I don’t want to leave the house. I wish I had never taken this poison pill of school, thinking that the way out of poverty was education. Wrong answer, back into poverty again.
The insurance is expired on my car and the sticker is with the guard man at work. The trouble is that I will likely get pulled over, then sent to the police station where I’ll have a protracted argument with any number of police officers. I’ll have to bribe one to not send me to court. Then I’ll have to bribe the guard to release the sticker which I’ll have to have when they pull me over again. It’s a never ending cycle.
I went to court once. Never again.
Every day is slow. Glacial slow. I wait for them to finish so I can go to sleep. Sleep is the only thing that’s moderately enjoyable anymore. No one watches me when I sleep. When awake, it seems that everyone is watching and taking notes looking for things to use against me. Not sure why my life is that important.
Big brother is ourselves.
The wash is hung on the balcony. I forget to bring it in. the rains come and it gets wet again. The cycle continues so now I don’t really have any clean clothes, despite having clean clothes hanging on the balcony. Having and not having.
International money transfers are absurdly difficult when you are in a country that has terrorism. You send money, then they watch you and cut you off from sending money and try to send codes to your phone in another country, despite them knowing that you aren7t there. So you have money and don’t have money at the same time. Like the wash. Having and not having.
Not sure if I’ll leave the house. Going to try. Eventually, I will have to eat. A bottle of juice is fermenting on my coffee table. It will explode if I leave it there long enough.
I want to go back to sleep. .
Now that this one has completely dried up, I have to think of options. The simplest option would be to let myself get hit by a bus in Nairobi (likely on most days anyway), but the costs and logistics of getting the body for cremation would be an immense burden on my family. Just not fair, as tempting as it is.
So that’s out.
Having not much to work with, I’m considering a few possibilities. Some might argue that I have options given my degrees and all, but without a social network to support it, it isn’t much use, aside from the general failures of this career which haunt me. Moreover, my mental issues prevent me from doing much that requires long term commitment, let alone produce anything of quality. My putrid character prevents me from working in groups. Not being able to look at email makes things even harder.
So, one has to think of what to do.
As I am 47, my options are limited. Going back to school is out. I can’t really remember anything anymore, and the time commitment would be too much given the small amount of time that’s left in my life. Granted, some people do both, but it can’t be easy.
The Bureau of Labor Statistics, fortunately, provides data on employment numbers, sector growth and average wages. This is quite useful when making plans of what to do upon a move back to the US.
As I know how to drive, taxi driver might be an option. At $12.53 an hour and $26,070 a year on average, it is a possibility. Retail work is about the same. The average wage is $12.67 and the yearly income $26,340. Construction is a bit better, $17.57 an hour and $36,500 a year. I can’t really think of any other options. Food service would get me about $9.16 an hour.
These three possibilities are not without their problems for me. Taxi driving companies are probably not hiring, and to get into Uber I would need a car, which I don’t have and can’t afford. Retail requires that I be nice to people, which is difficult for me since I’m depressed and unpleasant. The problems with construction should be obvious. I’m too old anymore. No one would hire me. Food service pays poorly but it might be my best bet.
So the employment outlook is pretty bleak. I could go back to teaching adjunct, but that would mean that I make half as much as a person working retail, which would make it impossible for me to live and pay my other expenses. I would be better off on welfare.
One might ask why I don’t start looking for jobs related to my skills. Well, when one can’t look at email, one has a really hard time getting work.
I know a lot of this is crazy because I know I’m crazy, but there’s not much to be done about it since it doesn’t appear that it’s going away any time soon. Some people say that one is only crazy if one doesn’t realize it, but that’s nonsense. Most people with mental issues are fully aware of them. It sucks. It’s a living hell. The awful shit you do to other people when you’re like this just makes it all that much worse.
I don’t write this expecting that anyone feel any sympathy at all because it’s my fight and no one else’s. Some days are better than others and any time I get an instrument in my hand, it leaves me temporarily. Some people self medicate with alcohol and drugs, I play the shamisen. Seems a bit healthier. At least its more fun.
Food service it is.
Please don’t email me with any offers of help. Though appreciated, I don’t look at email anymore so it won’t get to me.
MDC wasted no time coming up with this wonder. The next four years are going to be full on.
I went to bed last night, assuming that I would wake up to an America that had pulled together its senses and rejected a misogynistic, xenophobic, inexperienced, uneducated and irresponsible bigot dead set on propping up his own ego and erasing decades of American progress.
