Claudia sprawls on a bench, awaiting the end of her jigger ordeal, as her companions gather around for the show

From Claudia Cantarella
Special to CNN Interactive

(CNN) -- Sitting at our campsite in Malawi, I listened in fascinated disgust as my fellow travelers, drawn from all parts of the United Kingdom, swapped stories of a childhood affliction apparently everyone had suffered -- parasites. Any type -- ringworms, fleas or flukes-- every one of my friends had an infestation story to tell.

Apparently these bloodsuckers ran roughshod through each and every shire, wold and down in England infecting unsuspecting children. As the only American in the group I felt a twinge of pride to be excluded from this club.

At the time, I was half-way through a seven-week, overland African safari. We had spent the previous week on the island of Zanzibar where we snorkeled, ran barefoot in the surf, ate lots of fish and looked for all those spices that gave Zanzibar the moniker "the Spice Island." (The spices were notably absent, at least in the food, but two of my fellow travelers did manage to spice up their experience when they were robbed at machete-point. But that's another story.)

After the exchange of parasite stories, I retired to my tent feeling pretty smug. Not only had I never been subjected to such wriggling horrors, I had survived my last four months on the road without more than a fleeting bout of giardiasis in Nepal and a bee sting in India. In Malawi, I was weathering merely a stubbed toe, although I couldn't recall how I sustained the injury.

Zanzibar, where the flea freeloaders came aboard

While bathing the next morning, however, I noticed that my wounded toe was caked in blood. I cleaned it as best as I could in our makeshift sanitary facilities and prepared for our hike atop the Zomba plateau. Later that day, basking in the sun by a beautiful lake after lunch, I removed my sandals and noticed a large, infected-looking lesion on the very same toe. It dawned on me that perhaps my swollen digit was suffering from something more serious than a simple stubbing.

I remained calm. No need to worry. I was saving any moments of panic for anticipated close encounters with hippos, lions and herds of elephant. I called over Patrick, our Kenyan guide, to take a look.

"That'd be jiggers," he announced without a trace of doubt on his face. He seemed fairly non-plussed about my predicament, like he had seen it a million times. I learned later that jiggers are common among people living in sub-Saharan countries of Africa, but at that moment I wasn't thinking about the benefits of an authentic "when in Rome..." experience.

The smiling patient didn't yet have all the details of her parasite peril

feeling brave?

If you think this is scary stuff, watch Claudia bungee over Victoria Falls.

I panicked. No, I actually freaked out. What the heck were "jiggers?" Patrick began to expound on their entomology but I silenced him. As long as I was under siege I preferred to remain ignorant of what was inhabiting the tip of my big toe; I just wanted the squatters evicted from their cozy residence.

By now, my heightened hysteria had attracted my friends who gathered around in anticipation of the drama unfolding. So far, our group had survived a swarm of locusts, two cases of malaria and an armed robbery. This was just the next installment of our personal "Real World." Only now, I was in the leading role and was sharing center stage with an as yet unknown cast of characters.

Patrick determined that the extraction could be performed right there. This was not quite the operating theater I had imagined, I thought, as I lay down on a wooden bench. With as sterile a utility knife as we could find out in the middle of nowhere, Patrick poked, prodded and punctured the carbuncle on my toe as the chorus surrounding us "oohed and aahed," squealed and gasped. After ten minutes of ministrations the invading army was vanquished and I was neatly bandaged, good as new.

Only after a shot of scotch did I broach the subject of my uninvited guests. Jiggers, otherwise known as chigoes, chiggers or "Tunga Penetrans" for Latin-buffs, are ecto-parasites -- gravid female burrowing fleas that inhabit the wet sand and mud. The flea penetrates under a toenail or occasionally a fingernail and lays up to 1,000 larvae. A large cutaneous lesion forms and if left unchecked for about a week, the eggs hatch underneath the skin, break free and spill out of the host digit in the form of fleas. The condition is called "Tungiasis."

If we hadn't stopped the birth cycle in midstream, I would have been the big-top for one heck of a flea circus. Left untreated, jiggers take up permanent residence and use toes as a smorgasbord, leading to gangrene, blood poisoning -- even death. Many Africans have the ends of their toes missing as a result of the condition.

So, it wasn't surprising that I couldn't remember stubbing my toe in Zanzibar. Those idyllic hours spent on the beach were really my early training at boot camp as a human incubator.

But one shouldn't be dissuaded from visiting Africa out of parasite phobia. There is a simple solution to avoiding "jigger-toe" that you don't read about in the guide books: cut your toenails to the quick, each and every one. It won't look stylish, and forget about the fancy polish, just make sure that no microscopic critters can make their home under the overhang of your toenail and you will have a fine, jigger-free time.

As I climbed back onto the truck before we drove toward the Zambian border, my friends were all lined up barefoot passing around nail clippers in a grooming frenzy quite alien here in the heart of Africa. Listening to the "clip, clip, clip" I smiled. I had joined the club.

New York lawyer Claudia Cantarella always puts her best foot forward.