Indoor/Outdoor Biology

I was in the middle of writing a post a while ago when the electricity at this internet cafe went out...we'll see if it works this time.

I've now been in Kiganza for a week and my schedule is somewhat regular. Yared, the master of all that is GOSESO, is not actually here (he arrives July 1), and I have been under strict instructions from him to spend my first two and a half weeks here "getting to know the culture" and avoiding any sort of work. While this seems like an inefficient use of over two-sevenths of my time here, I can't argue, so it works for me...hakuna matata, as they say (thanks for teaching me, Disney!)

I get up each day around 8:45 or 9 (bordering on inexcusably late for an agrarian village, but without an alarm clock it's really the best I can do right now.) Breakfast is waiting for me on the dining room table when I emerge, and there must be some sort of village-wide signal that means "Amanda is up" (the cook probably sees me heading for the detached bathroom) because within minutes I am invariably joined by several locals. There's always Evalina, the girl around my age who has either chosen or been appointed as my almost constant companion, and Lucas, the similarly-aged guy who seems to sort of be in charge around here (or at least in charge of me.) Breakfast hasn't really changed since I've arrived: several (three-ish) fried eggs with onion, two slices of buttered-beyond-belief bread that have been toasted over charcoal, and a banana from the garden. One day I actually got three fried eggs with a side of two hardboiled eggs; Evalina got half my breakfast that day. I'll have to get my cholesterol checked when I get back.

After breakfast Lucas usually leads me on a long walk somewhere, usually thorough the GOSESO forest, though the objective of these trips is not always clear to me. More interesting than where we go, though, is often who we go with. Wherever I wander in this village (or in this country, it seems), I attract a sizeable following. Parents Beware: If I walk through one end of your village, your children will follow me out the other!! So Lucas and Evalina and I start off from my house, collecting a random assortment of fifteen or so children and adults as we go, and by the time we reach the forest I'm like the Pied Piper of Hamlin with half of Kiganza in tow.

We've been back to the forest hut frequented by the baboons several times now, and they (and I) have gotten much bolder with each other. The younger ones now climb all over me, and the older male allows it as long as I don't really move while his family is around. If I move, he bares his teeth, lunges, and shrieks, causing me to remember with some regret the rabies shot I turned down at the travel immunization clinic. The baby baboon is unbelievably adorable, though. It snuggles me and hugs my neck like a human child.

In domestic news, the lizard finally ate the tarantula off my walls a few nights ago. I watched the whole thing go down (literally and figuratively). I can't say I'm too sorry for the loss, though the wildlife of my bedroom has certainly not depleted. Last night around midnight, as I was carrying my candle into my room, I noticed a shadow on the floor that looked suspiciously alive. Upon closer examination with my flashlight, I saw that it was some crazy-looking bug that actually resembled nothing so much as a crab. And it was huge--as long across as my palm. One bad thing about having a cook and therefore no access to the outdoor kitchen--and there really aren't very many bad things about that situation--is that I also have absolutely no access to dishes. This is a minor problem when I need to do things like sterilize my toothbrush (which I did the day before yesterday, as I had zoned out and stuck it under the tap--Yikes!!). Or when I need to cover the world's largest crustacean/insect combo creature and scoot it out the door. It did occur to me that I could just drop my Lonely Planet on it, but I felt sorry for the poor thing, and plus, I didn't want to clean up a mess like that. I tried covering it with one of the slightly-concave saucers that we put candles on, but the thing was way too big (though amazingly tolerant), so I finally threw my towel over the thing and dragged it all the way through the house and out into the courtyard, muttering all the way about how it had better be grateful for all I was doing for it.

No sooner had I gotten back to my room and tucked myself into my mosquito net, though, than I heard an unmistakable squeak and scratch coming from under the bed. I tried to pretend it was outside and go to sleep, but I didn't want to end up with holes in my backpack, so I grudgingly got up again to try to shake the mouse out of my pack. I opened my bedroom door first, hoping it would get the idea, and then picked up my bag and SHOOK it by the bottom. The mouse was having none of it, though; I don't know how, but it held on with the tenacity of a pitbull playing tug-of-war. So for the second time that night, I dragged one of my belongings, and a creature with it, out into the courtyard. I shook and shook and shook that bloody thing, but the mouse would not come out. Finally I used my phrasebook to write MOUSE on a scrap of paper, set it next to my pack, and left it in the courtyard. This was three a.m.

Six a.m.: a frantic rap on my window. A flashlight beam comes through the dark room. "AMANDA!!! AMANDA!!! Welcome outside!!" someone bade me. So I sleepily fumbled out into the courtyard, where the guard had found my pack (but not my note--or perhaps he can't read) and had freaked out, thinking that I had been abducted in the night or something. He'd woken Lucas, who was standing there confused and half-dressed, and apparently half the rest of the village as well, because a huge crowd formed around me. I said it was only a mouse, no problem, I'm sorry, everyone, it's okay, and so they looked through my pack...and of course the mouse had absconded in the night. Mouse, they said...right. And trudged off, likely thinking what an idiot I was to have panicked the whole town before dawn. And of course the pronoucement by Filipo, one of the village's most respected men, that "There is no mouses in this house" didn't help my case any. Like he'd know since he doesn't live there...anyway.

Okay, the party bus from Kiganza has been waiting outside for me for way too long, so I will post again later.