But that didn’t happen. And now I’m wondering what the future holds. Life has never felt worse.
I didn’t like McCain, or Romney, or either of the Bushes, but I had no doubt that all of those people had the best interests of the country at heart, even if I disagreed with how they approached it. Trump, on the other hand, is radically different. It has been clear from the beginning that he cares little for the country, exemplified by how ignorant he is of it. The American dystopia he imagines is foreign to me, but might resonate to unemployed, uneducated white people on disability.
So, maybe this is it. Maybe it is time to just cash it all in.
At 47, I never expected my own life to be this bad. I am in a job I hate, living in a place that simultaneously rejects and exploits me, broker than I’ve ever been with no career of job opportunities, watching the life I built for years crumble and burn, leaving a wasteland of people I’ve loved yet hurt and destroyed. It is really hard to go on.
The last is the hardest to take.
I’m not sure I have the will to move on. I have no idea what the future holds as it is blacker than that blackest night. When you’re young, you kind of think that there might be some hope, but when you’re old, there really isn’t anything at all.
It is impossible for me to do simple things like check email. I’ve disabled my social media accounts. This blog will be next. I’ve alienated everyone that ever loved me. Leaving the house is almost a feat. I usually sit for hours trying not to.
“One more cup of coffee….”
I do some music, which is about the only thing I feel I have any control over and that’s always a temporary respite from this noise, but it always falls back to where it was before.
And on top of my personal disaster, my country seems to want to burn itself to the ground.
So, really, what’s the point anymore? People are saying that we should fight… but fight what? It’s clear that this has done irreparable harm. There’s no turning back now.
Sorry for the tone of this post. Fortunately, no one will read it.
WHAT THE FUCK IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?
Humans have had to deal with the threat of snakebites as long as humans have existed. While deaths from snakebites are rare, the outcomes are so severe and the nature of the animal so mysterious, that humans have developed all sorts of ways of dealing with them.
Witchdoctors, or Mganga as they are known in East Africa, are the first line for snakebite treatment here. The Waganga are fairly useless for treating many serious health issues, but they have carved out a niche for themselves for a few public health problems.
Our survey in Western Kenya confirms that nearly 100% of people who have been bitten by a snake visit the Mganga, regardless of whether they visit a formal health facility or not.
I went and sat down with an established Mganga here in Kwale and he was gracious enough to answer all of my questions openly and (mostly) honestly.
Hello, thank you for taking the time to speak with me today. Is English OK?
No, my English is not very good. Can we do this through a translator?
Of course. So, what happens when a patient comes in for treatment for a snakebite?
When the patient comes in, I first apply the “njiwe na njoka” (lit: snake stone). The stone sucks all the poison out of the wound. When you put it on the bite, it will stick. When the stone has absorbed all the poison, it will fall off.
What do you mean? Like it just sticks to the flesh without tying it?
Yes, if there is poison, the stone will stick to the body. When all the poison is gone, the stone will fall off. After it is done, I take the stone and wash it with milk several times and then use it again for the next patient.
What is the snake stone? Is it like a rock? I’ve seen people use charcoal in the villages. They tie it to the wound, it doesn’t appear to stick on its own.
No, this is different. This is a stone from the snake. The stone is in the skull of the snake, like that of a fish.
(Note: I did not know this, but some species of snakes have otoliths, like most fish. Snakes (and fish) are deaf in the traditional sense. The otolith is a piece of calcium which grows as the animal ages and sit on top of a bed of nerves. When there are vibrations, the otolith vibrates, stimulating the nerve bed so that the animal can “hear” motion around it. Not all snakes have otoliths but some species of burrowing snakes do.)
Where do you get the stone? Can you just buy it in the market?
The snake stones come from the Maasai, from big snakes in Maasai land. My teacher travels to Maasai land to get them and brings them back.
If the wound is fresh, I apply the stone. However, if it has been two or three days since the bite, I can’t use the stone anymore. Then I have to use a special medicine made from herbs and crushed snake heads. I mix it all together, then crush it into a powder and keep in a gourd.
When the patient comes in, I use a new razor blade to make small scratches on the wound. Then I rub the powder in it and bandage the wound. The wound will try to heal over time, so you have to make the scratches to be able to apply the powder.
Do you use the razor blade again?
No, I always use a new blade. (He was emphatic on this point.)
What is the powder made from?
Snakeheads. When we kill a snake, we keep the heads to make the powder. We mix it with roots, bark and leaves from special plants from deep in the forest. My teacher is a security guard in one of the forests and can get them when he can find them.
