Well-be-RAT!

Well-be-back! For whatever reason, this is how most Ugandans say “Welcome back!” And, yes, I am finally back at site after three weeks of American overload. Regardless, it would have been a shock to suddenly find myself thrown back into village life; however, if you’ve been keeping up with my blogs, you’d know that I was coming home feeling a little under the weather. When I returned on Saturday, I was still suffering from my head cold, as well as new GI issues. I still don’t really know why, but every time I ate, my stomach hurt so bad. Even plain bread would send me into the fetal position.

So I went on a 48-hour hunger strike. For anyone that knows me, I usually don’t go more than six hours without eating. I’m pretty sure John-Paul would be the first to say that a hungry Chelsea is a… well… in order to keep my blog kid-friendly, let’s just say an unhappy Chelsea. For those two days, I did what I vowed never to do at site: I locked myself inside my house. I was coming off of an American high and not feeling too hot, so I felt justified to hunker down and watch as many TV shows as possible. In the last week, I’ve watched two seasons of Two and Half Men, one season of Glee, the newest episodes of Weeds and the movie Friends with Benefits. Yup, I’ve been taking it easy.

Thankfully, my community understands my need to recover. They are all very concerned about my health. One of the funniest comments yet: Upon hearing about my poor health, my landlady said, “But Chelsea, they know that we sent you there well right?! We didn’t get you sick. They know that right?” I’m not even sure who “they” are, but she was very worried that someone would come scold her for getting the American sick.

Now, I am feeling a little better. Food’s still a challenge, but at least my head cold has subsided. So, when I could finally breathe through my nose, I started to smell something funky. At first, and this is sad, I thought maybe it was just me. I hadn’t bathed in two days, I had just been lying in bed, and I didn’t put deodorant on after my last shower. Who knows, maybe I’m just that disgusting. I put some deodorant on that night before I went to sleep and put the issue out of my mind.

After bathing that morning, I still could sense that bizarre smell. I started doing what any sane person would do: smelling everywhere and everything. I couldn’t figure it out. Where in the world could that smell come from? And what exactly was it? My first thought, after of course myself, was a dead animal. Isn’t that sad that a dead animal comes second to my own body? Anyway, I smelled everything. My bed. My backpack. My wardrobe. My clothes in the wardrobe. My floor. My pillow. My mirror. Nope. Nope. Nope. Nope. Where was it coming from?!

I couldn’t do this alone. I called for reinforcements. First, I asked my landlady to check it out. Apparently, she doesn’t have a strong sense of smell, so, no, nothing smelled funny. Still, she dug through everything. She pulled my wardrobe out, she sorted through everything under my bed, she checked my bookcase, all the while reminding me of what a messy daughter I am. Doesn’t the dust bother me? Why aren’t my things on mats? They’re going to get ruined, you know. Well, the only thing bothering me right now is that awful stench. Help me! We found nothing.

Next up: my electrician. He had to come by anyway to help me replace a light bulb. Yes, I know it sounds like an absurd blonde joke is on the horizon, but really the light bulbs here don’t screw in, so I couldn’t figure out how to replace it. Joke’s on me, ok? Once he finished that, I asked him if anything smelled funny to him. Nope. Guess he lost his sense of smell too. By this point, I was beginning to question my sanity. How come no one else smells this thing?! His wisdom was borderline disturbing.
1. Just move your bed into your front room if it really is bothering you so much.
2. Upon asking him to check the ceiling because maybe a rat died up there, his response: well, it’s possible a bat or something died up there. But, you know, after a while, it’ll stop smelling.
3. Please, can’t you just check up there? No, sorry, it’ll go away.
Well, that was a fail.

A fellow PCV was in town, so I asked her to swing by, just to sniff my house. Her verdict? It smelled like her garage at home. Great. Now I know her garage smells bad, but that doesn’t help with my situation.

After lamenting to my mom about my olfactory woes, she suggested I put out a bowl of baking soda to at least absorb the smell. Awesome.

When I came home today, I noticed a strange clicking sound coming from the corner. As I slowly crept to check it out, I saw that a fly was actually stuck under my wardrobe, trying to escape. Now, why would a fly be under my wardrobe in the first place? The front is basically flush with the ground. As a sat on my concrete floor, still smelling that appalling stench, I had a horrible realization. While the front of my wardrobe may reach the floor, the back may not. I pulled the wardrobe out again, and when I peeked behind it, I saw that the wardrobe had left a streak of liquid across the floor. Not a good sign.

If you think I investigated this myself, well, you think too highly of me. Again, I went running next door to get back up. Although my landlady was sleeping and it was raining, she came to my rescue anyway. And, she came prepared with a stick and a plate. As she tried to swipe whatever dead creature was under the wardrobe, she’s yelling at me, “It’s a BIG rat! I can’t get it out! It’s TOO big!” And I’m yelling, “OH MY GOD! OH MY GOD!” Despite my fear and complete disgust, I managed to tilt the wardrobe towards me, which freed this god-awful beast from under.

Let me just tell you, that was a huge rat, and it was beginning to decompose in my room. After yelling a few more “OH MY GOD”s, the strangest thing came to mind. Growing up, we called my younger brother “rat.” Why? Well, no offense Grant, but he was kind of a punk. Still, I’m not exactly sure of the nickname’s origins. I do know that we used to sing a song for him:

Rat-a-tat-tatter
Eats off a platter
Might get fatter
But that don’t matter
Cuz he’s rat-a-tat-tat
and he knows where’s at

I’m guessing this silly song came to mind because I still can’t figure out how the hell this rat got under my wardrobe if we couldn’t pull it out! Well, that rat did get fatter and guess what? It did matter. Sorry Grant that you remind me of decomposing rats. I can’t choose how my mind associates.

Thankfully, my landlady knew me well enough to offer to mop my floors. There was dead rat juice all over the place. Bless her. Now, my house is beginning to return to its original smell: nothing. And it smells like heaven. I guess I don’t need that bowl of baking soda.