Returning to Mahabo, I once again dealt with the many creatures who took over while I was out. You may or may not recall an ant tunneling problem I encountered in my shower a while ago. I thought I had finished with them—what with the poison and the dead bodies that followed.
But no. Apparently they only played dead while preparing to take over the world.
I finished cleaning my house and obviously wanted a shower (two hours of sweeping will do that to you). And what did I find in my shower? Approximately 5 million ants swarming around piles of dirt in my shower.
My neighbors tried to help by putting burning paper into the shower. This killed enough of them for me to tip-toe inside and shower. When I finished, I put down more of that poison. Problem solved, right? I’d wait for the dead bodies, sweep them away, and move on.
But as the ants died, other ants came to take the bodies away. I don’t get this. They did it after the burning paper too. Based on what I know about ants, I just assumed they were going to EAT the dead. Waste not, want not.
Side note: I suddenly no longer have electricity. Long story, but it’s Madagascar, it’s not surprising, it’s affecting TONS of people in my town, and my proviseur is in the process of trying to make an exception for me because I’m Peace Corps. But until then, I have no music and no fan.
Without a fan, I was eager to shower before bed, simply to cool off. Without electricity, I made my way to the shower with a candle. (Everything is more exciting when it’s done by candle. So much more mysterious.) I saw a carpet of ant bodies, and assumed the dead had evacuated, like last time. I set the candle down and when to get a broom to dispose of the bodies (aka sweep them down the hole/drain).
But when I return, what do I find? These are not all dead ant bodies. No, no. That would be way too easy. Half of them are dead. And half of them are alive and doing who knows what with the dead. I’m no ant ritual expert, but I’m sure I was interrupting something.
It was night (read: dark) so I figured I’d just shower on our back porch. Like the shower, my back porch is made of cement and thus perfect for showering. There’s no drain, but there is an edge and that works fine by me.
That was the idea.
But the problem, you see, was that my candle—my only source of light in these electricity-less days—was now in the middle of a swarm of dead and living ants. No big deal, right? I’ll just grab the candle and be on my merry way.
Not so fast. You see, the ants invading my shower (in Malagasy, “ladosy” pronounced lah-DOO-see) are not the little ones that find their way into the sugar. They are BIG and FAT ants. And apparently they have teeth.
After being bitten multiple times on the feet and hands (a strange bite—like it hits the nerves or something)—and after catching ants running up my legs—I decided to call in the authorities. My neighbors—Ramose and his wife (their family situation is interesting and a whole nother story). Ramose is Gasy for Sir and while it looks like it might be pronounced rah-MOOSE it’s actually pronounced (in a quick, squished up way) ram-SAY. You can call him rah-MOOSE in your head if you want. I don’t mind.
Back to the story. So I knocked on the neighbors’ door and explained the situation as best I could. Um, the ants? They’re not dead. Well, there are some dead and some not dead. And there’s a lot. And they do that thing that hurts with their mouth on my feet. See?
Right.
Luckily, my neighbors understand me well. They took one look at the ants in my ladosy and gasped. Their idea was the same as mine—just take my shower on the back porch.
Instead of explaining that I was trying to but couldn’t get my candle, I let my neighbor stomp all over the place killing some ants, then grab my candle and give it to me. We shut the ladosy door.
And then I showered and went to bed and lived happily ever after right? I wish.
I set the candle down, started reaching for my shampoo, and suddenly felt another nerve-stinging bite. I looked down. The ants—those big fat bastards—had followed me.
Okay, no big deal. I’m a big girl. I’ll just stomp around a little bit until they’re dead and then I’ll take my shower.
No no no. See, these are special ants. I don’t get them, but I’m telling you, they can sense their dead and they seek them out. So for as many ants as you kill, that many more come to take away the bodies and to bite your toes. Or ankles. Or higher. The more I stomped, the more I was surrounded, the more I anticipated lovely dreams when I finally made it to bed. And I must say—dead and live ants are difficult to tell apart when you can only see by candlelight.
