Did you know that within 45 minutes of being bitten by the female anopheles mosquito there are already active parasites in your liver, just waiting to find a parasite playground in your body. In other words, I've already got the malaria parasite (there are several species, some more serious than others). In any event, I'm on prophylaxis to prevent the proliferation of the parasite(s); and in just over two years I'll take some magic pills that will kill the parasites. Sounds like a Jack and the Beanstalk tale, doesn't it? Can you tell that yesterday was medical day? Got my rabies shot (another of many) and learned how to prepare microscopic slides to test for malaria, which means that there was more blood-letting (mine). We also learned how to collect a poop sample so that our PCMO can determine whether we have some life-threatening intestinal bug, which I'm assured that we'll all face, eventually. Incidently, the PCMO is PC Medical Officer. Never again in my life will I have such excellent medical care. I won't bore you, but the process is astounding. And, admit it, what's more fascinating than tropical diseases and dystenery? These are the details you've all be wating for, right?

And now, what you've truly been awaiting with baited-breath. The latrines! Yes, it's a hole in the ground surrounded by concrete. There is, however, toilet paper . . . of a sort. Yes, it is absolutely horrible the first time (more on this later). Did I stress this enough? It's horrible to the point of becoming dizzy. But after one or two visits, just as all other PCVs before me, you become accustomed. Two weeks ago I would not have believed it possible. But the outdoor loo is indeed the least of our problems.

On a more serious note, the US Department of State issued a "Warden Notice" (or something like that), and last night we were moved to a "consolidation point" in our training town of Ouahigouya. This means that we were not allowed to return to our host families and had only the clothing on our backs (and bums). Hey, we're PCTs, we adapt. So, what's a consolidation point? Well for us in meant a lot of mattresses on the floor of large rooms . . . we looked like a refugee camp. No running water (though there's nothing new in that regard). It was all very "Hotel Rwanda" without the gunfire, or course, and without drama or any threat of violence. So I suppose that makes it quite unlike Hotel Rwanda. However, in an abundance of caution, gendarmes were brought in to protect us during the night, and we had escorts back into the capital this afternoon.

Now don't overreact. We were in no danger . . . very likely won't ever by in any danger at all! In fact, the PC is hosting a 4th of July party for us. Does that tell you how spoiled we are? The PC is completely prepared for little incidents like this, and their efficiency, as usual, was astounding.

Today we were shipped back to the nation's capital and will simply roll with the PC's plan to continue our training. On a more positive note, I've got internet access while I'm here in the capital . . . and a flush toilet. Once again, I am a piece of flotsam on the PC training sea. The fascinating behind-the-scenes facilitators of the PC organization are totally prepared with emergency action plans and logistics personnel! It's a beautiful thing to watch.

And we all wonder . . . are there really little PC elves that make the magic happen? It's likely the equivalent of Santa's Elves, but in the Sahel insteast of the North Pole, right? We can only speculate.