Husa’s Horrible Day

(I actually wrote this a while ago; so we’re well over our bad day now.)
Today was a really terrible day in Husa.
Don’t worry, I’m about to tell you why.
Got up for my morning bike ride this morning—a special one, Annika’s last here in Lopitland. When we got back from Nairobi, we’d gotten in the habit of beating the sun up and catching its stunning rise over the distant mountain ranges—this wonderful morning tradition was cut ended a couple weeks back by a fickle bike. But we’d fixed it up special for this mornings’ occasion, this one last sunrise.
Well, we hadn’t got 100 meters when the back tire went flat again and spoiled our plans.
I came home to my room to realize another thing had gone spoiled, somewhere in my room. Point one: rat population. A dirty thing had found its way into one of my big Rubbermaid action packers (full of precious supplies) and died there, apparently trying to crack the code on my extra-special jar of Jiff, now thrown down in disgust to the bottom of our longdrop. A couple of the village children actually threw themselves to the ground or removed themselves from our compound voluntarily (un-be-LIEVE-able) in reaction to the terrible smell. They then took it upon themselves to remind me of the wretched stench (“Ibeja, it smells very bad.”) at least hundred times in the next hour, as if I could forget that which so assaulted my nostrils. Praise God, he brought an onslaught of rain that sent them all scattering for shelter and officially relieved them of the post of relaying obvious and latent information.
Well, as I had the kitchen in disarray, bleaching and salvaging what I could from said precious action packer, Pattie notices there’s a little water coming into her room. This is a normal thing, but something was fishy about this, as it was seeming to flow directly from her wardrobe (already so riddled by termites) and quickly had the whole floor flooded. We added her stuff to the disarray of the kitchen and soon found the source of said water blessing.
Turns out the gutter pipe to our water tank had a little something-something go wrong, which sent the water gushing out on to the side of our house. This is an important point at which to remember I live in a MUD house.
Yes, as emphatic as the village children were about reminding me of the rat smell, they failed to even casually or singly mention, as they were catching the overflow from our tank, the fact that a HUGE HOLE was being water-blasted into Pattie’s wall.
Yes, a hole. Might has well have been a secret passage, bursting forth with water.
So I found myself slipping and slidding—in a sopping wet dress—across the plastic lid of the water tank, trying to fix the pipe problem, as Kim ran down to America—in an equally sopping wet dress—to see about getting a tarp.
The fellas sent their well-meaning condolences via the radio. And I’m sure they felt bad then. But I imagine they felt much worse about an hour later when the foundation their 3000L water tank cracked down the middle and sent the thing crashing to the ground and the water rushing down the village path. Now, that, my friends, would’ve been something to see. I can just imagine some poor, naked, wide-eyed Lopit child, standing in that rocky pathway as the water came a’gushing. (No one was hurt in the Great Longija Water Tank Disaster of 2007.)
Anyway, back in Husa, we were patching things up and laughing it off. We had neighbors come over to grab water and alternatively warm their wet selves by our coal stove, actually lit for the purpose of making ol’ Craiger a birthday cake. (No flour was to be found in Husa, however. See title about horrible day.) We ended up using it for an even greater purpose, as this bleak afternoon struck me as the perfect time to break out the Smores supplies I’d got in the mail Wednesday, sent from the States on October 10th, 2006. The chocolate was melted, the ‘mallows likewise gooely unified and the graham crackers, a bit on the soggy side, but it was amazing, roasting the marshmallows, skewed on my potato peeler. Maybe even better was watching as our neighbor Lodina tried a marshmallow. She really had no idea what to think of that.
Anyway, all seemed well when I was dry and cosy in my bed, trying to finish up that great classic, Great Expectations. But next thing I know who’s a peeping up over the side of my mattress but Mr. Rat himself, another one of those highly unwelcome fellow. Point two: rat population. It was then that I realized I was being quite ill used as the hapless landlord for that disgusting tenet and his entourage. And to think he thought us so chummy as to snuggle into my bed with me.
Quite enraged, I stalked him until my broom and I had our way.
Game, set, match (superior genes): human race.
If not for the Smores, that would’ve been the highlight of the day, for sure.
Let’s just pray that Sunday has as much goodness as it does potential—what, with that name and the Sabbath distinction…