House-keeping

Recently I posted this photo on Facebook of laundry day:

It drew many likes and comments, which of course was my intent. People seemed very impressed by my house-keeping hardships, but would they still be impressed if they knew how haphazardly I actually do my laundry? I mean, if it looks like it is going to rain, I don’t even bother to rinse—just hang it on the line and wait for God to help me out. This has backfired on me before, though, when helpful people removed my laundry from the line and hung it up inside so that it wouldn’t be spoiled by the rain. Mostly, I don’t worry about wrecking my clothes. The good thing about working for an NGO is that you always get a bunch of free t-shirts.

In other domestic news, I now have a gas stove! It took a month to get the gas here from Juba.  The Mundri Express refused to take the cylinder, saying it was dangerous to the passengers, but I bet it would have been fine. The most dangerous part of the journey is crossing the Luri River outside of Juba (pictured in a previous post), and if we went down there, I doubt the gas would maintain its combustibility under the water. Anyway, the gas finally came via Mundri Express Cargo. I’d tried to send it that way previously and been persuaded not to because it would take too long. Then I asked the drilling team’s driver to pick it up for me when he went through Juba to get some more drilling supplies. That was supposed to have happened 2 weeks ago, but he’s still not here. That’s why we have a new hand pump on our compound—the rest of the team is stuck here and bored. We were planning to drill here before, as we want a solar-powered pump to be used for all our water needs to avoid having to carry water up by hand to the shower tank, pictured here:

Our borehole was never supposed to be a hand pump, but then our city water tap stopped working again (I think it is because the khawaja guy who fixed it last time is out of town again). So the guys decided to just put the head of the hand pump on anyway, temporarily, so we can get water. Consequently, our compound has become quite popular with all the neighbors.

Oh right, I was talking about the gas stove. So I finally got the gas yesterday, and today I cooked a typical lunch that would have needed an hour’s prep time with the coal stove in only 10 minutes—scrambled eggs with extra hot peppers from my neighbor Scott’s beautiful and perfect garden. It turns out, growing up on a farm in Ohio gives you some useful skills. I mean, growing up in Indonesia, I got some skills too—I can use a squat toilet without any trouble, and I speak Bahasa. But when it comes down to it, if we ever end up in a post-apocalyptic society without electricity or other modern conveniences (which TV, movies, and popular young adult literature all seem to be foretelling right now), his skills would be way more in demand than mine—he’s also a doctor or PA really, but whatever—they’re the same to me, and if we’re in said post-apocalyptic times, I doubt that anybody will be performing major surgeries in fancy operating rooms anyway, so he’ll probably be just as useful (unless it’s a Tower of Babel-type scenario—then my skills would trump). But I hooked up the gas to the stove ALL BY MYSELF. Even though Repent said, “Go ask Scott to help you.” I thought, “No. I can and will do it myself. I don’t always have to go running to Dr. Farming Genius for everything.” And I totally hooked it up, all by myself, with only one exploding fireball. I can be a genius too.

Here I was supposed to put a photo of my gas stove, but I forgot to take one and I'm in Juba now, so here is a photo of a meal I made on the coal stove--squash from my garden and garlic bread:

Sometimes I eat jellybeans for supper, sometimes I eat this. I like variety.

Also, if you are interested, or not or whatever, here is the before and after of my room, which I kept meaning to post on Facebook for my mom and sisters, but haven’t yet. For some reason, unknown to me, they always get really interested in my living quarters, even though they know that I am not really a decorator or skilled home maker by any means.

Before I moved rooms, but after Mark visited:

There are two beds in the room, and I put my clothes and things on top of one of them.

After:

I now have my things in the black trunks under the window--one is food and the other is clothes

The tent was only after Mark came. Before I had a mosquito net, which I actually preferred. It was cooler and not so crinkly-sounding whenever I toss and turn, which wakes me up even more. But I keep the tent because the mosquito net has a giant hole in it where a mouse chewed it. That same mouse ran across my hand and woke me up. I didn’t scream and jump around because I only do that when I have an audience. But I did gasp and sit straight up in bed and thrash around until I found the flashlight to make sure it was completely gone. I don’t mind mice as pets, but the rabid, scurrying wild ones worry me a bit, as I’m not 100% positive that my rabies shots are all up to date. No one will confirm that they last between 7-10 years. I need that confirmation for my peace of mind since I got bit by a monkey a few weeks ago.

So far no mice have made it in my tent, and now that I’m taking malaria medicine, I don’t mind if a mosquito or two pops in for a visit. I also appreciate the meds for the exciting dreams that I have now, an interesting side effect.

I’m mostly done. I just want to leave you with a photo of this blog written in a notebook because I write when the muse strikes me, and my computer was charging at Dr. Farming Genius’s fully-electrified house. Whatever—he is getting water from OUR hand pump.

Aren’t you so glad that computers allow me to write legibly? I mean, those of you who actually care about reading what I write (Thanks, Mom!).