The end of an era (season)....

Tomorrow is October 15th. Word on the Zwedru street is that October 15th marks the official end of the rainy season. And as I write this I am drying off from getting stuck in a lunch time downpour, more big black clouds are rolling in, and my shoes are still muddy from last evenings downpour (that I also got stuck in on my way home from work. Ive thought about buying an umbrella, but I've made it this far without one...).

If you ask enough people, you can find a few who make the point that rainy season started late so it may not end on time (on time meaning exactly October 15th). It could be more like end of October, or mid November, or heck, why not go into December?

Don't get me wrong, I love the smell of rain here, I love the sound of thunder, I love how it cools the air down. BUT, I have to be in Monrovia (via bush taxi) in 2 weeks. If it doesn't stop TOMORROW, it may take me 2 days to get to Monrovia. It took my friend 7 hours to go 140 Kms yesterday (on the road leading to Monrovia). UN 4x4 vehicles are getting stuck. The Chinese road workers can only do so much when the rain keeps coming.

My pictures above do not do it justice. You have to look closley to see the rivers forming on the ground. You should really come see it for yourself.

This week has been nothing to write home about. So I'll write to my blog instead. Two of our vehicles are in River Gee County until Friday. They are working on the school feeding program. Our 3rd vehicle is broken down. Our pick-up needs to be at the office at all times in case of emergency. I know this means nothing to you, but to me it means I can't go anywhere that is outside of walking distance. And basically at this point all of my work is outside of walking distance. As we say in Liberia, "What to do." And, yes, its more of a statement than a question.

Luckily for me, I have had plenty of time to prepare for my INTERVIEW on Thursday! Finally all of those applications paid off. Its not my first choice but I think it will be good practice for me if nothing else.

Wish me luck.

RIP

The stench coming from the basement was just too much to ignore. When the guy who turns our generator on came tonight we bribed him inside to check it out. Low and behold, there was a dead mouse down there... who knows how long it had been there. I haven't seen him since early in the weekend. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he is no longer with us, but why couldn't he have gone outside to spend his last living moments?

The cliche mouse in the house

I hate mice.
I don't mind cockroaches (unless the are crawling on me). I don't mind lizards (only the poo poo they leave behind everywhere). I don't mind frogs (unless I step on them). I don't mind mosquitoes (only how itchy their bites are). I don't mind ants (unless they ransack my sugar bowl). I don't even mind termites (although the many tears I've shed in Zambia because of them would make you think otherwise). But, I hate mice. Hate them. Hate, hate, hate. I especially hate the one that has made its way into my house.
It first showed up on the scene about a month and a half ago when 5 bags of "evidence beans" were locked up in the spare bedroom, next to the sitting room. (Someone tried to steal beans from the WFP warehouses. After recovering the beans, they decided to keep them, a.k.a. the 'evidence beans', in our guesthouse until the investigation is complete. That could be a while. TIA.)
I kept seeing little flashes of black moving at high speeds across the floor in my bedroom, in the sitting room, in the kitchen. I blamed my mefloquine hallucinations for a while, but then, one day, there it was under my desk staring back at me. Probably laughing. And probably with a belly full of dried beans. I chased it, not like I could a) catch it or b) have the stomach to smash it with my shoe. But I had no choice. After a few days I got to know its routine. It would start the evening running from the kitchen, behind the TV stand and into the 'evidence bean' room. After a delicious meal it would run back across the living room, down the hall and into my room, the bathroom and sometimes the spare rooms. The thing about this new house guest is that he is too damn fast to catch, too damn small to smash, and, as I am learning now, too damn smart to eat poison. I went to a few shops looking for rat poison, but turns out the most popular way to catch them around here is with rat glue. When I picture catching mice with glue, I picture the things feet stuck to a piece of paper as its body wobbles around trying to free itself. Then I picture myself trying to take the mouse stuck on paper outside for disposal. I've done a lot of gross things, but I don't want to do that. I don't want to be near it. I don't want to see it. And I really don't want to touch it. Maybe Ive become a "softee." Im ok with that.
So after deciding against the glue, I went to the pharmacy. They handed me 2 packs of yellow capsules and told me "this stuff is for humans, but it also works on mice." Luckily it works differently on us than on mice. It's actually for a cold. Or so they tell me- it didn't come with any inserts.
That night I created a wonderful concoction of rice, beans, and poison. I felt like an evil scientist and it was great. I laid out 3 piles of temptation in different areas of the house.
Turns out the lizards love it. The mouse just laughs at it. The next morning we found out that instead of eating the concoction, the mouse ate through my housemates book bag to get to some peanut butter.
Ok, so it prefers peanut butter to rice and beans. NO PROBLEM. The next nights concoction consisted of, you guessed it, PB and P.
Peanut Butter and Poison.
Turns out cockroaches love it. The mouse just laughed at it.
I won't give up. I will kill this thing. I just have to figure out how.
I'm taking suggestions.

The drinking deacon

Today Ruthia and I were having an after work drink with 2 of our WFP drivers and another UN worker, who I will call the drinking deacon.

As we were enjoying our beverages we saw the drinking deacon pulling off the labels from his bottles and throwing them on the floor. We asked him why he didn't like his labels. I'll repeat the conversation as best as I can.