After trying to deal with the situation myself, I finally gave up and did the inevitable?
Ramose? The ants. . . .
He came and saw the situation and the story ends with me taking my candlelit shower in the neighbors’ ladosy—out in the yard, far from the ants.
Needless to say, I did NOT sleep well that night. I listened to the rats that have apparently moved into my roof while a cricket of sorts kept buzzing and slamming into my mosquito net and I dreamt of ants crawling under the door and up my bed, eating me alive.
The end.
Sunday, December 28, 2008
red like sunshine
You would think that after 18 months on this island, I’d have figured out how to not get burned by the sun that shines brightly every second of the day. You would think. And in a way I have. I’m pretty good about sunscreen. Plus I have a base tan that seems to be handy when I accidentally put myself in the sun more than usual.
But then again, I DID spend a sunless month in the United States. I mean, the snow followed me—Minneapolis, DC, New York, back to Minneapolis. I know I’ve been a long-time supporter of winter and snowflakes and general coldness. But you’d think the weather would have taken into account that—based on the heat I’ve been experiencing for well over a year—a little chilliness would be appreciated. More than that and I’m now a pansy. Sad, I know, but true.
Let’s get to the point. After that month in the States, I walked an hour to a beach (in the sun) then spent hours on the beach to make the walk worth it then walked an hour back home (still in the sun). I tried using sunscreen, but I was doomed from the get-go. I also blame the fact that it was so hot I had to swim often, probably removing all the sunscreen I honestly did put on.
The moral of the story: I ended the day red as a lobster, generating heat for all around me. That’s right—no electricity and no fan, but I DO have my own personal heater, also known as my skin. The shower was freezing by comparison and even a little breeze made me shiver from the comparison. I woke in the morning with slightly swollen eyelids—their way of drawing my attention to the fact that they too got burned.
The red has basically faded. Everyone is a bit confused. First of all, I’m told that I’ve lost weight. My town is more reliable than a scale. They’re more vocal when I gain weight (usually it’s after I’ve lost some), saying things like, “Oh thank goodness! You were looking like a skeleton!” But a couple trusted people (Ramose and my proviseur aka principal—note: yes I realize it is strange that though she is my best friend in Mahabo, I call her my proviseur instead of by her name—I can’t help it—she’s still my boss, even if we do drink beer and go dancing together) will tell me when weight.
So I get back to Mahabo and they say, “You’ve lost weight!” I say that it’s a possibility. They look confused and then add, “Weren’t you in America?” Uh . . . yup. Though in my defense, I’m sure the weight loss occurred after I got back to Africa. So then my proviseur looks at me again and says, “And you’re tan!” She pauses again, confused, then adds, “Was there actually sunshine there?” And this is when I say, “No no—this isn’t tan—this is the aftermath of very very red.”
This story has no point except to say that being sunburned makes you very warm. And afterwards you have to deal not so much with peeling but with the random ridding of patches of dead skin. Lovely. Also don’t lose weight when you go on vacation in America. Or once you get back before people have seen you. Everyone will think you’re crazy.
But then again, I DID spend a sunless month in the United States. I mean, the snow followed me—Minneapolis, DC, New York, back to Minneapolis. I know I’ve been a long-time supporter of winter and snowflakes and general coldness. But you’d think the weather would have taken into account that—based on the heat I’ve been experiencing for well over a year—a little chilliness would be appreciated. More than that and I’m now a pansy. Sad, I know, but true.
Let’s get to the point. After that month in the States, I walked an hour to a beach (in the sun) then spent hours on the beach to make the walk worth it then walked an hour back home (still in the sun). I tried using sunscreen, but I was doomed from the get-go. I also blame the fact that it was so hot I had to swim often, probably removing all the sunscreen I honestly did put on.
The moral of the story: I ended the day red as a lobster, generating heat for all around me. That’s right—no electricity and no fan, but I DO have my own personal heater, also known as my skin. The shower was freezing by comparison and even a little breeze made me shiver from the comparison. I woke in the morning with slightly swollen eyelids—their way of drawing my attention to the fact that they too got burned.
