Saturday, 14 March 2009
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Worst Vacation Ever - The green hills and valleys of Uganda beguiled me into a sense of tranquility not fit for the purpose of my visit here: a dentist appointment. Ten thousand curses upon all wisdom teeth. The dentist’s evil instruments wreaked their unholy havoc upon my maladjusted third molars; an experience from which I’m still reeling. My God I could go for a smoke, and something to cure me of my unkind sobriety.
Back in Sudan - Morning is an uninvited guest; a stubborn and insufferable mule. I face it grudgingly, grasping a plastic cup full of steaming tea, black and bitter, which rightly matches my disposition. I’m still thinking the thoughts of last night -- thoughts inspired by a coffee-induced restlessness which spared me no reprieve or escape into fancy. Thoughts… of 1.4 billion people living in extreme poverty; of women walking 3 miles to a stream for water which will probably make their children sick; of a little girl with a skinned knee, and the flies swarming around it; of an unconscious man by the side of the road, and the crimson rivulet of blood flowing from his ear; of how he died two days ago. I think of how I still refuse to consider my own mortality. Instead, I diverge into literature.
“No! a man is better at home. Here, at all events, you can lay the blame on others, thus justifying yourself in your own eyes. I may perhaps undertake an expedition to the North Pole, because drink, which used to be my only solace, has at last sickened me.” – Svidrigailoff to Raskolnikoff in Crime and Punishment
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