Third-World (err...Developing Country?) Ass Kicking

After three weeks or so, the Dominican Republic has finally kicked me in the bee-hind.

In the beginnings of Monday, January 18, 2010, I was the privileged recipient of a heavy-handed dose of food poisoning, the source of which remains yet unknown. The first gift my bowels awarded to Doña Rafaela's toilet bowl was the remains of some ensalada de repollo, which if I remember correctly was served to me as leftovers from lunch on Sunday evening, having sat out (possibly covered) for the better part of six hours. That it would've triggered a 24-hour rupture of my internal organs seems somewhat unlikely to me, considering I've already eaten quite a fair amount of unprotected leftovers here without my insides getting dragged through the metaphorical dirt.

At this point I'm about 80% back to stasis, except that after yacking every hour on the hour for almost a full day, my throat, and consequently my voice, are shot.

Being sick, no matter the location, sucks, to state it bluntly and obviously. Never more so when you're in a strange location where feeling uncomfortable is substantially more discomforting, due to soul-scorching heat and humidity, dubiously sanitary food and beverage, and a normally absent language barrier that miraculously throws itself up in front of your face when you try to explain to your concerned host mother what's wrong with you. Gracias a Dios pa l@s doctor@s que hablan inglés.

All the more frustrating, I was supposed to begin my internship at Acción Callejera yesterday, which didn't happen because I would've thrown up on a shoeshine boy's shoes. Because my voice is almost nonexistent, I wasn't sure how useful I'd be to them today, so I took today off as well. Here's hoping that my voice will return to me in some form tomorrow, so I can actually start doing what I'm supposed to here.

To all those in the cold North and not-so-cold South, I hope you all are faring better.