The red has basically faded. Everyone is a bit confused. First of all, I’m told that I’ve lost weight. My town is more reliable than a scale. They’re more vocal when I gain weight (usually it’s after I’ve lost some), saying things like, “Oh thank goodness! You were looking like a skeleton!” But a couple trusted people (Ramose and my proviseur aka principal—note: yes I realize it is strange that though she is my best friend in Mahabo, I call her my proviseur instead of by her name—I can’t help it—she’s still my boss, even if we do drink beer and go dancing together) will tell me when weight.
So I get back to Mahabo and they say, “You’ve lost weight!” I say that it’s a possibility. They look confused and then add, “Weren’t you in America?” Uh . . . yup. Though in my defense, I’m sure the weight loss occurred after I got back to Africa. So then my proviseur looks at me again and says, “And you’re tan!” She pauses again, confused, then adds, “Was there actually sunshine there?” And this is when I say, “No no—this isn’t tan—this is the aftermath of very very red.”
This story has no point except to say that being sunburned makes you very warm. And afterwards you have to deal not so much with peeling but with the random ridding of patches of dead skin. Lovely. Also don’t lose weight when you go on vacation in America. Or once you get back before people have seen you. Everyone will think you’re crazy.
Monday, December 8, 2008
Welcome back?
Well, I have been back in Madagascar for one week, and it has been a dozy.
For those of you who didn’t know, I received a lovely farewell from Madagascar before I headed to the States—my cell phone was stolen a couple hours before I left for the airport. Just a little sendoff to make sure I came back? Something like that.
And my first day back in Morondava, my DVD player was stolen. Like from inside my friend’s apartment (the only apartment being rented, meaning the place is usually deserted) while I took a shower. I mean, it was a good thing, because my friend had TONS of valuable things everywhere—including the laptop my DVD player was sitting on top of. But it was the ONLY valuable thing I had. That and my stolen cell phone. Thank you, Madagascar—I love you too.
(Note: Okay that’s complete bullshit—it has not so much to do with Madagascar as the fact that people steal stuff no matter where you live, so whatever—it could have happened anywhere.)
It wasn’t well thought through, however. They watch French region movies here. The player will ONLY read American movies. (And yes, this also means that I can’t just get a new player here—because they will only read the French coded movies.) And while it can also play CDs (but not the ones with music videos that come along with them, which is what they usually use here), the guy failed to take the charger. Meaning the machine is useless to him, and will be even MORE useless to him once the battery dies (soon)—while it was VERY useful to me. Plus let’s not forget the creepy thought that someone was in the apartment. And while a laptop was donated to my school while I was in the US, it does not play DVDs. Not enough memory, or something like that.
My first week got even better, but I’ll only touch on a couple things.
First, I got eaten ALIVE by some kind of bug that left bite marks as big as bee stings or something. They itch like you wouldn’t believe and cover my back like the measles and they haven’t seemed to go away even though it’s been a week. Awesome.
But to add insult to injury, some restaurant snuck a little mango into a sauce (that wasn’t even good). Mango. In my body. If this does not make you cringe with horror, please go back to a certain entry about a year ago, and you’ll quickly understand. Luckily I didn’t eat much of it (the shrimp were kind of sitting on a swirl of sauce for decoration, as opposed to being soaked in it), so it’s not as bad as it could be. Nevertheless, my face is swollen and itchy. My arms and fingers are itchy. Slightly (okay a lot more than that) miserable and unable to sleep from it at times. And rather than hibernating my way through it, I had to spend two and a half full days without a break with people (it happened in the middle) when all I wanted to do was sleep and wake up when it’s all over. Ha.
All I’m saying, I’m prepared for a cyclone to be a part of the welcome committee. Or maybe I’ll be let off the hook and I now just have to wait for the mango to get out of my system.
To end on a positive (and somewhat ironic) note . . . Throughout all this, I am currently in the process of trying to get assigned to a second tour with the Peace Corps in a different country. Let’s be honest, the US government was probably behind all this—trying to test my commitment before spending more tax dollars on me.
