Rat Scratch Fever DooDoo-Doo-Doo

Like I mentioned before in the FAQ section of my blog, the place I stay in has somehwat of a rat problem. Actually, the term "epidemic" seems a better fit. I live on the grounds of the local Catholic church, and the parishioner stores his maize in the building that is connencted to my kitchen (my kitchen is in a building that is across the courtyard from my front door). This is the main reason for all of the rats. The walkway from my house to the kitchen has a tin roof hanging over it, and the rain gutters on the roof are basically just rat highways. They can creep into my place with ease. And a nother very uncool thing about the gutters is that we collect rain water for washing, cleaning, and most importantly, drinking. And some rats don't make it across the highway, and lie in the gutters for long periods of time.

So most of the time, we actually don't see the rats, we just hear them. They are above us running around in the attic, and they are in the walls, scratching and making that horrible squeal that only rats can make. It doesn't help that they are nocturnal. If you ever have have the displeasure of waking up in the middle of the night for whatever reason, the herd of rats running across the attic floor makes it very hard to get back to sleep.

But sometimes, on those days where you wish you were never born, you get up close and personal with these horrific rodents. Like the one time after dinner one night, when I opened up the cupboard in the kitchen, and a rat jumped out from one of the top shelves, and grazed my leg in mid-flight. Now before this happened, I thought, "I deal with rats living inside the walls of my house. Seeing one run by me won't scare me." I was way off. When I felt that rat touch my leg, I screamed like a little girl and ran out of the kitchen faster that I have ever ran before.

We chased the sucker around the kitchen for a while, under the fridge, behind the cupboard, and then we finally had it cornered behind the oven. Finally. But for some reason, we could not find it. As ajoke, I told Tim to open the oven door, and he did. The rat was sitting in the oven. What a sight. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. Needless to say, the oven has been out of commission since. I'll probably never understand how that rat got on the third shelf of the cupboard.

Good thing for Tim and I, there is a product sold at the Malava Agro-Vet called STORM. In my opinion, it is man's greatest achievement. I hold it in such a regard that I feel every letter in the product's name should be capitalized. STORM is a little blue ball of rat poison that makes rats thirsty when they eat it, so they leave the house to go find water. Unfortunately, some don't make it to far (the pics that I put up are the ones that I felt wouldn't make people sick. Remember people, this is a family-oriented blog).

This pic is great. It was taken on one of our first days in Malava. Tim saw this nest in a corner of the building where our kitchen is. He decided that he didn't want bees bothering us, so he decided to wack it down with a broom handle. So he gives it a wack, and what pops out, but 6 baby rats, who fall to their death, which was absolutely fabulous. Turns out it was a bird's nest, and the rats ate the bird eggs and took over the nest.

This is what we found on our front steps one morning. First official STORM victim of the new year

Found this guy in the water bucket we use to filter for DRINKING. STORM made the rat so thirsty, that it decided it would rather drown in a big bucket of water than go on being that thirsty.

Glorious Vacation

A couple of weeks ago, I had the great pleasure of spending the weekend in the city of Kisumu. It is the third largest city in all of Africa, and is only two hours from my village. It sits on Lake Victoria, which is the second largest fresh water lake in the world. The city itself is very cool, and has a very westernized feel to it. The reason I went was to meet up with two of my fellow volunteers, Sandy and Arielle, who are teaching in Nairobi. I spent all of Friday night and dancing like a complete idiot with a bunch of german ex-pats who we met where we were staying. Everybody wa having a good time until I asked one of the German guys to show me is David Haselhoff tatoo.

Moving along to the next day: This is Evans. At first he tried to charge us 800 shillings each for the boat ride. You can't blame him for trying to burn a group of muzungus, everyone tries to do it. Then I kindly explained to him that we weren't tourists, but residents of this fine country. I also told him that I have been to Kenyan weddings that have cost less. We ended up going for 600 altogether. Evans turned out to be a great navigator and a really nice guy.

The lovely ladies of Notre Dame Mission Volunteer Organization. On the left is Sandy, and to the right is Arielle.

Sandy let me borrow her scarf for neck protection. She said I looked like I was about to start melting.

Hyacinth covers much of the lake during certain parts of the year, which really hurts business for fisherman and people who give boat tours

The pics of the Lake don't do it ANY justice. It is unbelievable.

yea that's right, hippos baby

Craziness. They were so close to the boat

It looks like the hippo is smiling for the camera. It's a fact that Hippos cause more deaths in Africa each year than any other animal. I never understood this because I was always taught that they were herbivores. And I was right (like always). Most of the deaths are caused when the hippos tip the boat over, and God know what happens to the people after that. Yea so after this last shot, we decided it was our time to go haha.

Even Evans got scared at this point. The hippo was heading towards us. It was our time to move on. A great time was had by all on Lake Victoria. Kisumu is glorious

Apologies

OK friends, for those who don't actually know, I am not living in a hut, and I am sorry to disappoint. I told people I was going to, because I thought that was the case. I didn't find out until my orientation that I was living in a brick home with burgular bars on every window. It is actually a tiny house, a house that has no running water and loses electricity for hours after every time it rains (which is very often). The kitchen is separate from the house, and one of the first nights we moved in we left the kitchen door unlocked, and the stove was stolen. I then realized it would be way to dangerous for me stay here if I actually had to live in a hut.

