Must be because it's Friday the 13th or something. I woke up to yet more bits from some indestructable yet miniscule (and invisible to the naked eye) creature that has invaded my sleeping space, despite airing my mattress, blanket and pillow, spraying all 3 with insecticide, and washing my sheets and pillow case with hot water and an obscene amount of Omo (strong detergent).
Not such a happy start to a lovely work free and sunshiny Friday. So I made a list of songs on my ipod to match my mood, and set about doing my laundry. Then I swept my house, scrubbed my cooktop and toilet, and mopped the place down, including under my food storage box, which wasn't a pretty site (who knew mold could smell like that?).
Then I headed down to the school for lunch and to grade some assignments I gave to my physics students yesterday. After completing that, I didn't quite feel up to making notes to lecture from about Newton's 3rd Law of Motion, so I sat outside the staff room in the sunshine, and enjoyed the weather.
That must have cheered me up a bit, because I decided to return to domestic pursuits. I spent an entire hour... sewing. That's right, you read correctly, sewing. I decided to make a drawstring pouch for scrabble tiles. I don't even own scrabble. And the little bag actually works. It won't last long, the sewing isn't the greatest considering I don't even know how to do any real stitches, but it looks good. I think Uganda is turning me into a housewife. If you could see me now...
But of course the day came full circle. My ipod died and wouldn't recharge, my phone has become irrational about which text messages it will send and receive, and I get to look forward to another night of scratching. But I did successfully handsew a drawstring bag...
Friday, June 27, 2008
Tuesday, June 3, 2008
Too Many, uh, Cows in the Kitchen?
Even one cow is too many for any kitchen, even if she's only two years old and not quite fully grown (most of the way there though). I think it must be her youth that makes her so brazen, but she could just be an anomaly among cows. I call her Bananas, because she likes them so much (the same cow who tries to enter the staff room everyday after break tea to clean up the peels). But I suppose I should start from the beginning...
It was a Monday morning, which for me is laundry day. I was patiently performing that mundane task when I heard Bananas coming through the gate into my yard. My neighbor's kitchen is seperate from her house, and attached to some storage room (what was the kitchen for the previous occupant of my house, prior to the additions). I was washing my clothes in front of this mud/thatch hut when Bananas came around the corner, walked right by me and tried to enter the first door, the storage room, but it was blocked and she couldn't force her way through. So she backed up, stuck one big back hoof in one of my basins full of soapy water and, luckily, dirty clothes, and continued to the next door. It was open, and had no obstructions to bar her passage.
I continued with my laundry for a bit, thinking she must get bored of the room after a little while. But, the door had closed behind her and thinking she might panic and bust the place up, I went in to shoo her out. Bananas had other ideas. I walked in to find her munching happily on my neighbors food stores, particularly the matooke (plantains) and potatoes. I tried to stop her, but if you've ever tried to force a cow to do anything with brute force alone, you'll know you're no match for such a large animal (I've never been cow tipping, but I imagine it goes something like this did). I decided the only way to get her out of there and save my neighbors food was to lure her out with her favorite food of all, little yellow bananas.
So I ran into my own kitchen, grabbed the fruit, and began the long and arduous process of luring a 1500 lb hungry animal out of a room full of food. After much convincing, pushing, giving of bananas, throwing lure bananas, and frustrated arguments (all on my party), and after she knocked over the bench and cookstove, I got her turned around and out the door. This I also wish I had captured on film. I bolted the door closed after her, and felt a huge sense of accomplishment. Too many cows in the kitchen? Not with this trusty cowpoke around.
It was a Monday morning, which for me is laundry day. I was patiently performing that mundane task when I heard Bananas coming through the gate into my yard. My neighbor's kitchen is seperate from her house, and attached to some storage room (what was the kitchen for the previous occupant of my house, prior to the additions). I was washing my clothes in front of this mud/thatch hut when Bananas came around the corner, walked right by me and tried to enter the first door, the storage room, but it was blocked and she couldn't force her way through. So she backed up, stuck one big back hoof in one of my basins full of soapy water and, luckily, dirty clothes, and continued to the next door. It was open, and had no obstructions to bar her passage.
I continued with my laundry for a bit, thinking she must get bored of the room after a little while. But, the door had closed behind her and thinking she might panic and bust the place up, I went in to shoo her out. Bananas had other ideas. I walked in to find her munching happily on my neighbors food stores, particularly the matooke (plantains) and potatoes. I tried to stop her, but if you've ever tried to force a cow to do anything with brute force alone, you'll know you're no match for such a large animal (I've never been cow tipping, but I imagine it goes something like this did). I decided the only way to get her out of there and save my neighbors food was to lure her out with her favorite food of all, little yellow bananas.
So I ran into my own kitchen, grabbed the fruit, and began the long and arduous process of luring a 1500 lb hungry animal out of a room full of food. After much convincing, pushing, giving of bananas, throwing lure bananas, and frustrated arguments (all on my party), and after she knocked over the bench and cookstove, I got her turned around and out the door. This I also wish I had captured on film. I bolted the door closed after her, and felt a huge sense of accomplishment. Too many cows in the kitchen? Not with this trusty cowpoke around.
