The Hunger Games

Recently I had an unfortunate experience. It was considerably less dramatic than participating in the Hunger Games, and certainly less life threatening, but I can’t help but drawing some vague parallels.


To preface, the way in which the roads in Nampula Province function means to go anywhere, one must go through Nampula city. And Nampula is a city fraught with potential danger and people out to get you (mostly just pick pockets and the Nampula kisser- a man who sneaks up and kisses white women, then runs away…), which to me follows the vein of the cornucopia. The central axis bursting with danger. And yet Nampula is also the place where one can receive the sustenance and care that can get you through the game. Which brings me to my story.

One wonderful Friday I was playing basketball at school with the usual group of students. The game was somewhat lackluster, but occasionally showed sparks of action. I’m not exactly sure what happened, but as best I can figure, the person I was guarding moved past me, and my left ring finger caught in his shirt, bending it back quite severely, or possibly jamming it. I quit, and shortly thereafter my finger had swollen to twice its width and a rainbow was sprouting in my second joint. I feared I had broken it, so I called the peace corps doctor on staff in Nampula. He said I should come in to get x-rays the following day.

So I made my trek to the cornucopia seeking the medical attention to ensure I was okay. I arrived, and the doctor drove me to the hospital. I got a pair of x-rays, which might or might not have been one of the sketchier things I’ve seen. There are so many precautions in the states with x-rays: lead lap aprons to prevent mutating reproductive cells, precision aiming of the rays, the technician standing behind a wall to protect him or herself. In Nampula, I stood next to the table, slapped my hand down, got the aiming close enough, the technician grab the button, and turned his back, while standing three feet away… I kinda wanted to tell him that prolonged exposure was not good for his health, but somehow I didn’t think I could convey this message in Portuguese.

In the end, my finger was not broken, but only sprained, allowing me to bid a hasty retreat from the dearest, most rundown, least friendly city I’ve ever come to defend against any naysayers.