Trying to kill me

Can you guess what is trying to kill me? I don't think you can. 

You would probably say something normal and predictable for someone living in the middle of the jungle. Like malaria. Or dysentery. Or angry ax wielding tribesmen. 

All of those guesses are incorrect. I told you you couldn't do this. I don't know why you even tried. 

My skirts. That is the answer. My skirts are trying to kill me. 

I have mentioned many times in this blog how living a very physically demanding life in the jungle is made ten times more difficult in a skirt. I can't tell you how many times a day I get caught on some sort of tree or stick, or rock. And trying to climb up and over huge logs on trails in a culturally ladylike way is just absurd. I have always felt like the skirts were taunting me with every endeavor I undertook, and I  heard their mocking laughter in my head as they made me look like an idiot over and over again. But now, I am convinced that they are trying to kill me. 

The first time I became suspicious, I was climbing the ladder to my loft to hang up my laundry (yes, my clothesline is in my house and I always have laundry hanging from my ceiling. I call it my "tribal chandelier"). On this trip I was wearing a longer skirt and stepped on the end of it causing me to start to fall backwards because of the heavy bag of wet laundry I had slung over my shoulder. I quickly dropped the bag and threw my body weight forward, so I just sort of slid down the ladder landing in a heap on the floor rather than falling backwards and hitting my head on the various metal boxes containing our electrical system hanging on the wall behind me.

 

I was a little bruised up, but otherwise ok. I quickly gave that skirt away, but it must have shared its plans with the other skirts while they lay folded on my shelf, because two days ago, another skirt made an attempt on my life. 

I was outside burning my trash in a long flowy skirt. As I poked and stirred the pile to try to make sure everything thoroughly burned so dogs wouldn't drag my rubbish all over the village, I felt an intense heat on my leg and realized that the left side of my skirt had gone up in flames! The first thought that came to mind was, "stop, drop, and roll" but I was in a weird spot surrounded by tall weeds, cassava trees, and a large pile of scrap wood. So, I immediately stripped off my skirt and stayed squatted down so my neighbor who was chopping wood at his house just a few feet from me couldn't see. I was wearing shorts under the skirt, but seeing a lady in a pair of shorts here is like seeing a woman topless at the mall (Ironically, it is ok for women to be topless here.) Anyway, I yelled for John Michael to bring me a new skirt, and I immediately threw the one I was wearing into the fire. This skirt wanted to burn me alive? Well, look who got the last laugh... Me. I did. 

After I got inside and had a mini meltdown about almost burning alive, I looked down to see that I just had a small burn on my leg. It is now all bubbly and gross, but it is definitely better than it could have been. Since the skirt was flowy, most of the fire was contained to the outside layers and just a small portion that folded in actually touched my skin. 

I know I sound like I am exaggerating and being dramatic, but here is the proof that my skirts are totally out to get me (crossing my fingers that this picture actually works).

There, now you know. I am not making this up. I couldn't if I wanted to. Who would have ever guessed that the most dangerous thing in my life would be my skirts?