taste in my mouth. Burping like Homer Simpson. Occasional stomach pain.
But things are actually less severe now. Still bother me, but not like the other night. Oh no. The other night it got so bad I had to call a taxi to take me to the hospital. Taxi because this is Africa. Ambulance? Lmao please. And there’s a curfew in Nairobi, 10PM-4AM. I think it’s been in place since the pandemic started. They are dying for a good night out here. I don’t even go out at night, except to the riverside, but I can relate to their plight. Anywhoville.
I don’t know if I’m getting better or not. I do know that my stummy is very sensitive in the best of conditions. And any throwing off of the equilibrium throws me for a loop.
You see, I’m neurodivergent and most likely on the spectrum. Waiting for testing to confirm that, but believe me when I tell you I’m (Larry David Voice) prettyyyyy pretty pretty pretty sure about this. Anyway, scientists have seen that there’s a link between autistic people and sensitive stummys. Stummy issues. Well, it makes sense, right? If folks are sensitive to the world *in general*, why would they not be sensitive internally? Right.
SO I say all that to say that I really only wrote this to take my mind off my stomach. And I’m grateful that I’m feeling at least good enough to write at midnight:14, in my hotel room, in Nairobi city, Nairobi county, Kenya, East Africa, Earth.
Tell Elon Musk he owes me a Tesla and some stock shares. What I do to earn it? Man who are you, the feds? Don’t worry about what I did, or who it was done to, and why Elon Musk now owes me. I’m Kevin Durant’s Twitter burner: don’t watch me.
I would promise to keep you updated but lmao I’m not gonna do that. I’ll be fine Insha Allah. Either way, pray for a nigga! Send some good thoughts my way, or a friendly message. I could use this company. I love being alone, until I get sick, and the loneliness becomes a prison for my anxious thoughts. Yiggity yikes.
Be easy, then.
And if I blocked you: aight, then.