My Champions

Almost every American child is showered with praise on a daily basis.  Honestly, think about it.  Your parents go nuts for the first few steps.  A mother may even cry if she didn’t catch it on tape.  Your teacher goes ga-ga over your wonderfully awful finger paint project, and despite the fact that it looks like you just vomited all over the poster board, it gets proudly displayed on the wall.  Your coach tells you nice shot, even though you’ve missed the goal by a good 20 feet.  Remember all those open houses?  It was just a chance for you to show off your mediocre work to your parents, who always told you what a fantastic job you were doing.  We had countless school plays and musicals that your parents suffered through, maybe even fell asleep during, but in the end all the teachers and parents cheered for an encore.  Although I may be an extreme case, I loved bringing home my report cards, my projects, my papers for everyone to see.  Even if I misspelled every other word in my essay, which is highly probable, my mother would just say “Chelsea, I can’t believe what a beautiful writer you are.”  I loved it.  I needed it.  Why else would I try in school if someone wasn’t there to acknowledge my achievements, my efforts and my awesomeness?  Everyday, our children are told “you can be whatever you want to be.”

Can you imagine never having any of this?  Although I will acknowledge that not every American child is treated in such a way, but I would argue that nearly every American child has encountered an encouraging adult, whether it is a parent, a relative, a teacher, a coach, etc.

Over the past five months, I’ve slowly realized that Ugandan children are starving for attention and positive reinforcement.  While I have very little insight into what happens at home, I have a hunch that few parents are involved with their children’s education.  I doubt that children show their exercise books to their parents when they get every answer correct.  I suspect most children go home after school to do chore after chore without receiving so much as a “well done” because it’s expected of every child to fetch water, wash dishes, cook meals, help with the younger children, etc. 

While I can only speculate about the home front, I can tell you for sure that Ugandan children do not get a self-esteem boost from school.  Honestly, there are days when I can feel my heart breaking as I watch how the children are treated.  Aside from the corporal punishment that is rampant in all Ugandan schools, despite it being “illegal,” children are demoralized on a daily basis.  In class, when a child gives an incorrect answer, it is common for not only the whole class to laugh at them, but for the teacher to join in as well.  Unfortunately, a familiar phrase in any classroom is “what is wrong with you?”  Yesterday, I witnessed a particularly new low.  In a P-7 class, a teacher was reviewing the homework to clarify why some answers were more correct than others.  During the entire lesson, she continued to tell the whole class that Raymond failed miserably.  For further embarrassment for Raymond, but apparently entertainment to the class, she asked him to read all of his incorrect answers.  It made me sick to my stomach.  One particular question was “what do you call a group of lions?”  Poor Raymond had answered, “A pack of wild animals.”  Seemingly reasonable, right?  Not to the teacher.  And her answer was a “troop”!  As much as I wanted to take revenge in the name of Raymond, I let her mistake slide.  For those of you at home that aren’t too well versed in their Lion King vocabulary, the correct answer would have been “pride,” of which the teacher had stripped away from Raymond.

Sadly, I have to come to terms with the fact that I can’t help every child in Uganda, let alone in my center.  Quick statistic: I have at least 15,000 children in my center.  Therefore, I am starting with the pupils in my life skills club, a mere 37 children.  How do you jump-start a child’s self-esteem when they’ve been put down for the last 13-18 years?  Well, I started with a quick “pat on the back” game.  All of the pupils formed a circle with their backs to the center.  I had a few initial volunteers in the center.  When I read a phrase, the ones in the center were asked to appreciate their peers that fit this phrase, such as “Touch someone who is good at English.”  It was a simple activity to show the pupils how good it feels when someone appreciates you, and when you appreciate someone else.  The final phrase was “Touch someone who is going to pass the PLE.”  I ran like a mad woman around the circle to be sure that I tagged all 37 kids on the back.  Everyone needs someone to believe in them.

