Day 5 of living in a hotel: Day started off great! A friend shared the contents of a care package, and since Salami and cheese are best enjoyed from the comforts of bed, I tucked in and face planted into both of them. Crumbs don't matter, the insects have never seen salami so how would they know they liked it?
Day 6 of living in a hotel: They like Salami. A lot. I returned home from an exceptionally crappy day at the hospital, crawled in bed only to fling myself out of it. The bed is no longer safe. There were not one, not two, but FOUR big bugs IN my bed. Then took off the mattress and found more, many, many, many more. I've never packed my bags so fast. I marched straight to the office, hauled the poor door man out of bed, and insisted on being moved. This wonderful watchman moved with no problems at all!
Day 7 of living in a hotel: The new room is much nicer, no smell, no insects, and absolutely NO MORE food in the room. However, the city water supply has apparently exploded. I dare anyone to try and wash their hair in a sink the size of a soup bowl using bottled water.
Day 8 of living in a hotel: Sitting there casually eating my dinner and trying to forget the baby at the hospital with the eyeball the size of a lemon. I am approached by the owner of the hotel who kindly asks me to pay my bill up until the point "of course!" I exclaim, thinking this is a harmless request. When I hand over the money he looks at me like I'm the one with an eyeball the size of a lemon and kindly explains that this is not enough money. He then asks for what is the equivalent to three months rent at my house in the village and politely tells me to get out of his hotel if I can't pay it. Well that just simply not going to work because I'm pretty sure its against Peace Corps rules to sleep on the streets, so after much begging he allows me to move my stuff into the 8 bed hostel. So now up to three room changes... trying not to freak out.
Day 9 of living in a hotel: I've taken to affirmations in the mirror of "just two more days, just one more day, etc." Each morning I have to pack my stuff up, put it in the office, wash with cold bottled water, and the insects have returned. Two stores are now competing to see which megaphone is louder, and after a week of MC'ing they've run out of things to advertise so its like dueling Malawian karaoke from 7am-5pm.
Day 10 of living in a hotel: I have nothing left to say. The city has broken me. I can't wait to get home to my outhouse, my paraffin stove, my buckets. I will never complain about my home again.
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