Aside from the afternoons spent trying to get Farida to take a nap, life in Pakistan was good. Abid and his brothers showed me much of the city where they'd grown up.
We stared at the snake charmers at Hawkes Bay, and took a camel ride. We went out to Clifton, one of the ritziest residential communities in Karachi, which would later become famous as the home of Benazir Bhutto's family.
Although I confess I never really got used to the weather, all in all I got along well.
That is, until I got The Bug.
One morning I woke up and felt like someone had hit me over the head with a massive sledgehammer. I was listless, feverish and nauseated. When Abid's mother called us for breakfast, I said, "not for me. I'll pass." I couldn't move. It was all I could do to take care of necessities, especially under the rather primitive conditions of Britto Road.
I assumed I had the flu, and in a couple of days I'd feel fine again. Abid's family pretty much thought so, too. I spent that day in bed, getting up only when I absolutely had to. I can't honestly remember who took care of Farida--whether she stayed with me or whether Abid took her.
Suddenly I was not having any fun at all.
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