Saturday – I’ve been up officially since 5:30 AM having been tripping in and out of sleep most of the night. That’s why I love Costco’s Sleep Aid (which I brazenly declined last night) – I can sometimes get through the night without hearing each new chorus of activity from God knows where – that’s literal. Several times through the night I awaken to hear what sounds like either church music or a girl’s choir – but a 2:30 in the morning??? This doesn’t make sense – I could almost believe it if there were a convent around here and the nuns were reciting Matins – but that would mean I’m in the Middle Ages… Oh wait! sometimes it does feel that way! But the Catholic church is a least a mile away; it’s not a convent and this is not the standard church music. Like a said – girls choir or young boys – lovely – but not at 2:30, then again at 4:30.
I’ve been tempted to go out in search of this music, but am either a coward or way to smart to go prowling around at night. In Coffee Hut yesterday I ran into a friend who lives in what is called Senior Quarters: think the Beverly Hills of Gulu, sans swimming pools and celebrities. A Boda driver was robbed and his lips cut off… Yes – here in Gulu, but that kind of news never reaches the general public, because the powers-that-be don’t want to scare off the Munus and therefore the NGOs and therefore the funds and programs. So, for many reasons, I don’t go out at night. I don’t even go out my front door. Whatever is out there can stay there… (Clearly that excludes fire-fighting and water-tanks overflowing.)
But what’s inside here right now is a very frustrated rat, trying to extricate itself from a glue trap I finally succumbed to buying and setting. This has been building for some time…. You might recall the tale of the little mouse who likes dark chocolate granola bars. It’s grown or been replaced by a full-fledged rat. I have purchased untold numbers of plastic containers and put everything that is even somewhat edible in them. This is the Fort Knox of food. But yesterday, having come home from a frustrating day involving rent unpaid by my NGO to my landlady (known to Ugandans as a “hard woman” who has evicted two locals), I wanted to unwind with a nice cup of dark-roast decaf. As I was getting the container with the sugar I discovered a disgusting mess involving what I think was spilled milk, rat urine and droppings and maggots. God deliver me…. An hour on so later, having poured several gallons of boiling water over everything, having ruined several rags and sponges with the mess, having used all the bleach and splashed some on one of my three t-shirts, I surrendered to the realization that the wild-life is winning. (Fortunately, the water lasted just long enough for me to accomplish this task before giving a final sputter. Water is still finished… ) Not content to set out bait and let the beast go and die in the walls and stink for the next few months – therefore continuing its winning streak – I’ve opted for the glue trap – a brilliant invention.
I set out two: one in its hideout under the bookcase and another in the bedroom. A little more history – I’ve been awakened twice during the last week with the sounds of an ever-too-close rat near my pillow. I sleep under a net with the edges tucked in except at the foot where it fits snug to the frame. But one night as I rolled my head sideways I heard a squeak and catapulted out of bed. No mouse. Later, a rattle on the basket by the bed and the soft plopping sound of a small creature landing on the floor. No mouse – just signs of same. So I plan on winning this particular war with this particular mouse/rat as visions of Orwellian rats march unbidden through my mind.
And now I have him!! Best 6500 Shillings ever spent if I can just get it out of the house. It’s rather grim, but he is stuck in the glue and has dragged the damn trap under the bookcase. I’ll have to wait until he tires to somehow drag him out. With Uganda being the Petri dish of diseases that it is, I’m taking no chances with this Disney-Ratatouille wannabe. Usually I would opt for something more humane, but it’s him or me. I choose me.
On to other subjects: Landlady Caroline has her better moments. Today she and a helper took the hoe to clean up the yard just around the house. Ugandans like a four-foot scraped earth boundary around a structure; Americans do not. Also I don’t have a hoe, nor the desire to use it. I’m not sure if this makes me a slob, a poor tenant or just clueless, but I have yet to be drawn into this ritual. This reluctance rests in part on the fact that – when it rains this patch of dirt turns into a mud-field across which I have to leap to get out of the house. And today it rained about 6 inches in less than an hour. A fabulous, pounding, thunderous torrential rain which created a 4-inch-deep lake around the house. Someday, I will ask her why this scorched-earth practice is so important, but not today. I am mouse-sitting.