I'm back in Juba after a very VERY early flight and feeling very very tired. So, ya know, I'm lying in bed, watching the great love of my life, Hugh Laurie, on the DVD (by the way, I TOTALLY want to be the parents from Fortysomething) and start hearing the most terrifying coming from outside my room.
I, who am rarely at a loss for words, can not think of a single way to describe it. Imagine the sound a a walrus coughing up a lung, a liver and part of the small bowel all whilst trying to sing amateur opera. And, perhaps, someone is stabbing him at the same time.
Oddly, this cacophony didn't distract me at first. I mean, yeah, in the back of my mind I was vaguely aware that someone was murdering an operatic, ill walrus in the compound, but this didn't really register as someone that needed to be investigated.
Finally, I realised it was rather unlikely that arctic aquatic mammals were being slaughtered in my tropical courtyard, so I plopped on some flip flops and went outside. Our house is surrounded by a sort of low grass fence and just on the other side there was an extremely thin, deeply ill man throwing up everything he's eaten. Ever. Since the beginning of time. In a truly spectacular manner.
I'm not too sure what his affliction is and I feel abso-freakin-lutely awful for him. Not to mention he's going to be doing it all night. How restful.