Once we talked about how good it felt for someone to acknowledge their strengths, I told them that while it’s great to have someone praise you, the most important they need to develop is the ability to appreciate themselves.  They need to be able to see their strengths, their abilities and their worth.  I assigned them a project so they could display their positive qualities to the world.  They had to come up with qualities that they were proud of, and fit them into their name.  For example:

C- chatty

H- honest

E- empathetic

L- laughing

S- sensitive

E- energetic

A-    active

I think you get the idea.  They all had to make rough drafts before they made the final product, which would be on a clean, white piece of paper and decorated using colored pencils.  When the class had finally finished, I passed out the paper and pencils to each table group.  As I walked around, I realized all the children were not starting and just staring at me.  “Well guys, you better start.  We’ve only got so much time!”  “But Madam, what do we do?”  Despite my wonderful example, they still weren’t sure how to start.  After I repeated my directions and with some forceful encouragement, suddenly they were on a roll.  And wouldn’t stop.  For many students, I imagine this was the first time they’ve been able to use colored pencils and asked to do something creative for school.  Soon, the lesson that I predicted would take about 30 minutes to complete was somehow turning into a 90 minute ordeal.  Unbeknownst to me, many of my pupils are extremely artistic, and they poured over every detail.  Finally, I had to put an end to the project, mostly because I was getting worried about the pupils getting home past dark if they had to walk very far.

I didn’t let the pupils take home their masterpieces.  In the back of our classroom, I created a “Wall of Champions.”  Every project was hung in the back of the classroom to remind them during the next six weeks of cramming for their PLE that they can accomplish wonderful things.  I hope this wall will encourage my students to take pride in their work and in themselves.  I wouldn’t be surprised if this was the first time any of their work has ever been displayed.

The next day, my co-teacher approached me.  He had to leave during the middle of our session to attend to some school duties.  During the session, he had been busy designing his own name project as well, but when he saw me, he was discouraged.  “Madam, I saw all of the finished projects.  They look so good!  I don’t think mine will be good enough to be displayed.”  Yes, even the adults struggle with the similar issues of self-esteem and low confidence.

You may be surprised to know that even I couldn’t pass up this photo opportunity.  So, below are the photos of my kids and their wall of champions.  It was definitely the first time that they've had their photo taken.

At first, no one wanted to smile...

I wonder how long all those children have wanted to touch my head...

THE WALL OF CHAMPIONS

Times are a Changing... Right?

I could be wrong, but I think everyone thinks that by the end of the two years, Peace Corps will have changed them in some way. Now, only being seven months in, I may be jumping the gun so I guess I'll have to address this issue again 19 months down the road, but I often think Peace Corps changes us in ways we don't expect. And on the flip side, it leaves parts of us untouched.

Yes, there are some things about me that have changed. I'm going to be honest with you all back home, so just remember not to judge me... because sometimes I judge myself a little.

1. It's perfectly normal to wash your hands in dirty dish water to conserve water.
2. Despite my usual stress about always being on time, here being 30 minutes late is perfectly acceptable, so I take advantage of this rule frequently. If I actually wanted to follow the culture, I'd be two hours late.
3. I have this uncontrollable need to bargain anything I buy.
4. Unless it's a really big one, I tend to leave cockroaches and spiders alone. What's the point? They'll always be there.
5. I always say my questions backwards, such as "You are doing what?" or "You are called what?" It's how the local language is structured, so you get your point across more quickly.
6. I flinch and get stressed at any noise that could possibly be a slap or a child being caned.
7. I greet everyone I see. In university, I used to wear headphones when I walked to class to avoid saying hi to people.
8. I expect people to say Madam to me. If they don't, I consider it very rude.
9. Any thighs showing is extremely offensive. I'm offended!
10. Following number 9, I feel more comfortable the longer my skirt is. Unless I am in a large town or exercising, I feel really indecent in pants.
11. I keep my phone on a ringer because I don't want to miss any phone calls. At home, I kept my phone on vibrate, and yes, John-Paul, I knew how much it bothered you.
12. I am constantly on the defense, expecting to be cheated, waiting for the inevitable mzungu comment, watching people around me, keeping my arms near my bag, etc.
13. I almost forget what night time is like because I'm always in my house by 7 pm.
14. I've found that I'm really passionate about women's empowerment, particularly reproductive health rights.
15. I've discovered that I'm actually kind of a good teacher, and I really enjoy being with the students.
16. Even more than before, I've found more ways to make a complete fool of myself and loving it. People from home may be skeptical if I could really be more silly, considering this is the girl that used to skip down the aisles of the grocery stores as she sang. Well, the other day, after a school won their football match, they made a "line of victory" where they wanted the losing school to have to walk through their two lines of shouting and yelling children. Instead, I ran through it, pumping my fists above my arms. Believe me, those kids were shocked.
17. I can spend a lot of time alone, and be ok with it. Actually, I really look forward to it now.
18. I've gotten used to the idea that things are very flexible, and I should expect plan changes. Every day this week I was supposed to have workshops... alas. They've been "pushed."
19. Despite my entire intention of Peace Corps- learning about international development because it would eventually become my career- I've decided I don't want to be involved in international development. More on that another time I guess.
20. Hey, I've developed quite a knack for blogging, don't you think?

