electricity.

The last few weeks have been pretty eventful, but this blog is dedicated to today: the day I got energy!

When I first moved into my cute yellow house (pale yellow with deep red trim, pictures to come), I was told within a few days I should have electricity. That was three weeks ago.

In the past three weeks, I have waited on my landlord who demorar-ed beyond belied and taken matters into my own hands. Last week, I showed up at the electricity agency, asked where the director’s office was, and walked right in. This is a very gouch move, as usually to talk to a chefe, you must go through all the necessary means. I was counting on my clear difference in appearance to get me into his office. I was totally right, and he promised me energy that day.

Of course, that did not happen.

I left the next day to spend Christmas with some friends in Gorongosa (where there is a national park that is closed, but I got to see my first mountains in Mozambique, my heart lit up and I cannot wait to get back), and asked my house-keeper to stay at my house while I was gone. She told me she would wait for the electricity men to come.

I came back to site on Monday only to find (not at all surprisingly) that my prematurely purchased rotating fan was still just sitting collecting dust. This morning, I hopped on my bike and braved the chefe’s office again. He took one look at me, apologized, and told me to go home and someone would be there this morning. Around 1:00 pm, a truck pulled into my yard.

I am now sitting, computer and cell phone charging (the number of batches of cookies I need to make for my neighbors who have graciously charged my phone over the last few weeks will keep me busy until about February), and fan blowing right on my bed.

My bed is, you should know, my favorite place. My first night in my house, I did not have a bed. I put my trusty purple thurmarest on the floor, set up my mosquito net, and was ready to go to sleep after a long day of meeting various important people and repeating my name over and over (Naomi, to Mozambicans is very similar to the word “nome” and people often think I am just saying “name” in response to their asking mine; it gets very tiring). After a few horizontal minutes, I heard the sound that I know all too well from my apartment in DC.

I had a mouse problem.

I grabbed my can of bygone, which I had used before I snuggled onto my thermarest, to kill all of the cockroaches I could find invading my space. I proceeded to spray the area where I heard the mouse (which was all of 5 inches from where my head had beed). The rest of the night was much the same. I sat under my mosquito net, spray can in hand, with my head-lamp on, ready to attack.

The next day my supervisor called me to see how I had slept. I told him about my mouse problem. He apologized, and later that day showed up with the tiniest kitten I have ever seen. Ghandi, as I quickly named her, was so cute. An added bonus, that night I did not hear a single mouse.

I have grown to love Ghandi. The neighbors think I am crazy because I give her baths and cuddle with her. I call her my fliha (daughter) and tell people that I live with my one child, not alone.

Yesterday, however, when I came back from Gorongosa, Ghandi was no where to be found. I asked my neighbors if they had seen her, and no one had. I went to bed, and the next morning my house-keeper told me that on Monday as she was cleaning, she thought Ghandi had wondered out of the house (which she does but has never gone beyond my yard), and my house-keeper thought that since she was so pretty someone probably put her in their pocket. Ghandi was beautiful, tan with bright blue eyes. Like a doting mother I had shown pictures of her to all my friends in Gorongosa.

My housekeeper has offered me one of her kittens (which are white and not cute and older by about nine months) and though I do not want them because there is no replacement for Ghandi (and because I am naively expected the darn thing to show up at my door right now), I do not want my mouse problem to continue.

I suppose I can decide in a few days. I have asked all of the neighborhood kids to keep an eye out for Ghandi, and if they can't find her, no one can. In the meantime, as I mourn and call Ghandi and make kissy noises, attracting even more attention to myself, I plan to spend my vacation getting the rest of my house ready. I want to paint the inside (obnoxious, bright colors) and I want to dig up a good garden in the back.

And tomorrow, I want to buy some appliances. You know the kind, the ones that plug in.