There will be no pictures on this entry because my computer is already broken. I have no idea what is wrong with it, but I will try to get it fixed as soon as possible. Also, I am sorry for not updating my blog that often. I have been very busy over here, which is actually pretty nice because time can move very slowly in rural Africa if you have nothing to do.

Anyways, so I am the assistant basketball for a local high school called Malava Boys. It’s the first year of their basketball, so it’s pretty funny to see the kids play. I don’t coach as much as just play with the guys, and hang out with them, telling them stories about how I used to hang out with 50 Cent in high school and used to work at McDonald's with Snoop Dog. The school has a dirt field as the court, there are no baskets, and the guys either play in sandals or bare feet. So basically we just run around with a ball. I compare it to the game “keep away” for grown ups. And at the end of every single practice, I remind the guys that they are by far the greatest basketball team I have ever seen that practiced without baskets.

This first entry is about a Sister of Notre Dame named Sr. Dorothy Stang. People have been sending me many compliments telling me how nice it is for me to be doing this volunteer work. But my efforts pale in comparison to the nuns that I work for. These women have literally dedicated their entire existences on helping the less fortunate. When I hear a seventy-year old woman tell me how she was almost murdered by rebels in 1960 while volunteering in the Republic of Congo, it makes me understand the true definition of the term "sacrifice". All I can do is marvel at how fascinating these women are. Each and every one of them has stories that will blow your mind, but none hold a candle to Sr. Dorothy. I hope you enjoy it (FYI: I didn't write this. It's my adaptation of a newsletter I read about her).

Sister Dorothy Stang was a very ordinary person. She was born into a family of nine in Dayton, Ohio. Inspired by the deep faith of her parents and by her teachers at Julienne High School, she entered the Sisters of Notre Dame at the age of 17. On her entrance application she said she wanted to be a missionary to China. Unfortunately, by the time she was out of the novitiate, the Sisters of Notre Dame had been expelled from China.

Early in her teaching career, Sister Dororthy was missioned to Arizona where she spent weekdays in the classroom and weekends in the camps of migrant farmers and their families. It was here that her heart was touched by the poverty and the injustice that she saw. Her heart was expanded with a missionary fervor that remained with her for the rest of her life.

Sister Dorothy's great desire to be a missionary was fulfilled when she was sent to Brazil. Her catechetical work there brought her directly in contact with the families of peasant farmers. She identified with them immediately. She lived as they lived-in houses made of saplings with thatch roofs and dirt floors. She ate rice and beans every day. She totally gave up even the most rudimentary vestiges of what we call the good life.

All this sounds bleak to those who are the 18% of the world's population who use 80% of the world's resources. Yet in spite of the apparent bareness of Sister Dorothy's life, she was truly a happy person. Her only possessions were the beauty of the people and the beauty of nature, yet she was vibrantly happy.

What does that say about what is essential for happiness?

In the 1980s, the Brazilian government offered the farmers plots of land deep in the forest. Of course the farmers went. This offer gave them some kind of hope of a future for themselves and their families. Sister Dorothy went with them. It was here that she grew in her love for the forest. She herself learned and then taught the farmers the skills of sustainable farming, methods of growing crops that do not destroy the forest. Most important, she brought them together to build faith communities.

But very soon she and her people experienced the effects of global trade and corporate agriculture. Large soy and cattle farmers, greedy for the profits of a global market, began to take the land of those who would not sell. This is the land where small farmers had built their houses, planted their crops, and were raising their families. There were threats of violence, murder. In Para state alone, between 1985 and 2005, there were more than 500 murders over land disputes. Fewer than 10 of these ever came to trial. It was a situation of violence and murder with impunity. The homes and crops of the small farmers were burned and the farmers had to move deeper into the forest where the whole cycle started again.

This was Sister Dorothy's challenge: to stand with the farmers in their struggle for human rights and to protect the forest from mass destruction. Already 20% of the forest had been destroyed. The logging and burning of this forest is turning land that was once called the lungs of the world into a significant producer of carbon dioxide.

And so Sister Dorothy, in her work with the powerless, made enemies among the powerful. There was a price on her head, but this didn't deter her. "I do not want to flee, nor to abandon the battle of the farmers who live without any protection in the forest. I know they want to kill me, but I will not go away. My place is here alongside these people who are constantly humiliated by people who consider themselves powerful."

In February 2005, she went to the village of Esperanca, deep in the Amazon. She brought food and clothing to families that had been burned out. They were scared for their lives, hiding deep in the forest. She had called a meeting of the villagers on February 12 so they could strengthen one another and rebuild.

As she walked on her way to the meeting, two men stepped out of the forest. She recognized them as pistolieros, paid killers, who had been bragging that they were going to murder her. One of the men said to her "your work here is done Sister". They talked for a bit, she invited them to the meeting and started to walk away. One of the men called her name.