Okay maybe not.
Moral of the story: It’s hot as hell and good to be back. Where else can such a dramatic week be so . . . undramatic?
For those of you who didn’t know, I received a lovely farewell from Madagascar before I headed to the States—my cell phone was stolen a couple hours before I left for the airport. Just a little sendoff to make sure I came back? Something like that.
And my first day back in Morondava, my DVD player was stolen. Like from inside my friend’s apartment (the only apartment being rented, meaning the place is usually deserted) while I took a shower. I mean, it was a good thing, because my friend had TONS of valuable things everywhere—including the laptop my DVD player was sitting on top of. But it was the ONLY valuable thing I had. That and my stolen cell phone. Thank you, Madagascar—I love you too.
(Note: Okay that’s complete bullshit—it has not so much to do with Madagascar as the fact that people steal stuff no matter where you live, so whatever—it could have happened anywhere.)
It wasn’t well thought through, however. They watch French region movies here. The player will ONLY read American movies. (And yes, this also means that I can’t just get a new player here—because they will only read the French coded movies.) And while it can also play CDs (but not the ones with music videos that come along with them, which is what they usually use here), the guy failed to take the charger. Meaning the machine is useless to him, and will be even MORE useless to him once the battery dies (soon)—while it was VERY useful to me. Plus let’s not forget the creepy thought that someone was in the apartment. And while a laptop was donated to my school while I was in the US, it does not play DVDs. Not enough memory, or something like that.
My first week got even better, but I’ll only touch on a couple things.
First, I got eaten ALIVE by some kind of bug that left bite marks as big as bee stings or something. They itch like you wouldn’t believe and cover my back like the measles and they haven’t seemed to go away even though it’s been a week. Awesome.
But to add insult to injury, some restaurant snuck a little mango into a sauce (that wasn’t even good). Mango. In my body. If this does not make you cringe with horror, please go back to a certain entry about a year ago, and you’ll quickly understand. Luckily I didn’t eat much of it (the shrimp were kind of sitting on a swirl of sauce for decoration, as opposed to being soaked in it), so it’s not as bad as it could be. Nevertheless, my face is swollen and itchy. My arms and fingers are itchy. Slightly (okay a lot more than that) miserable and unable to sleep from it at times. And rather than hibernating my way through it, I had to spend two and a half full days without a break with people (it happened in the middle) when all I wanted to do was sleep and wake up when it’s all over. Ha.
All I’m saying, I’m prepared for a cyclone to be a part of the welcome committee. Or maybe I’ll be let off the hook and I now just have to wait for the mango to get out of my system.
To end on a positive (and somewhat ironic) note . . . Throughout all this, I am currently in the process of trying to get assigned to a second tour with the Peace Corps in a different country. Let’s be honest, the US government was probably behind all this—trying to test my commitment before spending more tax dollars on me.
Okay maybe not.
Moral of the story: It’s hot as hell and good to be back. Where else can such a dramatic week be so . . . undramatic?
On Airplanes
There are certain things I do not understand about airplanes. I’m not talking mechanics—how a ginormous hunk of metal flies through the air with movies and food service going on inside. I mean . . . general safety things.
For example, why do the chairs have to be upright during take-off and landing? I mean, I’m slightly biased, considering those two events kind of put me to sleep—and don’t you want your chair leaning back when asleep? But seriously. I don’t get it. Think about it. Even during the most turbulent moments, all you do is kind of rock a little bit. Nothing dramatic. Is it REALLY going to make a difference if your body is at a 100- instead of 90-degree angle? I somehow doubt it.
The same goes for the trays being up. What’s the worst that could happen? The book you set on the tray falls off and lands in your lap? This makes no sense to me.
