To Live is Christ...and to Die is Gain!

Surviving a Centipede Bite

For me to live is Christ, and to die is gain!

Just before I left Madagascar to fly home I had an ‘interesting’ experience.

I’m really not one for bugs, never have been. I’m not afraid of them (generally), but I could do without them…I know some of you are thinking these critters are as much God’s creation as anything else…all Gods creatures got a place in the choir….I get it. But I’m just not keen on them. So, Madagascar has been, how shall I say, a little challenging. There are bugs everywhere.

I got up one morning and went to make coffee in the kitchen, a standard daily ritual. I was home alone, waiting for my translator and administrator to join me for our days work. I was moving around some dishes in the sink when something I could not see bit me. It was a nasty bite, like that of a wasp bite, but considerably more painful.

I quickly pulled my hand away and could plainly see the two marks in my finger where I had been bitten. My fingers began to swell immediately so I quickly removed my episcopal ring and turned my attention to find whatever it was that had bitten me.

In the sink I found the culprit, a centipede…nasty looking thing about three inches long. I managed to catch it under a glass because I thought I should ask the staff about it.

My fingers and hand continued to swell to the point where I could not bend my fingers…but not so much as to stop me from making coffee!!

About an hour later my translator was the first to arrive at the door. I told him about the bite and showed him my hand. He naturally asked what it was that had bitten me, and I proudly showed him my captive centipede.

When he saw it, how might I say it, his countenance changed! It was obvious to me that he was quite concerned, you could see it 'writ large' on his face. He went immediately to get the compound gate guard who came running and taking very excitedly in Malagasy, and while I could not understand what was being said, I couldn’t help but pick up on his concern.

“My bishop, that is venomous! We must boil it in alcohol and rub it on the wound.” I couldn’t help but think, if the critter doesn’t kill me, the home-made medicine may! I asked “How long have I got?” And said, “If I die tell Sarah and Chase that I love them. Tell Sarah to move on with her life and don’t go grieving over me!” My translator was not at all impressed with my humour! And cut through it by asking if the pain was moving up my arm? They were really worried. I was, perhaps because of my ignorance, not at all.

The good news was that the pain, while nasty, was confined to my fingers and hand. So while they went to get the necessary ingredients for the potion which was to solve the problem, I flushed the centipede down the sink, to avoid the ghastly idea of smearing its dead body over my hand. Well, they were not impressed!

The swelling began to stop and thankfully there was no pain moving up my arm. After consulting the doctor, I lived to see another day, and, as is often the case in Mahajanga, got another great story to share.