On the other hand, I remember the advice of a current Peace Corps volunteer as we were preparing to leave, "You're not going to pick up new hobbies here. If you don't play guitar, don't bring one." Seemed like good advice right? Then, why did a lot of us not follow it? Why did we think that just because we're in the Peace Corps, we're going to start enjoying things that we previously ignored or even abhorred. Even I fell prey to this bizarre expectation through Peace Corps was going to overcome some well established Chelsea characteristics.

Some people say I exaggerate- you know who you are, but I think they would also agree when I say that I am not, in any way, shape or form, a morning person. God, I hate mornings. Especially before I've had breakfast. This is horribly embarrassing, but my brother, John-Paul may be the only one who truly respects morning Chelsea. Whenever I stayed at his house, he would make sure that there was plenty of every possible breakfast food I may be craving that particular day. Once he saw that the Chelsea beast was actually stirring, he would leave the house! Our unspoken agreement: after I had finished my breakfast and coffee, I would find him on the patio so he knew it was safe. John-Paul really took all measures to avoid any possible Chelsea wrath. He was also concerned for others, so he did the public service of warning people, including my then new boyfriend. Thanks J-P. It's true though, I need at least 30 minutes to just sit and accept the fact, that yes, I'm awake, and yes, I need to do something.

Why is this important? A lot of Peace Corps volunteers get up at 6 am, and well, I assume they start their day or something. Who in the world wants to be up that early?! I do have hopes that someday, maybe when I'm actually a grown up, I'll be able to wake up. I guess, I'll eventually have to if I ever want to hold a real job. Still- why did I think that just because I joined Peace Corps, I would actually become one of this morning freaks that I never understood? Actually, I would have less success here because I'm basically on my own and set my own schedule. So, yes, most days I go to sleep at about 11 pm and wake up at 8 am. I do believe my sleep habits can also be attributed to the fact that my room may as well be a cave because the window is closed by a shutter, which lets no morning light in. I could sleep until noon and not know the difference.

Now that we've established it's bogus that I should ever wake up before 7 am, we can probably establish my insanity when I truly thought I would be happy getting up at 6:15 am for a morning run. What was I thinking?! You may be shocked to know that I did actually manage this feat for a few weeks; however, every morning, I would basically be swearing under my breath. You would think that once I got out the door, all that anger would be carried away. Actually, I think it intensified. I was pissed that I wasn't in my comfortable bed. Once I got back and bathed, I would actually get back in bed! If only for a few minutes to savour what I had dearly missed.

Don't get me wrong. I really like running, and I feel much better physically, emotionally and mentally if I'm exercising. I really believe that it keeps me on the saner side of life. So, after months of saying every night, I'm going to run tomorrow, and yet I wouldn't set the alarm clock, I finally realized there was something wrong with this situation. As I walked home this afternoon, I thought, hey, why don't I go for a run now? Well, every Peace Corps volunteer will tell you the same two reasons: it's hot and there's a lot of people out! True, it is hot, but in the evening, there's a lot of shade on my running path, and it's not even close to how hot St. Louis was. And, yeah, there's a lot of people, but they already think I'm crazy, so who cares?

