Bugs

I've realized why it is that I dont mind bugs here. Don't get me wrong. I am by no means a fan of them. But I expect them here. At home, I hate them because they aren't suppose to be there. Our house is clean and furnished and our showers sterilized and anytime an insect manages to get in, its an abomination because it isnt suppose to be there.
But here, it's expected. Just like I expect it to be hot everyday (and relish the days that it isn't), I expect there to be bugs crawling around my floor, my ceiling, my mosquito net, my shower. The family of crickets living, singing and reproducing (ew) under my desk dont phase me. I think of it as music as I'm going to sleep. I've discovered that its more fun to read in the dark with a flashlight, because the bugs flock to the light, and I can slam the book shut and kill them easily. I dont mind the centipede crawling around the wall, or the armies of ants running frantically up my leg because they live here, they are suppose to be here, they are normal and part of the experience of Africa, and I dont care.
I hate the flies. I give no ground to flies. They suck. But other than that, it's fine.
The only time I freak out is when I get surprised. If a bug lunges at my face (they often do), I squeal. If one comes lurking up behind me and buzzes by my ear, I throw myself off my chair to get away from it. Thats why it is more difficult to get use to lizards. They move faster. The second you see it, it is gone. It's much harder to get use to that.

Also, as a side note: You cant wear sunglasses here without looking like the world's biggest idiot. The only people who attempt it are young Sudanese men, who swagger around looking too cool for Sudan, or army men who ride their motorcycle past you and give you (I'm assuming) baleful, detached glances from behind their massive shades. George and I attempted sunglasses the other day. I looked ridiculous simply because I left the only pair of sunglasses that looks ok on me on the chair in Annie's apartment. The pair I have makes me look....bulbous. George looked skeezy. There is no other way to describe it. He looked like an extra from the movie Top Gun combined with an extra from Old School. It just wasnt working.
So, instead, I have perfected wearing hats (not-I look silly in those too) and what I have termed "The White Girl Squint". George claims I havent perfected it by a long shot but I prefer to think I have-and that the giggles that follow me when I use it are merely a product of my white white skin. At this rate, I am going to be tan on my arms and neck and face, and on half of my calves and then white as dough for everything in the middle. Today I showed Lucy my belly and she was like "For Sure you are white Emma" and told me it looked like Chapati dough, which I am sad to say is utterly true. I am what I eat. And all I eat is starch. Consequently I look like a starch.
I tried to tell her she needs to feed me mangoes and smaller portions of everything so I can come back all svelt, and she tells me, "No. I want you go to back FAT, nice and fat, so that everyone knows that Sudanese hospitality is excellent."

This concept is so not part of my plan.
Exercises start tomorrow! They must. Or I wont fit on the plane.