Somehow I have managed to avoid the ordinary things that bring one to medical in Peace Corps Uganda:  Malaria, Diarrhea, Falls, Mango Flies, Tsetse Flies….   Yet I have been in Kampala Medical since Saturday receiving daily care – not for any of the above, but for deep second degree burns caused by a demonic electric kettle.

Friday seemed like a really good day:  a half day at work, I rounded up metal rods for “curtains” and got them cut tho the right length, cut lengths of fabric and hemmed them using my Midget Stapler and hung “curtains” over the remaining windows – all before dark.  As I sat at my computer, the electricity came back on and this is normally a good thing – but that night had a special treat in store.

When the power returned I heard a fizzlng sound behind me and turned to see a little string of smoke drifting up from the electric kettle, plugged in, but “off.” Nothing is really off in Uganda until it’s unplugged apparently.

So I gasped and walked over, grabbed the handle to get it off the plastic gizmo that heats water and the entire bottom of the kettle fell off.  It was kind of an “Oh shit” moment until the thing hit the floor and splattered the contents on my foot and then it turned nasty.

I instinctively grabbed my foot because of the searing pain and let go of the kettle, which was not on FIRE at that time, but burst into flames when it hit the Papyrus mat.  It would have made a great “Keystone Cops” episode had it not been for the obvious.   When I took the rubber flipflop off and rubbed whatever it was off my foot, it took the skin off the first three toes with it.    My shriek of pain brought three of my Ugandan neighbors running and they were shoulder to shoulder looking in through the kitchen window saying “You are hurt??  What has happened?”  I’d locked myself in for the night, so couldn’t even unlock the damn door because that substance that was flung out of the bottom of the kettle was molten metal and plastic, which I discover when I stepped on it trying to get the key.  But the fire was in the way anyway…  I managed to find a couple of water bottles and threw water on my foot and on the fire causing sizzling on both.

Not to belabor the locked in part, but I finally located the keys to the front door and let three frantic people in to see how they could help.  Water – I needed water!  And there is NO WATER PRESSURE – which means no water from the tap.  I had managed to fill the jerricans before this fiasco so they ran around finding the plastic basins and jerricans used for bathing. I submerged my in a water bath and got a good look at the skin now furled around my toes like wood shavings.

What to do – we’re not supposed to go to the local hospitals and how the hell would I get there anyway?  No one has a car.  Can’t ride a Boda.  Call Medical.  Where is my purse?  Where is the PHONE?

I found both and to my great luck, a friend was coming into town with a ride we can only refer to as a miracle.  Medical approved a trip to Gulu Independent Hospital and 20 minutes later I hobbled out with my foot wrapped in a wet floral pillow case I just received in a care package that day.

I was seen by a very competent doctor who assured me “debriding” the wound did not include his stripping off skin Hannibal Lecter style.  This after asking him if he had morphene…  Not that I could have had any, because we are warned NOT to have injections (that pesky needle problem).

So several hours later, I returned home to the scene of the crime and commenced figuring out a ride to Kampala the next day.  God bless Medical, because they sent a car from a nearby (two hours) district the next morning (no one in their right mind travels in Uganda at night).

So, I am here for a couple of weeks at best and will be allowed to return to site when all burns are completely healed.  There have been some tense moments as phrases like “you want to keep the end of that second toe” and “skin grafts” are whispered.    Fortunately, we now know I will keep my toes and there will be no skin grafts.  Whew…   Karen, the nurse tending to this on a daily basis is deft with dressings and tweezers and scissors (kinda makes you wince doesn’t it?) so I am in good hands.

So any of you PCVs who might be reading this, if you have a kb-satellite  kettle stick a knife thru its heart and bury it.  It is evil in chrome.

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