Me: Why don't you like to have the labels on your bottle?

DD: Well, you see, I am a big man in my church. I am a deacon [his italics, not mine]. And I don't want my congregation to see me drinking.

Me (thinking): You're really tricking them by throwing the labels on the floor

Me (saying): So you don't want the people at your church to see you drinking while you're sitting inside the bar with a bottle in front of you?

DD: Right, but, don't worry, I know that God will be the only one to judge me in the end and I know I can't fool him by taking the labels off.

Me (looking worried): Ok. ummm...

WFP driver: You should not try to be a people pleaser.

Me: So, when you are preaching at church, do you tell the congregation not to drink?

DD: Of course! I say 'dont drink it is not good for you.'

Me: Soooo, youre a hypocrite?

DD: hahahhaha.I guess so. hahahaha.

Me: And you're ok with that?

DD: hahahha. Sure. and what religion are you?

Me (reluctantly): Catholic

DD: Well catholics drink too!

ME: I never said you shouldn't drink. I was just wondering why its ok for you to drink but not your fellow church goers.

DD: hahahah Well I told the pastor that I drink but that he shouldn't tell anyone so its our secret.

Me (confused): so....... that makes it ok?

DD: hahahaha. And when it is my time to meet God I will explain my reasons to him. He will accept them.

Me: Ok, explain them to me and let's see what happens.

DD: Hahhahah. No! You won't accept them.

Yet another memorable conversation that makes the white girl look crazy for not understanding the obvious-ness (as in "Duh Andrea. If I take the labels off no one will know and God will understand") of Liberian ways.

Its been a week of many ups and downs and its only Wednesday! Most of our travel plans (finishing up the monitoring of the clinics, going back to do one-on-one trainings on the ledgers and reports) have been put on hold. Two of our vehicles are broken down and the 3rd vehicle is being used for the school feeding program activities. I could get upset, but there's no point. I certainly can't fix a Lnad Cruiser and I certainly can't walk 60kms. Well, I could, but I'm not going to.
Yesterday, we were supposed to have a meeting at the hospital here in Zwedru to write a proposal for the referral pathways training. I walked over there in the peak heat of the day and found one other person, our WHO representative. Failure, you say? Nah. I'm over thinking that cancelled meetings are failures! It's a set back and we just try again (a.k.a. I have no other choice!). The county health district director is at a workshop for 2 weeks and our Merlin rep is busy in the field collecting September reports from all the clinics. It's out of my hands for now and as a Peace Corps Volunteer it is not by job to keep pushing and do all the dirty work. I see my role in this project as the guide, the networker, and the supporter, and as such I have been in close contact with UNICEF and the Ministry of Health regarding how these trainings can come to fruition (and it is possible!). One of the hardest things about being a volunteer is knowing when to step back and when to push forward. I see the trainings as the logical next step in health care activties here in Grand Gedeh, but if no one else does, then I am fighting a losing (unsustainable) battle. This is not a Peace Corps project. This is a County Health Team Project (with a little Peace Corps initiation). If it is something that they prioritize and accomplish on their own, it is something they will be able to carry on after I am gone (sustainable).

Septic tanks in a country without a sewer system

I hate our basement. Everything about it either freaks me out or grosses me out. Or both. The termites have eaten through the ceiling (I try to forget that the ceiling down there is also the floor up in my room), cockroaches throw parties down there everynight, water from the upstairs bathroom leaks through the ceiling and drips onto the floor and, well, you get the point. Last week there was this weird smell coming from the basement. My housemate was brave enough to go check it out... I was happy to just close the door and settle on "out of sight/smell, out of mind." I knew we should've stuck to my plan as soon as I heard her screaming in disgust from downstairs. The toilet was full of sewage. We are unsure as to how long it had been there, but I would venture to say a long time. After some investigation by our staff, it was determined that whatever we flushed down the upstairs toilet, came out in the downstairs toilet, and eventually, the bathtub, which then eventually overflowed onto the floor and out into the hallway. There was something blocking the pipe into the septic tank. We were immediately told we could not use the toilet for our "big poo poo business" and "if you could just use the toilet at work, that would be great. " Now, I dont know about you, but my "big poo poo business" system does not just work from 8am -5 pm Monday through Friday. Thankfully we were able to get the key to an outdoor toilet, located across the compound, that has not been used in a loooong time. The first time we ventured out there to check things out, we went together. It made me miss my latrine in Zambia.

Luckily, the UN septic tank came and cleaned out the tank. Then the plumber came and dug up the pipe that was blocked. Turns out tree roots had grown into the pipe. Within 48 hours we were back in business. It's the fastest I have ever seen anything get fixed in Africa.



Yesterday, Giardia returned for the first time since Zambia and I have no doubts that it is related to the story above. I am now living in fear that our house is a hazmat danger zone. I am certain that the sewage was not cleaned up properly, especially after seeing the mops that were used outside drying in the sun, rather than waiting to be burned.

Even better, everyone who comes by the house now asks if the bathroom has been fixed yet. Im sure the whole WFP staff thinks that the 2 white girls have some sort of "big poo poo business" problem. They are probably wondering how we could manage to create such a mess. Embarrassing.