Seatbelts too. No sense. Are you going to somehow fall out of your chair? Doubtful. Will the plane suddenly thrust forward with such force that you will need a seatbelt? The fact that nothing NEAR that has happened to me makes me think that if such a circumstance WERE to arise, you’d have MUCH more important things to worry about. Am I right? And you KNOW the flight attendants agree. After all, they just kind of walk around and ASK you if you have your seatbelt. I can’t imagine someone having trouble sleeping at night because he lied about his seatbelt.
Why does everything have to be shoved in a compartment or under the seat? Will it really make a difference if it sticks out from under the seat a tiny bit? The only person it hurts is you and your loss of foot space.
Here’s all I can come up with. Flight attendants are kind of like . . . mothers. And they really want you to clean up your room or something. Like they hate the thought of everyone getting off the plane with some chairs leaning back, others not. They want all the trays put away. They don’t want random carry-ons sitting on the floor. But rather than nagging you, they use the power of the plane. They convince us that it is DANGEROUS so that their neat-freak tendencies are excused. And we BUY it. I mean, who wants to be blamed if the airplane suddenly plummets to the ground? Do you really want your last thoughts to be, “Well, I didn’t THINK it’d be a big deal if I tipped my chair back” ? I don’t think so.
As for the fact that the entertainment system quits working long before take-off (to prepare?) making it so you never see the last ten minutes of whatever film you were watching. . . . I have no explanation. It’s just plain mean.
For example, why do the chairs have to be upright during take-off and landing? I mean, I’m slightly biased, considering those two events kind of put me to sleep—and don’t you want your chair leaning back when asleep? But seriously. I don’t get it. Think about it. Even during the most turbulent moments, all you do is kind of rock a little bit. Nothing dramatic. Is it REALLY going to make a difference if your body is at a 100- instead of 90-degree angle? I somehow doubt it.
The same goes for the trays being up. What’s the worst that could happen? The book you set on the tray falls off and lands in your lap? This makes no sense to me.
Seatbelts too. No sense. Are you going to somehow fall out of your chair? Doubtful. Will the plane suddenly thrust forward with such force that you will need a seatbelt? The fact that nothing NEAR that has happened to me makes me think that if such a circumstance WERE to arise, you’d have MUCH more important things to worry about. Am I right? And you KNOW the flight attendants agree. After all, they just kind of walk around and ASK you if you have your seatbelt. I can’t imagine someone having trouble sleeping at night because he lied about his seatbelt.
Why does everything have to be shoved in a compartment or under the seat? Will it really make a difference if it sticks out from under the seat a tiny bit? The only person it hurts is you and your loss of foot space.
Here’s all I can come up with. Flight attendants are kind of like . . . mothers. And they really want you to clean up your room or something. Like they hate the thought of everyone getting off the plane with some chairs leaning back, others not. They want all the trays put away. They don’t want random carry-ons sitting on the floor. But rather than nagging you, they use the power of the plane. They convince us that it is DANGEROUS so that their neat-freak tendencies are excused. And we BUY it. I mean, who wants to be blamed if the airplane suddenly plummets to the ground? Do you really want your last thoughts to be, “Well, I didn’t THINK it’d be a big deal if I tipped my chair back” ? I don’t think so.
As for the fact that the entertainment system quits working long before take-off (to prepare?) making it so you never see the last ten minutes of whatever film you were watching. . . . I have no explanation. It’s just plain mean.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Learning English
For your entertainment (I hope), I am going to give you some beautiful gems I found in homework assignments and exams.
Let's start with my youngest kids (who have an exam at the end of the year) and their preferences. I'll let the quotes speak for themselves. . . .
"I am with pig."
"I hate to invade."
"I prefer girl to boy."
"I dislike boy."
"I love girl."
"I love pretty girls."
"I like none thing to drink."
"I don't like to eat corn."
"I dislikes wool."
"I like paw paw because it's sweaty."
"I love my girlfriend."
"I love Lucia."
"I love daddy."
"I like drawing pork."
"I love you FLAVIEN."
"I like Bethany."
"I like Miss Betany."
"I dislikes my hard of hearing."
"I prefer beef bird to ox."
"I dislike home my haughty."
"I am fond of humbergers (food)."
"I don't like clothe."