The Rat Dance
This may sound odd to you, but I believe the rat dance is something many PCVs have experienced during their to years, and one I'm becoming very adept at. It goes something like this:
Laying awake at 2am, hoping the noise will go away, knowing it won't, you toss and turn, hoping to make enough noise to scare the evil little creature out of your house. You eventually resort to fists, pummeling the mattress and walls, all to scare something about 1/20th your size.
And still, the rat is fearless, having performed this routine many times, knowing you don't want to leave the safety of your net enshrouded bed, it continues to hop around your kitchen, playing your dishes like drums.
So you lay a bit longer in your bed, gathering the courage to confront the beast. After you can procrastinate no longer, you turn on your lamp/flashlight, carefully leave the sanctity of your net and gingerly put your feet in your houseshoes (praying the rat hasn't taken refuge inside them) and proceed slowly and carefully towards where you last heard the noise (realizing you actually did leave your bed, the little devil is now stealthily silent).
Heart beating loudly with fear, you approach, and here's where the real footwork begins. The rat makes a run at you because you are between it and the exit. You scream and jump high into the air, praying you don't land on the thing and it doesn't dash into your foot again. In it's confusion, or ultimate brilliance, it scampers back for the kitchen, then back at you again, all the hile you're prancing around like an idiot trying not to touch the damn thing. After many little screams and shouts of "get out already!", the rat spies it's exit and runs for the outside, almost always right over the foot you failed to lift out of the way in time. The dance complete for that night, you return to bed and try to get back to sleep.
I finally found rat traps. No more dancing for me.
Laying awake at 2am, hoping the noise will go away, knowing it won't, you toss and turn, hoping to make enough noise to scare the evil little creature out of your house. You eventually resort to fists, pummeling the mattress and walls, all to scare something about 1/20th your size.
And still, the rat is fearless, having performed this routine many times, knowing you don't want to leave the safety of your net enshrouded bed, it continues to hop around your kitchen, playing your dishes like drums.
So you lay a bit longer in your bed, gathering the courage to confront the beast. After you can procrastinate no longer, you turn on your lamp/flashlight, carefully leave the sanctity of your net and gingerly put your feet in your houseshoes (praying the rat hasn't taken refuge inside them) and proceed slowly and carefully towards where you last heard the noise (realizing you actually did leave your bed, the little devil is now stealthily silent).
Heart beating loudly with fear, you approach, and here's where the real footwork begins. The rat makes a run at you because you are between it and the exit. You scream and jump high into the air, praying you don't land on the thing and it doesn't dash into your foot again. In it's confusion, or ultimate brilliance, it scampers back for the kitchen, then back at you again, all the hile you're prancing around like an idiot trying not to touch the damn thing. After many little screams and shouts of "get out already!", the rat spies it's exit and runs for the outside, almost always right over the foot you failed to lift out of the way in time. The dance complete for that night, you return to bed and try to get back to sleep.
I finally found rat traps. No more dancing for me.
Chicken on a Cold/Rainy Tin Roof
I have no idea where these chickens came from, but suddenly there are several running aroun. I have high hopes they'll be somebody's lunch soon, or at least that damn rooster.
I thought that crows made a lot of noise when they landed on my tin roof, but they've got nothing on chickens. I first heard the racket while I was bathing (splashing ice cold water on those parts that require daily washing). I quickly dressed to see if my roof was falling into my house. It wasn't, but some chickens had decided that my roof was the place to roost. Whatever, I'm sure I'll get used to their clumsy clawing.
Clawing, clacking, general noise, sure. But not that morning wake-up call. At 4am, I thought for sure the rooster had gotten into my house and was crowing next too my bed. Again, like clockwork, more alarms from the bastard at 4:30. And 5. And 5:30. At 6 i finally became so desperate that I grabbed my mop and started banging it on the ceiling like a crazy person. In pjs, half asleep with my hair flying wildly, and muttering a string of curses under my breath, I'm sure I looked completely deranged. I wish I had a picture of it. But thankfully, the rooster was quiet. Until 6:30.
I have a battle plan for tonight. I'm going to check the roof before I go to bed. If he's up there, I'm throwing rocks. If that doesn't work, I'm going to kill, pluck, and clean him myself, and eat him for lunch tomorrow. I'll get you yet, worthy foe.
I thought that crows made a lot of noise when they landed on my tin roof, but they've got nothing on chickens. I first heard the racket while I was bathing (splashing ice cold water on those parts that require daily washing). I quickly dressed to see if my roof was falling into my house. It wasn't, but some chickens had decided that my roof was the place to roost. Whatever, I'm sure I'll get used to their clumsy clawing.
Clawing, clacking, general noise, sure. But not that morning wake-up call. At 4am, I thought for sure the rooster had gotten into my house and was crowing next too my bed. Again, like clockwork, more alarms from the bastard at 4:30. And 5. And 5:30. At 6 i finally became so desperate that I grabbed my mop and started banging it on the ceiling like a crazy person. In pjs, half asleep with my hair flying wildly, and muttering a string of curses under my breath, I'm sure I looked completely deranged. I wish I had a picture of it. But thankfully, the rooster was quiet. Until 6:30.
I have a battle plan for tonight. I'm going to check the roof before I go to bed. If he's up there, I'm throwing rocks. If that doesn't work, I'm going to kill, pluck, and clean him myself, and eat him for lunch tomorrow. I'll get you yet, worthy foe.
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