And I thought warts were gross…
Well shoot, I am getting a wart on my foot. That’s gross. Maybe it’s not a wart, I should probably show the doctor.
“Does is hurt you?”
“No”
“Than it’s probably nothing, just leave it.”
“Ok”
And then it started growing and painfully throbbing.
I just happened to show Iraque. His first response to my gross painful thingy – laughing in my face.
“Its Matequenha. Only children who play in the dirt and crazy people that don’t wear shoes get that.” - Iraque
“But I am not dirty! And I wear shoes!” - Me
“Why didn’t you show me that earlier?” – Iraque
“Because the doctor said it was nothing.” - Me
“A bug went in your foot and laid its egg-sack. We have to cut it out, but if we pop the sack it will let the babies loose in your foot.” – Iraque, and then he made a combination hand gesture and sound effect (cha!) to imitate a sort of explosion and scattering of little bugs.
“Oh gosh” - Me
“Yes, and then they will have to cut off your foot.”
“WHAT??”
Ok, he was joking on that last one. And its not only dirty people that get them, but that is the stereotype. We were in Xai-Xai visiting his family at the time, so he was sure not to inform them of the situation and I was instructed not to tell anyone unless I want them to laugh at me and think I am a generally dirty person.
A bug entering my foot is pretty bad. Then it had to go and lay its eggs in there. And man did that little bitch hurt.
The final night before I bid farewell to the eggsack embedded in the bottom of my foot, right where the pinky toe meets the foot, I tried to endure the pains that began in my foot and shot up my leg. But it was like I was being consumed by flames, or electrocuted or something. I couldn’t help but cry… and now Iraque makes fun of me for being a dirty crazy person with matequenha, and for crying all night.
“BUT IT HURT!!” – Me
“Ok, but I said we should go to the hospital, and you said no.” – Iraque
“It was 1am, I couldn’t really walk, and I am more scared of Mozambican hospitals than a bug in my foot.” - Me
So promptly the next morning, I underwent the at-home extraction procedure. He went to find materials, and I said we have to be sure to sterilize them.
Well, little did I know he would come back with some sharp sticks. Is it even possible to sterilize sticks?
“Your going to cut my foot open with that?”
But it worked well enough. And then he pulled out some toilet paper and a razor blade to finish the job (The blade was still in the package and unused. Always have to think about HIV here.)
All in all, the procedure hurt less than the night of tearful agony. And afterwards there was the strangest little hole on the bottom of my foot. I took pictures.
Well shoot, I am getting a wart on my foot. That’s gross. Maybe it’s not a wart, I should probably show the doctor.
“Does is hurt you?”
“No”
“Than it’s probably nothing, just leave it.”
“Ok”
And then it started growing and painfully throbbing.
I just happened to show Iraque. His first response to my gross painful thingy – laughing in my face.
“Its Matequenha. Only children who play in the dirt and crazy people that don’t wear shoes get that.” - Iraque
“But I am not dirty! And I wear shoes!” - Me
“Why didn’t you show me that earlier?” – Iraque
“Because the doctor said it was nothing.” - Me
“A bug went in your foot and laid its egg-sack. We have to cut it out, but if we pop the sack it will let the babies loose in your foot.” – Iraque, and then he made a combination hand gesture and sound effect (cha!) to imitate a sort of explosion and scattering of little bugs.
“Oh gosh” - Me
“Yes, and then they will have to cut off your foot.”
“WHAT??”
Ok, he was joking on that last one. And its not only dirty people that get them, but that is the stereotype. We were in Xai-Xai visiting his family at the time, so he was sure not to inform them of the situation and I was instructed not to tell anyone unless I want them to laugh at me and think I am a generally dirty person.
A bug entering my foot is pretty bad. Then it had to go and lay its eggs in there. And man did that little bitch hurt.
The final night before I bid farewell to the eggsack embedded in the bottom of my foot, right where the pinky toe meets the foot, I tried to endure the pains that began in my foot and shot up my leg. But it was like I was being consumed by flames, or electrocuted or something. I couldn’t help but cry… and now Iraque makes fun of me for being a dirty crazy person with matequenha, and for crying all night.
“BUT IT HURT!!” – Me
“Ok, but I said we should go to the hospital, and you said no.” – Iraque
“It was 1am, I couldn’t really walk, and I am more scared of Mozambican hospitals than a bug in my foot.” - Me
So promptly the next morning, I underwent the at-home extraction procedure. He went to find materials, and I said we have to be sure to sterilize them.
Well, little did I know he would come back with some sharp sticks. Is it even possible to sterilize sticks?
“Your going to cut my foot open with that?”
But it worked well enough. And then he pulled out some toilet paper and a razor blade to finish the job (The blade was still in the package and unused. Always have to think about HIV here.)
All in all, the procedure hurt less than the night of tearful agony. And afterwards there was the strangest little hole on the bottom of my foot. I took pictures.
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