"I likes eate and hate cooking."
"I likes in the M/bo. Dislike or M/va."
"I don't like the child a stuborn."
"diske my fiend."
"God blesse me and you Mrs. English."
Next we'll do high schoolers asking questions.
"How year wold are you? I'm year wold twenty-two."
"Who is your mee heser? Your's mechese is Bethany."
"Whe bethany going in Etat Unis? bethany is going in November 21th."
Same students but with dialogues. How they fill in blanks.
What's up? "Yes, I up."
See you later! "No! I'm late!"
The oldest students on advice, family, daily schedules, and AIDs.
"You clean water by to dead the microbe."
"Every Sunday, I stand 06 o'clock. I go to toilette."
"The cousins does Philip have two many."
"You protect yourself by going to club night."
"No respect husband." (how to get AIDs)
"mother's pregnant on my baby" (how to get AIDs)
"No sexual after marriage." (how to avoid AIDs)
"Nowdays Many people got the problem as them about love. Let us talk about it."
And my favorite. What happens when my young high schoolers try writing their own dialogues. The topic is apologies.
"Please forgive me for liking you."
"Why you eaten my 'goute'?"
"I have forgetter my notebook."
"Please forgive me for arising you."
Anita: Why you broken my heart?
Onitra: I apologize I didn't.
Julien: Please stay with me my love.
Rebecca: I am sorry! but I must to come back at one.
Rebecca: I apologize even if you sad.
Julien: No problem! don't forget I LOVE YOU
Rebecca: Well, let me say to you goodbye.
Julien: It's ok! I am agree.
Rebecca: Please forgive me I want to kiss you.
Julien: GOOD-BYE EVEN IF . . .
Incredible . . .
Let's start with my youngest kids (who have an exam at the end of the year) and their preferences. I'll let the quotes speak for themselves. . . .
"I am with pig."
"I hate to invade."
"I prefer girl to boy."
"I dislike boy."
"I love girl."
"I love pretty girls."
"I like none thing to drink."
"I don't like to eat corn."
"I dislikes wool."
"I like paw paw because it's sweaty."
"I love my girlfriend."
"I love Lucia."
"I love daddy."
"I like drawing pork."
"I love you FLAVIEN."
"I like Bethany."
"I like Miss Betany."
"I dislikes my hard of hearing."
"I prefer beef bird to ox."
"I dislike home my haughty."
"I am fond of humbergers (food)."
"I don't like clothe."
"I likes eate and hate cooking."
"I likes in the M/bo. Dislike or M/va."
"I don't like the child a stuborn."
"diske my fiend."
"God blesse me and you Mrs. English."
Next we'll do high schoolers asking questions.
"How year wold are you? I'm year wold twenty-two."
"Who is your mee heser? Your's mechese is Bethany."
"Whe bethany going in Etat Unis? bethany is going in November 21th."
Same students but with dialogues. How they fill in blanks.
What's up? "Yes, I up."
See you later! "No! I'm late!"
The oldest students on advice, family, daily schedules, and AIDs.
"You clean water by to dead the microbe."
"Every Sunday, I stand 06 o'clock. I go to toilette."
"The cousins does Philip have two many."
"You protect yourself by going to club night."
"No respect husband." (how to get AIDs)
"mother's pregnant on my baby" (how to get AIDs)
"No sexual after marriage." (how to avoid AIDs)
"Nowdays Many people got the problem as them about love. Let us talk about it."
And my favorite. What happens when my young high schoolers try writing their own dialogues. The topic is apologies.
"Please forgive me for liking you."
"Why you eaten my 'goute'?"
"I have forgetter my notebook."
"Please forgive me for arising you."
Anita: Why you broken my heart?
Onitra: I apologize I didn't.
Julien: Please stay with me my love.
Rebecca: I am sorry! but I must to come back at one.
Rebecca: I apologize even if you sad.
Julien: No problem! don't forget I LOVE YOU
Rebecca: Well, let me say to you goodbye.
Julien: It's ok! I am agree.
