Potato Power

I left on Monday for a remote seaside village called Paramatta (yes, it is named after the Paramatta eels football team). It is a beautiful little village with a population of about 100 (mostly children). I was due to stay for three days to assist my colleague with his work. We were put up in a tiny, but very cute little leaf hut. No running water, no toilet, but at least this time I had my own room (with a door… a nice bonus). It felt like I had arrived for a relaxing holiday, so I didn’t mind the rats at night and giant spiders (the mosquito net is good for more than just keeping the mozzies out!) All was good until the next morning…

I thought I would make some coffee for breakfast, but when I picked up the 100 year old thermos full of freshly boiled water, the bottom fell out of the rusty thing and I my foot connected with a stream of boiling water. Oh my goodness the pain! I ran straight for the coldest thing I could find… the ocean (which here is a constant 28 degrees… not exactly as cold as I would have liked right then). I sat there for about half an hour with my foot throbbing in the water. Meanwhile the community had heard the commotion and gone looking for me. When they finally found me I was very close to tears… the pain was incredible. A beautiful village man offered to treat my foot with bush medicines. At that point I had no other option… The nearest hospital was a three-hour boat ride back to Gizo.

He made some sort of starchy paste out of a potato and put it on my foot. Within half an hour the pain had gone… the magic potato had a great numbing effect. Meanwhile the whole community turned out to see the silly white girl with a bright red foot. A kind old lady (the same one who had supplied us with the 100 year old thermos) brought some aloe vera plant from her garden and gently rubbed it into my foot. It felt remarkably better, despite the colour and small blisters all over my toes. Just the same, I was keen to get myself back to Gizo, but alas, no transport was available until the weekend. That was a whole 4 days away! It was looking pretty dismal, but I put a word in with the big guy to let him know I wanted to go home.

Later that morning, a UNICEF boat appeared… they were on a little tour and were heading back to Gizo that afternoon. I begged and pleaded for them to take me with them, which they kindly obliged… if I didn’t mind the 5-hour trip back (because they had to stop off in villages on the way). Thank you God! The five-hour trip was a much better option than a 4-day wait until the next boat came through. I am so grateful that they were able to take me along because when I woke the next morning my foot was throbbing with infected blisters. It doesn’t take long for things to fester in the tropics! Although I am in immense pain right now and I cant hardly walk, I am at least grateful that I was able to go to the hospital and get some treatment… something other than potatoes!