My dearest friends and family,
Most people, when they travel, end up missing one thing or another from home. Loved ones, favorite foods, special songs and meaningful places often rank high on the list. I've missed my fair share of things since I've been here -- with cold-cut turkey, Harborfest, Lake George, and the Ithaca Farmer's Market undoubtedly in the top ten. However, as I type this email today, the thing I am missing most...would be a small chunk of my right calf, which is currently either in the belly or the fecal material of a vervet monkey in Livingstone, Zambia.
Yes, my friends, it's true. I, Jennifer Orkis, am a real live victim of monkey assault. After all the jokes that were made about me getting attacked by a giraffe or an elephant, it was none other than one of my closest evolutionary relatives that got me in the end. But this was just one in a series of unfortunate events that have been the past few weeks…
The bad luck started three Wednesdays ago, when I lost the diamond ring mom and dad got me for my 16th birthday. It was (fortunately) found by an acquaintance, who then (unfortunately) demanded my equally sentimental yet less expensive silver ring as payment. The loss of the ring, I believe, was what set the rest of it in motion. The next morning, traveling companion Peter Chabwela and I set off for Livingstone. Livingstone, as you may know, is the pride and joy of Zambia -- home to Victoria Falls, aka Mosi-O-Tunya -- "The Smoke That Thunders." As one of the Seven Natural Wonders of the World, it has an average annual flow of 1 million litres per second, is wider and higher than Niagara, and has a spray visible from over 50 km away. It's also an extreme sport haven -- bungee jumping, white water rafting, gorge swinging, microlighting, the works. I had more-or-less been dreaming about how much fun this trip was going to be ever since I found out I had an internship in Zambia.
The fact that, as a non-Zambian-resident, I had to pay 20x the amount that Peter did to enter the falls did not bother me. I was still not fazed when, after paying $10 to his $0.50, the park employee told us that one of the two trails to the falls was under construction, and we could not use it. I then just started laughing out loud when, after the 6 months of build-up, we found "The Smoke That Thunders" neither smoking nor thundering. To call it "bone dry" would be generous. We had to search high and lo to actually see any running water -- after I had been told I'd need an umbrella and a raincoat so that I did not get soaked. I have attached a picture I got off a website of what the falls normally look like, one of of me and the non-existent Victoria Falls, and another of the little trickle that I like to call Victoria Dribbles.
That night was fun, we went on a sunset cruise with unlimited drinks, food, and African scenery. I was careful not to have toooo much fun, seeing as I was FINALLY going white water rafting in the morning. Bedtime was early that night, in preparation for the next day's adventures.
I woke up in a panic the next morning after having one of the top five worst nightmares of my entire life (without going into too much detail, it concluded with me getting shot in the neck). The thought that this was a warning that something bad might happen crossed my mind, but I quickly dismissed it, got ready, and set off to meet up with the rest of the nameless, faceless rafting crew -- Peter wasn't going (water sports are not a preferred pastime for most Zambians, understandably so, as most of the waters in the country are infested with crocodiles and hippos) and I didn't know anyone else who was. I admit it made me a bit nervous to go solo, but knew I'd never hear the end of it from certain friends and family members if I had a chance to wwr on one of the best rivers for rafting in the world and didn't take it.
It was not 20 steps into the trek from the "adventure village tent" to the congregating place that yours truly was accosted by the vervets. Until that point, the monkeys -- there had to be at least 100 of them running around freely at the place we stayed -- and humans had been peacefully co-existing. I still don't know what I did to provoke the little buggers. I was not carrying food, I was not making evil faces or scary noises, I was literally just walking on the path. There were a few on the right, a few a little further ahead on the left. I sidestepped a bit around those on the right...and a mama with a baby on her belly ran up from the left side and took a nice little taste of my right leg. Her doing so apparently meant that the rest were free to attack, and before I knew what was happening I had about 5 monkeys grabbing at my legs. Never having been taught what to do in the event of monkey assault, I just started running like hell (high knees, high knees). They followed for a few steps and -- thankfully -- decided I wasn't worth it. While sufficiently scared, the damage wasn't too bad. Evil Mama Monkey had broken the skin and I was bleeding a bit, but I figured, hey, throw a plaster (Band-Aid) on it and get me in a raft...which just goes to show how non-medically minded I am (a bit frightening actually, after having been a biology major and currently being involved in public health...). When I asked the guides for the plaster and explained what happened, they started shouting about all the things that had never crossed my mind: "Tetanus! You need a tetanus injection!" "Rrrrrabies! Start the rabies vaccinations!" I quickly realized that I would not, in fact, be spending anytime on the Zambezi with a paddle in my hand that day.