So yes, I went for an afternoon run. Unfortunately, there were some moments when it felt like I was drinking it steam, but the further I ran, the later it got. By the end of my run, the weather was perfectly pleasant. As I began my run, I did "run into" a lot of people, who either stared, whistled or joined in for a few 100 meters. But, as I continued, I realized that there were about the same number of people around. Plus, the children were tired by this point and didn't try to race me. If I keep it up, I'm sure people will eventually get bored with the crazy lady who calls herself Madam Chelsea. If not, I'm happy to be their "running joke." Pun INTENDED!

Burning Questions

I have just finished recording all 52 questions that my P-7 students want to ask America. Now, I'm concerned that some of them didn't understand the assignment. Some of the questions were just about general knowledge, but maybe they wanted to quiz Americans to see if we know the same things. Also, at least five of the questions pertained to the means of acquiring an American friend for themselves. Regardless, here's a sample of the best and the worst questions... Feel free to answer them!


5. How is your culture?
6. When you marry a wife, do you take cows and pay money for the wife like us here?
16. In America, are there kings?
19. What is the name of the American people?
21. Write a letter to a person who has never visited America. Use your school address.
22. Give one reason why Britain transferred a large pice of land east of Elgon to Kenya in 1902.
26. For me, I can get any friend in America or in America you don't make friends?
27. I want to know in America, you also eat pigs?
28. I want to be a friend of girls in America.
38. In America, do you do the competition of singing, playing football (soccer), netball and sharing things?
39. Do you go to prayers on Sunday or Fridays?
40. Are there monkeys and dogs?
47. How do the women of America wear clothes?
51. In America, which food do you eat and like the most?
52. In America, do you eat dead people?

We've got Life Skills, how 'bout you?

After the blah two weeks I’ve been having- mostly trying to adjust back to site and finding some kind of direction, I must say that I was desperately in need for a day like this.

As I wandered around on Monday at my center school, trying to find something to do so it looks like I actually do something, I overheard a teacher complaining about the P-7 class. Apparently the P-7 class rebelled against the teachers and was refusing to be taught. Interesting. Not something you hear everyday here around here.

What exactly is a P-7 class? The Ugandan school system is broken down into two basic sections. Primary school and Secondary school. Primary school is P-1 to P-7, and essentially equivalent to our first to seventh grade. Here’s the catch. In order to move from P-7 to secondary school, you must pass the infamous Primary Leaving Exam (PLE). The PLE is comprised of four sections, namely English, Science, Mathematics and Social Studies. Usually, a primary school is rated only as good as its P-7 pupils’ PLE scores. Most schools ignore the Ugandan law that students must be promoted automatically, regardless of their abilities. So, many pupils are held back until they are deemed ready to sit for the PLE. The average age in this particular class at my center school is 15 years old, although the range is from 13-18. The staff tends to put a lot of pressure on the P-7 candidates, particularly in Term III- the Ugandan school calendar runs from February to December. Currently, we’re at the crunch time of Term III. Only six weeks before the big test.

Back to our revolting P-7 class. I honestly don’t know why they were revolting. Their reasoning was because they wanted to review their notes and books before trying to cram more information into their heads. That sounds fair enough, but the staff was livid. They complained that “Those stubborn children need some life skills!” Ding ding ding. It’s like a bell had just gone off in my head. Life skills, huh? Hey, I can do that.

Alright, so technically my job is to “teach teachers,” but I’m here to teach teachers to help the children, right? That’s how I look at it. Quickly, I jumped into action. Ok, that might be a little bit of an exaggeration because I was really tired on Monday, but still. By Friday, I had launched the idea to the Head Teacher, who loved it. I had roped in a staff member, who agreed to be present at all meetings- hey, I’ll teach this teacher how to teach life skills. Bingo. See- I’m even still doing my job.

Now that I had the go ahead from the school, all I needed to figure out what we were going to do exactly in this wonderful life skills club that I’d romantically dreamed up. Thankfully, we just had life skills training from Peace Corps, and they sent us home with a few books. Phew, disaster adverted.