Wait, so your teacher is a forest ranger? Can’t he get by being an Mganga?
Yes. He is a forest ranger.
So he took the job so that he can get the plants from the forest whenever he needs them.
OK, so how many bites do you see per month?
It depends, some months I get more than others but mostly one every three months or so.
Do you refer them to the health facility for formal treatment?
Yes, I do. I treat them, then they go to the facility, then they come back to me. (I’m suspicious on this point, though the Mganga in question appears more together than most.)
Is there a religious component to this?
Well, there are two kinds of bites, those where the snake just bites and there is no witchcraft and those where someone has used magic to send the snake to bite you.
How do you know the difference?
If the bite heals quickly, there is no witchcraft. But if the bite is treated and does not improve then there is definitely witchcraft involved. At that time, I have to use powerful magic to get rid of the curse.
What do you do?
I send the snake back to the person who applied the curse. When we hear that someone nearby has been bitten, we know who applied the curse.
(Note: this is not uncommon. Witchcraft is often associated with hatred and revenge but the person applying the curse risks becoming cursed themselves. It is possible that snakebites are seen as a never ending battle of malevolent spiritual forces. What this does is sow distrust among people, even families and the Mganga is seen as the only cure. The result is that the Mganga are never without work.)
How did you learn this craft?
I was sick for a long time with stomach and head problems. I went to the hospital and it never got better so then I went to an Mganga. I improved. The Mganga suggested that I become on and I started training under him.
Thank you very much for your time.
I made this trip out to the coast, first to do some damn work and second because I can get out of Nairobi and be spared spending Nairobi money for a while. A week’s worth of not-Nairobi-money is money in the bank. In Nairobi, you simply walk outside and 1000 schilling notes start flying away.
Some things I noticed (I’ll get to the snakes in a minute):
- It’s damn hot out here. Nairobi is cold. Here, it’s like being immersed in a sauna continuously, except for the hours of 3 to 5 am, which become cold for some reason.
- Fish from the sea is good. There are ample stocks of mackerel out here. I always want to make 塩サバ and have a side of okra. Or ゴーヤ. Or 山芋. Or something.
- Somalis are cool dudes. As in, they want to do business, they want to make sure you are happy and that you come back again. Kenyan business people are really just interested in getting your money right then probably because they might be out of business tomorrow. They don’t care if you come back. But then, if you don’t keep customers, you will go out of business. Welcome to the world of business in Kenya.
- Somalis make somali coffee, as in, not Nescafe. They put coffee grounds in hot water and steam the shit out of it. It’s refreshing. Though I noticed that they were pulling water from a plastic jerry can on the floor. One has to wonder where the water comes from.
- As much as possible, avoid the tomatoes and onions they put on the pilau (a dish like 混ぜご飯.) Yesterday, as I was eating my pilau, I ate the tomatoes and onions. I knew that things would turn out badly. Imodium is my friend right now.
- Mombasa is a weird place. I always expect to see people with dancing monkeys or snake charmers on the street, but then you look closer and it really is Kenya. They really tried to make a nice city at one point, but the city services never caught up. Trash is a constant problem. But there’s this weird mix of Arab, Brit and Indian architecture. It truly is an international city. They also like perfume. And they love ice cream. I think because they don’t drink and smoke, they can actually smell and taste things.
- Tarbousch: I always used to get the Biryani there, but the waiter convinced me to try the chicken schwarma. Perhaps the best shwarma I’ve ever had. I ordered two in the end.
- Police: Are stupid. Like really dumb. My tuk tuk driver failed to stop for the police, likely because he couldn’t here them over the cacophony of tuktuk motors everywhere. I apologized to the policemen to be friendly. He tried to arrest me for the tuk tuk driver’s failure to stop. The policeman was obviously a complete moron. I had to start fake calling the Kenyan Ministry of Health to “report him.” Eventually he let me go. I hate those guys. Likely, he wanted money.
- Mombasa is remarkably music free. Given Somalia’s rich musical history and the ubiquity of Taraab music in Zanzibar, you would assume the Mombasa might have some kind of musical culture, but it does not. Plenty of people seem to buy stereos and the matatus blast out Bongo (TZ) music, but there’s a stunning lack of performance culture of any kind here. Again, I blame Moi.
- Living in Nairobi will make you really mean. You just stop being nice to people you don’t know. It’s a cancer really.