Most roads in Ghana don't even have curbs; falling into the roadside gutter would have been more probable. But nope, I found the one curb/wall to stand on and fall off of. As I jumped off this giant curb/wall, my feet decided to land elsewhere from the trajectory of my body, and my right ankle became the sad swollen victim of this bodily miscommunication. I didn't even make it to Reggae Night at the beach.
RICE has replaced "Hakuna Matata" as my daily motto (that's Rest Ice Compress Elevate for all you healthy people, and yes I realize "Hakuna Matata" is Swahili and that I'm in Ghana... I just really like the Lion King). I'm getting personal chauffeur service from the van drivers because seeing me limp around Labone would just be pathetic. Ironically, I had my first Health and Society class today. Prof noticed my Ace bandage and said "If you were in a pre-industrial revolution death house they'd poke and prod at that only to conclude that you'd need it amputated". So I'll count my blessings that I still have my foot.
Now, one of two things will happen: option A is that this sprain is only the beginning and I'll continue to sprain, break and suffer from tropical illness because I've opened this can of worms, or option B is that I've cashed in my injury/illness chips and I'll be problem free for the next 4 months. I'm hoping for option B obviously, but I'm continuing prophylactic anti-malaria drugs. I'm determined to make it to Reggae Night eventually, but now my immediate future consists of lots of West Wing.
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