As she turned, she saw the pistol in his hand. She reached into her bag. He asked, "are you reaching for your weapon?" Sister Dorothy responded, "this is my weapon." She raised her bible. Before she was finished reading the Beatitudes, the pistoliero fired the first shot. He then stood over her and emptied his gun into her back and head.

On February 12, after over 40 years of service in Brazil, Sister Dorothy Stang was murded. But her death was not in vein. She was now a martyr, because both her life and death made a difference. We too can make a difference. At her funeral, one of the nuns cried out, "we are not burying Sister Dorothy. We are planting her and she will bring forth the fruit of justice and hope."

May her life and death expand our hearts so that we too can find ways to bring forth the fruit of justice and hope for ALL people.





And on a lighter note, I now bring to you:

BEST OF FAN MAIL
Here are some of my favorite excerpts from emails I have received from my fans from all across the globe.

“You’re not missing anything over here, just fat people and overpriced everything”
--Caitlin Berry


"If I were you, I would come back and lecture everybody from my moral high horse"
--Matt Johnson


"Yo dude, you still alive?"
--James Coyne
(side note: that was the entire email)


"Hey Ryan, I think what you are doing over in Africa is VERY NIIIIIIIICE. I hope you have GREAT SUCCESS!"
--Borat
(side note: email contained a picture of Borat giving the thumbs up)
(side note: email from Borat was actually Tom Nowlan)


" ."
--John Kiely
(side note: John Kiely has not sent me one email yet)


"Holy (Expletive) Keller"
--Meg "Peg the Chicken Leg" Carroll
(side note: that was the title of the email she sent to me)


"I guess that Diarrhea Cha Cha Cha joke just isn't that funny anymore"
--Mike Mailey, in reference to me telling how most Kenyans lack healthcare and access to clean water, and can die from simple diseases like diarrhea


"Hey big guy, I am rooting for YOU in Kenya"
--Jeff Garcia
(side note: email contained picture of Jeff Garcia with his shirt off)
(side note: email from Jeff Garcia was actually Tom Nowlan)


"Bumblebee Tuna"
--Adam Hepp


"I think your blog is great. Every other blog I ever see is some hipster nerd from Philly critiquing awful music: 'the new album out by Clap Your Hands And Say Yeah is like my latte and my hat--hot and to the side'"
--Matt Johnson


"That is sweet you are the new basketball coach. Does anyone have game? If you break someone's ankles, do they retire because of lack of healthcare?"
--Dan Logue


"He looks exactly like Garth from Wayne's World. People actually just call him Garth."
--Tricia Brophy, telling me about one her students


“Is there an address where I can send you some good eats? (To be honest, I probably won’t send you anything because I am lazy and selfish. Just curious ya know)”
--Andrew Murray aka “Murrdawg”


"Yo dude, if any of them Kenyans try to mess with you, just tell em 'I got two rules: don't touch me, and don't touch me'"
--Brad from Real World San Diego
(side note: email from Brad from Real World San Diego was actually Tom Nowlan)


"I hope you've been taking your malaria pill"
--Nora Keller, on every email and every call


"Ryan, I just read your blog, and realized that I am love with you. Come on home soon. We can make it work"
--Charlize Theron
(side note: email was actually from Charlize Theron)


“People are like, Yo dude, did you see Keller shout you a holla? And I’m all like yea, nothing out of the ordinary, I did some work for him awhile back, nothing flashy. We’re just like a couple of big wave surfers from Maui when we kick it: just catchin a hang”
--Pat Nowlan


"I heard that the Kibera Slums are almost as ghetto as Thursday nights at Barnaby's"
--Christopher "Bruno" Mongiello


“I mean come on, look at the knowledge you already gained since you while you were there. If you could come back here and incorporate the first wive’s hut into American culture, they may push Lincoln out of that big ass chair and put a statue of you in it. I would be most grateful, as would all the other guys paying rent on a mistress’ condo when they could just build a mud hut”
--Kevin Clement


"Well, at least you won't stand out as a gluttonous, imperialist American with your lanky frame. But my God, with that red hair, you might as well wear a shirt that reads I LOVE NEW YORK AND I POOP ON ALLAH"
--Brian Kane

AND LAST BUT CERTAINLY NOT LEAST:

“I love you man and am really truly proud of what you are doing. And I know I sound like a (Expletive) (Expletive) saying that, and I will punch you in the ear if you ever tell anyone I said that, so don't even think about it you red-headed freckled freak.”
--Andrew Murray aka “Murrdawg” aka “Megaphone” aka “Murdiggets"

So I tried to post "Best Of Fan Mail" earlier in the week, and once again I was having trouble with the blog site. I don't know why I always have so much trouble with it, but I think it might have something to do with Blogger.com being the official website of Lucifer. Anyways, so I wrote this blog for two hours, and went to post it, and it just erased on me. I was feeling quite perturbed, so I read some emails to calm me down. And luckily I read the new email from Murrdawg, because this post wouldn't have been complete without that last quote. Talk about a blessing in disguise. Thank you Blogger.com for being the worst run website of all time.

PS I love you too Murrdawg