I have to admit, when I walked into P-7 today to conduct our life skills extravaganza, I don’t think any of those kids were happy to see me. I don’t blame them. It’s Friday afternoon, and here I come, barging in, telling they “WAIT just a minute! You’re not done quite yet.” I did a brief introduction about what’s to come over the next six weeks. A lot of face time with Madam Chelsea! But also, learning about those marvelous things called “Life Skills.” For those of you at home, life skills are defined by “skills that help us lead healthy and safe lives.” I might even throw in there a happy life too. Some good examples of life skills are effective communication, empathy, decision making, resisting peer pressure, critical thinking, etc. They still seemed bored, and I was definitely getting a vibe of teenage angst. Thankfully, they perked up a little when I explained this would also be the time that we would communicate with our American classroom in the states- we’ve matched up with a class in the Denver to learn about each other.

Regardless, their jaws dropped at the next part. I told them we had to leave our lovely P-7 classroom and move to an activity in the P-1 classroom. As I left the room to lead the way, I skipped out singing the chant of the Ugandan football team, “We goooo, we go, we go, we go… Uganda Cranes WE GO!” I’m not sure they’ve ever seen a teacher skip to anything, let alone sing at the same time. At least it helped them lighten up a bit.

Before our session, I had prepared the P1 classroom, which has no desks or furniture. On the ground, I marked 33 boxes in a circle with chalk. I have 32 pupils, plus me and my fellow staff member who’s lagging behind wondering what in the world he’s agreed to be a part of. The game we played is a bizarre version of musical chairs. There are 33 spots but 34 of us, so someone is bound to be stuck in the middle. The person in the middle has to say the phrase, “The wind blows for those who….” and then say something true about themselves, such as “The wind blows for those who wear black shoes/who like rice/who are girls/who have sweaters.” If you belong to that group of people, you have to move and try to find a new free box. At first, the game was a disaster, and I began to doubt if it would work at all. Finally, they began to get the hang of it and loved it. I ended the game with, “The wind blows for those who want to do well on the PLE.” Everyone ran like mad.

My second activity was quite different. No one was allowed to speak. If you spoke, you would be asked to sit down, and later explain to everyone why you were the one to speak. Ironically, the only one that spoke was my staff member, but I let it slide. The objective: arrange the group by the day and month they were born. Wow. That was nearly impossible. They looked at me, and just thought I was crazy. It took me running around the circle pumping both my hands showing 10 for at least a full minute until they realized what in the world I was trying to say. Finally, we got arranged by birth month, although the way they sign for numbers in Uganda is very different from America, so I tended to get confused. We tried to organize for day, but we completely failed. I have to admit we gave up on that one, but oh well. At least we got the months right? They begged to play a few more rounds of the monkey in the middle game before we went back to our P-7 class to debrief what these activities meant.

And what did they mean? According to my P-7 pupils:
-To listen to each other
-To exercise
-To use signs
-To make friends
-To know the months of the year

All good answers, but the ones I was looking for could take some prompting.

What happened if the person in the middle spoke quietly, like many Ugandan children do? No one responded to you, and you were left alone, again, in the circle.

What happened if you weren't paying attention to the person in the middle? Once everyone started moving, you had no idea what to do.

Did we arrange ourselves without each other’s help? No.

Did we have to use a different way to talk since we couldn't speak? Yes.

Did they notice that I "spoke" differently from them? Yes.

But, once they slowed down and "listened," we could understand each other, right? Right.

We need to use effective communication and work together! They seemed to understand the point I was trying to make. They promised that next time they would speak loudly and clearly, and try to work as a team. I also asked them to remember that our circle game taught us that we have things in common. Some of us wear belts, some of us like matooke, some of us like math and all of us want to do well on our PLEs. They are not alone.

Now, as we were closing, I allowed them to write two anonymous questions to ask our friends in America. Wow, that got the class quiet fast and thinking hard. I initially asked my fellow staff member if he would like a piece of paper too. He quickly turned it down, laughing- like he would have something to ask a classroom of American children. As I walked around collecting the questions, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the teacher had relented. He had borrowed paper from a pupil to jot down his questions too and acted very flustered when I started my countdown for the final questions to be submitted. So now, I have 66 questions waiting to be answered. I’ll be sure to post some here when I’ve finally sorted through them.

When I left the classroom at 4:30 pm, I noticed a change. Don’t worry. I’m not completely self-absorbed. I don’t think I made some phenomenal change in their lives today. But, at least a change in their attitude for our next Life Skills meeting.

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.