Death Lives in Africa

Watching Kimulimuli attempt to die is one of the hardest moments of my time so far in Tanzania. When he came home, it only took me about a day to realize that he had ticks all over his body (13 in total). The idea of removing fully engorged ticks fully grosses me out, so it is lucky that I live in a Tanzanian village because not much grosses them out. So I go to get Juster, but unfortunately she is just a bit too “Brie” and she is afraid to remove them also. So my besti, Mary, can always be relied upon, she is a teacher too but still able to be a tick-remover. Kimulimuli fights us for all he is worth and end up scratching both of us and running away before we can even remove one. I despair. I can’t remove them alone and still be Brienne, but I also can’t let a cat suffer and still be me either. So it occurs to be to ask Swela. I mentioned him in an earlier blog- he is our agricultural extension officer from Mbeya. He is doing his fieldwork in Image for his college degree. He is living here for nine months with his wife and child (he looks about 12, but of course, being Tanzanian he needs a wife and child.) Unfortunately, I cannot find him until the next day. By this time Kimulimuli is having what can only be described as explosive diarrhea, that he seems not to be able to control. He is lethargic and his eyes look weird. I don’t know much about anything, but I do know that explosive diarrhea is not a good sign in Africa. It is the number one killer in Tanzanian children under five.

Swela comes over and I explain the situation and that Kimulimuli is a good fighter. Swela leaves and comes back with a de-worming shot that he uses on the Image livestock and two more Tanzanians to help me hold Muli down. My firefly cat fights but eventually gives up as Swela methodically removes all the ticks and administers the shot. Now, days later, Kimulimuli is just as bad. He still eats and drinks, but he has diarrhea everywhere, he cries constantly and rubs on my legs nonstop. It makes me feel a bit better that he is still affectionate, but then I remember that the cat I grew up with, Bodhi, purred and rubbed until his final moment of life. It hurts me to watch him. I feel like a horrible person, but I have no idea what is wrong with him. My mom, is usually my go to person on all issues I don’t know about, but she is with my dad in Mexico. There is nothing that I can think to do, it is not like there is a vet around the corner. We live in the middle of the bush. So I have to do what all Tanzanian do- wait, hope and pray that death is not coming to my family. I have been so close to death here, holding a dying baby for her last breath, going to burial after burial, witnessing the ends of so many lives. I have watched death here in Image and it makes its rounds and seems to be busier than anywhere else that I have ever been.