The little blue spots

I often wrote about them, but never had the bandwidth to upload a photo.  Here they are, the little blue spots on MI medium, the source of so much heartache and ultimately so much joy – ladies and gentlemen, I give you – E coli.

In which I am an internet addict (and a bit of a loser)

I arrive at my guest house at night, during a power cut.  Luckily someone lends me a torch.  For a couple of hours, I don’t quite trust myself to turn it off.  Maybe I’m worried I’ll never find it (and therefore the toilet) ever again.  Or perhaps I’m just worried about rogue cockroaches.  With the torch next to me in bed, I lye listening to the shuddering of the neighbour’s generator.  In my half-sleepy and just-taken-my-Lariam state, the generator buzzing starts to sound a bit melodic.  I drift in and out of sleep listening to its sultry tones.  At some point in the night the generator clicks off and I become aware of the buzzing sound of a mosquito in the resulting stillness.  In the morning I wake to find it has bitten me on the face.

The first day is a blur.  As well as trying to get a grasp on the geography of my new surroundings, there’s a new SIM card and dongle to use, many new people to meet and remember, and plenty of admin to be done – because unfortunately, with the study scheduled to begin next week, we still do not have the agar which we need to grow the bacteria in, and without this agar, there is nothing we can do.  No agar, no buggies, no project.  So my supervisor and I are on a bit of a charm offensive, making phone calls, sending emails, setting up meetings, and racking our brains for more people to call, e-mail, beg.  (And while we’re on the subject, if you just happen to know of anyone in West Africa who coincidentally has a stash of MI agar about the place, send them my way!)

At about 6pm my supervisor drops me back at my guest house, and for the first time all day I’m by myself.  I take a little walk around the nearby area – lots of tiny street-side stalls selling food, drink, tires, plastic bags with the Louis Vuitton pattern on.  I want to buy something, to interact a bit, get a bit of a feel of the place, but I don’t for two reasons.  Firstly, my acid reflux is really going some from all the red-red chicken (sort of a chicken and bean stew) and plantain that I had for lunch, and I really don’t feel like eating (my portion was, seriously, enough for a small family).  Secondly, embarrassingly, I’m just plain old shy.  As darkness begins to fall, I head back to my guest house, disappointingly early.  I console myself with the fact that I will be here for 10 weeks – no need to be too adventurous on the first day.  Still, retreating to Facebook and the Guardian with my tail between my legs feels a bit like failure.  “How to lose your embarrassment about your foreignness”, answers on a postcard please!