I was daring last night. Reckless. I ate some salad I shouldn’t have. My stomach has forgotten what it used to know, back when I lived here. It no longer knows how to handle raw vegetables washed in tap water. So I’ve just had my first restless and fitful night of illness. I’m sure it won’t be the last.
It’s very chilly here. I’ve hardly seen the sun since I arrived; it has been overcast and threatening to rain every day. The house isn’t heated at all, so I find myself just burrowed in bed whenever I have the chance. It’s almost lunchtime here and I’m still burrowing. My stomach is hostile to the idea of food right now.
When my Kenyan friends see me, they all exclaim “You look the same! But you’ve lost weight!” with faint disapproval. They don’t believe America has been feeding me well enough. Shame, shame, America.
My stay is still going very pleasantly. My jet lag has been pretty minimal, which is surprising and wonderful. Two nights ago I slept for 12 hours. Twelve! I think I’m still recovering from the crazy travels.
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