The eradication of the little nuisance

I recently came back from a 5-weeks holiday in Kenya – oh yeah. The problem with such a long holiday in this meat-eating-beer-drinking land, is that you spend the whole 5 weeks eating meat and drinking beer.  The only water you drink is the small amounts you swallow accidentally while bathing or brushing teeth. As a result, you get a belly that rivals 9-month pregnant ones, and a body that rivals baby rhinos. You highly suspect an infestation by the little nuisances.  The only way out is intense parasite cleansing.

When I came back to the UK, it was still summer (ish), though my colleagues told me England rained the whole time I was away – (I mentally punched the air in celebration and glee). The miniskirts and skimpy tops wearers were still flaunting their washboard tums. Well, I have never been one to wear such clothes in the day, but the sight of flat-tummed people drove me bonkers. I had to eradicate this gigantic stomach. It was bad enough that my car broke down and I had to use public transport, but I also had to suffer the indignity of people giving up their seat because they thought I was pregnant. I, of course, politely declined, but their suspicious and contemptuous looks of “you’ve just eaten too many potatoes girl” didn’t go unnoticed. A lot of goats died for my benefit and I ate most of them, including the famous African sausage – even for breakfast. It was no wonder my stomach and the rest of me resembled a beached whale.

Desperate situations call for desperate measures – “what if I took copious or reasonable amounts of the famous medicine used for eradicating the little fuckers that reside inside intestines?” I wondered out loud. I suspected my stomach was enormous because it harboured the little suckers – I swear I could hear them having village meetings. The constant squelching sounds and rumblings from my tummy that could be heard for miles meant one thing – my tummy was home to millions if not zillions of these little buggers. I decided to gas them out! However, this brought some dreadful memories from my childhood.

It was way (way) back before multiparty Kenya. My nutritionist mother would make us swallow the dreaded concoction that would eradicate the little suckers. This happened every few months. She would stand there, threats in tow, and watched as we took the medicine. I hated taking that medicine because unlike today, the little tyrants came out whole, alive and kicking. For the unlucky few or those who harboured one too many, the little buttheads came out through any open hole including the ears, mouth, girly bits and nose.

One time, a classmate, Lilian, started gagging and breathing weirdly during class, her eyes looked ready to pop out of their sockets.  Then, without warning, she started throwing up live worms, all sizes and colours. The little freaks looked confused as they hit concrete and tried to scurry away, but oxygen got to them first and they suffocated [I assume]. I don’t know what happened next because I left and didn’t return to school until the following week. I was not the only one, everyone freaked out, including the teacher. Lilian was literally dying, but no one gave a flying rat’s ass as people scattered every which way. In short, the medication had gassed them out as opposed to killing them and eradicating them. And they chose the worst time to come out.

So, when my mother said I had to take the medicine I was petrified. On that god-forsaken day, I half-heartedly took the concoction, all the while praying that when the little shitheads decide to vacate my tummy, they do so respectfully by using the intended exit. The thought of throwing them up or coming out through my ears filled me with fear worse than death. I shook like a nonsense as I took the medicine. One hour later I squatted on the toilet hoping they’ll poop out and drop 30 feet to meet their maker. That didn’t happen. As the day went by, I became more anxious. I worried they might not come at all and, like the little sadists they were, wait until I was asleep to find their way out and eat me. I started crying uncontrollably.

On noticing this, my mother ordered me to the toilet and stood guard outside while I tried in vain to push them out. Still nothing. She ordered [louder] me out of the toilet and, in no uncertain terms, demanded I did it in the garden [thank God it was darker now]. She didn’t trust I was doing it right, and to her horror realised my butt was clenched to destruction. There was no way the little arsehats would slither out with ease. She slapped my butt cheeks hard and shouted that I should relax, otherwise they would not come out and would be left with no choice but to look for other openings. Lilian came to mind, a memory forever edged in my mind, so I relaxed.

The mass exodus of the little demons started, I made the mistake of looking down. To my utter horror and devastation, I saw about five of them hanging off my butt. I freaked beyond freak, clenched the butt once more this time harder. On realising this, my mother held me down and started pulling them out with her bare hands [you gotta love mums] all the while swearing the battle I would endure after this episode would be one for the books. I didn’t care, if anything I wanted to die.

I must have passed out because when I came to, I was asleep in my bed and my mother was wiping my brow with a cool damp cloth. She assured me gently that all the little fuckers were out. I signed relief and promised myself to only eat cooked food. No more digging carrots out of the ground and eating them raw; no more plucking tomatoes off their trees to eat; no more eating fruits straight from the trees, from then on, I would wash everything first and with bleach if possible. I suspect this was the moment my obsessive cleaning was born.

Fast forward thirty-something years and here I was, in the UK holding a concoction that I bought from a chemist in Kenya without prescription. However, the pharmacist had assured me, swore on her unborn baby, that the medicine would kill the little bastards first (if any), and then I’d pass stool like normal. Nothing happened for a few hours after ingesting what tasted like cough syrup. I don’t remember that taste. A few hours later the gas came! OMG – there was enough to heat my house all winter. And then three days later, the detox happened – the feeling was heavenly. I’ll never know if I had them or not, but two things are for sure: no more bloated tummy and more importantly, I have a waistline once again. Praise be.

***

Subscribe to Things I hear