Malarial motivation

I awoke early this morning with three needs foremost in my mind: drops for my dry eyes, water for my dry throat, and something to write on-and-with. I was inspired to do some writing. I have my third case of malaria in four months. I’m getting good at recognizing the early warning signs. I called it last night, and this morning I’m propped up in bed, giddy with fever, writing. Perhaps malaria is my “muse.” Being creatively motivated (motivatedly creative?) only when terribly ill doesn’t bode well for my growing backlog of writing tasks. But here we are. As long as I don’t lapse into a fever dream and start writing about that, I see no harm in it.

I’m reminded of our first run-in with malaria shortly after arriving at the mission base.

Carmen and I are bedridden.
Ngunza and Barianne stand in our doorway.
Ngunza laments, “It makes us sad to see you like this.”
I reply, “It make us sad to be like this.”

Old habits die hard. I’m still a night owl. Owls and mosquitoes keep the same hours. So I stay up late and get malaria.

I should go for a malaria test to confirm my amateur diagnosis. Or I can wait for the accompanying stomach cramps, aching bones, vomiting, headache, diarrhea, and exhaustion that will obviate the test.

Today (the 13th as I write this) is the third anniversary of my first arrival in Angola. The COVID-19 virus got here shortly after I did. You can read how it almost ruined my trip (but in the end made it vastly better) here: Welcome to Angola, Something Always Goes Wrong. I periodically add to the story, so stay tuned to this space.

Now if I could only make those hippos stop singing, maybe I could concentrate. I have more writing to do.