Peter didn't know quiiiite what to do with me when I arrived back at the tent and burst simultaneously into tears and laughter. Heck, Ididn't even know what to do with myself. I was torn between hating everything (stupid monkey ruined the whole trip) and being wholly amused at the absurdity of the situation (who the hell has a trip this bad?). I decided to go for a "laughter (combined with tetanus and rabies injections) is the best medicine" approach.
Soooo, P.C. and I took a nice little trip to Dr. Shafik's Hospital, where I had an unnecessary amount of gauze, tape, and ace bandage wrapped around my leg, was jabbed in the left shoulder with the tetanus shot, in the right with the first of what would be 5 rabies injections, and was given a course of the worst tasting antibiotics ever invented. k300,000 later, I was assured that I would not start foaming at mouth.
We actually had a lot of fun for the next 48 hours - there were helicopters rides to take, giraffes and white rhinos to photograph, football (read: soccer) matches to watch, pizza to eat, famous people concerts to watch, and dancing to do. Luck had really turned around. Life was grand.
Until, that is, the end of our 6-hour, very un-air conditioned bus ride back to Lusaka -- at which point I got stuck in the door of the bus upon exiting. Not wanting to battle the dangerous energy of travelers who have finally reached their destination, I waited patiently for the rest of the bus to clear out while Peter went to make sure our bags hadn't disappeared. The critical flaw in my plan was the assumption that the driver would actually wait for everyone to leave the bus before closing the doors. As I went to take my first liberating step into much-needed fresh air and copious leg room, the door slammed neatly on my body, trapping my backpack inside the bus, while the bags in my right and left hands got a glimpse of the outside world.
The force of the folding door, frustrated with its inability to close on cue, was an unexpected special treat for my recently tetanus and rabies injected, already aching shoulders. Symbolically defeated and too world-weary to yell for help, I stood there unmoving, silently accepting the realities of the much-hyped Livingstone Trip. A couple kind souls eventually came to save the day. After being freed from the grip of The Folding Door, I coolly thanked my rescuers, adjusted the positioning of my belongings, and walked past all of the stunned onlookers with feigned poise and dignity -- as if disheveled white girls with bizarrely bandaged legs, sweat-soaked t-shirts and too much luggage get trapped in bus doors every day.
As much as I would love to say that things reallllly started looking up after that, the ability to lie has never been part of my skill set. Power outages, broken earrings, empty water coolers, long, hot walks to closed destinations, expensive cab rides to rabies vaccine-less clinics, and sandals that decide to break halfway through the walk home (note: both sandals, which were beauuuuutiful, on the same walk) have continued to bewilder and amuse me. They say that bad things happen in threes. Having long surpassed three....and 5 and 7 and 11 and even 13, I've decided to shoot for 17 and start my own prime number movement ;-)
So, my friends, such is life in Zambia at the moment. I do hope I have not given anyone the impression that things are terrible; I really do find all of it humorous. I could easily write just as long of an email about the good things that have been happening, but figure I'll give you a week or two to read and recover from this one. I hope autumn in the States is becoming cool, crisp and colorful. As always, I welcome stories and pictures and one-liners from your side.
Missing you as much as much as the chunk of my leg,
Jenny
P.S. - The wound, by the way, is healing quite nicely. I was actually too good about cleaning it, and in changing the tape/gauze dressing twice a day, managed to give myself quite the rash (a nice square shape). I was a bit concerned that the ripping of the tape would permanently discolor the surrounding skin, but Lynn and Les have assured me that it will soon return to its normal pigmentation. Nevertheless, I think my leg-modeling career has ended before starting ;-)
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