Three Tales of Woe

Tale 1.
Late Friday night my sleep was interrupted; I was deep in a REM cycle when I felt a pull on my hair and claws on my shoulder. I let loose a piercing scream and jumped onto Matt. A pack rat was in the bed, he had navigated under our mosquito net, jumped up and finished the last leg by climbing my hair, me an unknowing Rapunzel. After I landed on his legs, Matt risked "cardiac arrest" as a result of the scream. His heart was still racing as we searched for the intruder, who was finally located taunting us from the top of our bookshelf. Matt was not sure which was worse, having a rat in the bed or my reaction to the rat in the bed.

Tale 2.
Cockroaches continue to be my nemeses of the insect world, although I have developed a reluctant tolerance to their presence. My rule is that if I don't see them hanging around I can pretend they don't exist. Except that sometimes I do see them and this is where we run into problems. While cooking dinner the other night a trio of those who don't exist ran out from under our flour container. Two were nothing worth writing about, but the third was a giant, his antennas waved at me in an arrogant and infuriating manner. He refused to disappear and I called for reinforcement (ie Matt), who arrived, saw the bastard, grabbed a fork and bam squished him dead right there on the counter top. Shocking, yes. But also incredibly gratifying in a weird, twisted Peace Corps kind of way.

Tale 3.
Matt was in the kitchen supposedly cooking, when I heard a loud clanging and some choice swear words. "Hon" I called "what's going on in there?". "The rat knocked over the beans" Matt yells back. The reply was somewhat suspicious as I had seen the rat the night before, and while he may have been a gladiator among jungle rats I doubted he had the force to knock a cast iron pot full of beans off the stove. I walked into the kitchen to find Matt, who was slightly out of breath and holding our broom stick like a weapon. He stood over the pot and a dark mess of spilled dinner. "The rat knocked the beans over?" I asked. "Well, I knocked them over" he said "but it was his fault". Just then the rat racing out from under the stove straight towards the doorway where I happened to be standing. I yelped and we (the rat and I) both ran into the living room, Matt came rushing behind us with the broom.

I called out a play by play on the rats movements while Matt worked up a sweat racing around the room attempting to whack the rat, but whacking the tiles instead. Now this was no ordinary rat, this rat had skills. My calls went something like this: "he's on the back chair leg, he's on the chair, HE's on the table, HE IS RUNNING STRAIGHT TOWARDS YOU". At one point I jumped on the couch to get of the rat's path, guess who also jumped on the couch. "MATTTTT, he's on the couch, he's after me, Matt get him, GET HIM". Alas, the rat proved too capable an opponent, too agile and cunning. Matt claims he hit him once or twice, but this is also the man who said the rat knocked over the beans.

A Year Later

After receiving subtle hints from friends and some less subtle hints from family, I thought I would make an effort to get this blog thing rolling again. Although my friend Nura did inform me that "second year volunteers don't blog". We swore in as volunteers a year ago yesterday and as we celebrated the landmark last night, we reminisced about the excitement of heading out to start our adventure, in a tiny village tucked into the rainforest that has since become our home. Our celebration consisted of a typical meal, beans and rice, improved by valentina's sauce (a luxury item from home) and fresh lime juice margaritas which pretty much make any meal a "special" occasion.

Part of the reason for the lapse in writing is, while our life continues to be interesting and at times exciting, the wow factor has been replaced by a feeling of comfort in our surroundings. For instance, the first time we drove to post I was in a panic at all the domestic animals lying in the road that the car barreled towards at what I considered unsafe speeds. Now when we hit a chicken or two on our way to the capital, no big deal, someone is going to have a good dinner. Getting stuck in a mud pit for two hours is barely worth noting in my journal, let alone a blog entry, and having our neighbors suddenly appear on the road from somewhere deep in the forest is just life as usual.

In other everyday news, Matt has taught some friends the expression "beer-thirty", which they have morphed to serve their own purposes and it now means anytime a person is drinking. I saw our friend this morning who told me last night they had "beer-thirty" at the junction and today was "beer thirty" at his friend's house. In fact as I write this, Matt is having his own "beer-thirty" at the school director's place, they're having a little moonshine and while I hesitate to say that it tastes good, it is quite potent. The moonshine was actually a thank you gift that came along with some fresh peanuts from his farm. My mom's first and second grade class at the Aspen Community School raised money for the school in our village and we just bought the second round of supplies; school books, grading notebooks, and chalk for the teachers. They lacked all these items before and were thrilled to have them, thus today is the second time Matt has had local whiskey this week.

We will be celebrating our second Christmas in the bush and while last year it was kind of tough, this year we are having difficulty conjuring up images of cold weather and holiday shopping. After a year in a hot humid climate, we now consider the weather quite pleasant. Our clothes do mold regularly while sitting on the shelf but my lips have yet to be chapped and my hands never get cold reading at night. We are both happy and healthy; life here continues to be challenging and rewarding, and we still think often of all of you loved ones at home.

-Sarah