Rebecca: Please forgive me I want to kiss you.
Julien: GOOD-BYE EVEN IF . . .
Incredible . . .
The Current State of My Life
(as of one month ago)
In my shower, you can find dead ants and cockroach crap all over the ground. I made a trade for the dead ants when I got sick of all the dirt they got everywhere while apparently tunneling for who knows what under the shower. My neighbor poisoned them for me and I swept away the bodies. Too bad it didn't work on the cockroaches . . . Here's the thing. I understand that a person (or bug) has to live and all that jazz. But the shower? I have two problems with this. 1. Why?? It's not as if there's any food there. . . . 2. I'm sorry, but if I get to choose ONE space it my life to actually be clean, it would be the shower. No offense.
In other news, I was woken up last night because a giant snake knocked something off my table. It wasn't until I walked over to pick the thing up that I saw the giant snake. My neighbor came to the rescue again, beating it on the head then flinging it out the door. In my defense, I didn't think he was going to kill it. I'm not this psycho animal killer. It was just too big for me to sneak it into a bucket and remove it from the premises. And the Malagasy and seriously afraid of snakes, so I guess there was only one option in his mind. I don't get the fear--their snakes aren't even poisonous. Oh well. It was 2am and I was in no mood to think about snakes.
Moments ago, I climbed into my hammock only to find a bunch of white powder and some snake shit. Awesome. (You may have noticed that I am becoming a serious rockstar when it comes to identifying poop. A useful skill SOMEWHERE I'm sure.) Meaning, the snake didn't climb into my house at night--it simply climbed out of the hammock at night and dropped onto my desk.
The question IS, did I or didn't I sit in the hammock WITH the snake??
And unfortunately, as I swept the poo out the door, it smooshed, leaving a smear of both shit and blood (? your guess is as good as mine . . .). Yes, I realize I've probably just crossed the border into the land of too much information. Sorry? At least you didn't have to clean it up.
In my shower, you can find dead ants and cockroach crap all over the ground. I made a trade for the dead ants when I got sick of all the dirt they got everywhere while apparently tunneling for who knows what under the shower. My neighbor poisoned them for me and I swept away the bodies. Too bad it didn't work on the cockroaches . . . Here's the thing. I understand that a person (or bug) has to live and all that jazz. But the shower? I have two problems with this. 1. Why?? It's not as if there's any food there. . . . 2. I'm sorry, but if I get to choose ONE space it my life to actually be clean, it would be the shower. No offense.
In other news, I was woken up last night because a giant snake knocked something off my table. It wasn't until I walked over to pick the thing up that I saw the giant snake. My neighbor came to the rescue again, beating it on the head then flinging it out the door. In my defense, I didn't think he was going to kill it. I'm not this psycho animal killer. It was just too big for me to sneak it into a bucket and remove it from the premises. And the Malagasy and seriously afraid of snakes, so I guess there was only one option in his mind. I don't get the fear--their snakes aren't even poisonous. Oh well. It was 2am and I was in no mood to think about snakes.
Moments ago, I climbed into my hammock only to find a bunch of white powder and some snake shit. Awesome. (You may have noticed that I am becoming a serious rockstar when it comes to identifying poop. A useful skill SOMEWHERE I'm sure.) Meaning, the snake didn't climb into my house at night--it simply climbed out of the hammock at night and dropped onto my desk.
The question IS, did I or didn't I sit in the hammock WITH the snake??
And unfortunately, as I swept the poo out the door, it smooshed, leaving a smear of both shit and blood (? your guess is as good as mine . . .). Yes, I realize I've probably just crossed the border into the land of too much information. Sorry? At least you didn't have to clean it up.
solar oven update
This is all I have to say. I let the sauce simmer in the oven while I made the dough and let it rise. Then I threw the pizza in the oven and it was done in less than an hour. I can leave a soup in it all day, and by the time I get off work, I have a delicious supper, still warm from sitting in there.
My life has become so much fancier.
This is amazing.
My life has become so much fancier.
This is amazing.
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