There are moments when something takes me right back to Africa, and instantly I feel the need to share a memory. So I’d like to start sharing these stories with you. They aren’t always going to have a spiritual message, they aren’t always going to be funny, they aren’t always going to be interesting. But I do promise to keep them real (at least, as real as I remember them).
Once upon a time, I was Liteboho Mokoroane (read Dee-tay-bo-ho m=Mo-ko-rah-neh). Liteboho (there’s a good chance I’m spelling this wrong, but I promise you it starts with L and not D) means “thanksgiving” in Sesotho (Se-soo-too), the language of Lesotho (Leh-soo-too)… I promise this won’t all be a vocabulary/pronunciation lesson. The name was given to me by one of the students at Growing Nations, an organization that is teaching a people to Farm God’s Way. My last name (Mokoroane) was the last name of my host sister, Maeddie. Anyway….
The first night I was with my host sister, Maeddie, and her family I heard some squeaking and scurrying in the kitchen during our candlelit dinner. My eyes shot to the corner where I heard the noise, my heart started beating double-time, and I am sure a look of sheer terror was on my face. Nails raced around in the metal cupboards, behind the stove, I don’t really know where the sound was coming from– it seemed to be coming from everywhere all at once. After a few minutes of panic, I asked my sister, really casually and calmly I’m sure, “What’s that noise?” She and her sister-in-law replied (actually casually), “Oh that’s just the rats.” Of course, just rats.
Now contrary to my pet record, I’m not the biggest fan of rodents. (I had 5 hamsters, what of it?) Especially ones that are not pets, and not in cages. Especially ones that I could hear throwing little rat parties while I tried to eat my dinner. I became so afraid of a rat scurrying across my feet during dinner that I sat cross-legged most nights. I’m sure my family thought I was crazy.
I don’t want to sound pretentious telling this story, because I know that rats are a real problem everywhere (except maybe Alberta). They creep into houses, chew up everything, and suck out souls in the middle of the night. A few years ago, we had a slight rat/mouse problem in our house in Minnesota. They’re just a part of life. And apparently for my family in Lesotho, they were a part of daily life. The rats came alive (figuratively) every night at dinner time. That being said, I still didn’t love them. I don’t even like them. And when I can just hear them, I can only picture them as rabid, cartoon rats looking to ruin my life.
Anyway, Maeddie and I slept on foam beds on the floor in a room that was not the kitchen, so I felt pretty safe. This story is getting to be long and I’m a little nervous you’ll finish and say, “What? That’s it? Laaaaame.” Oh well, I’m in too deep now. So, one night I’m reading my Bible in our room, probably having a nice moment, probably doing some journaling (I wish I had my journals with me right now to see what I said about what happened next), when suddenly, I hear the rats. “In the kitchen?” you ask. “No,” I reply, “Above my head.” Cue sweaty palms, heart skyrocketing out of my chest, stopping of breath. Up to the ceiling I look, to see a rat run across a beam (if I can, I’d like to say that this rat actually sprinted across the beam) and down behind a cooler on top of the bookshelf near the ceiling. I am sure that if I did have my journals with me it would read something like this,
“Today we went and walked for a mile to see our friends OMG RAT. RAT. RAT IN THE ROOM. WHAT DO I DO? OMG.”
I then took to a primitive state, and by that I mean I turned into a 5 year old. My sister walked into the room and I say, “I saw the rat. Rat. I saw it. Up there.” *Points* My sister, Maeddie, is much more fearless than I and she just calmly said, “Aussi (sister) Liteboho, you must not be afraid of the rats. You are free here. You must know that you are free here.” Yes, ok, I am ok. The rat is up there, across the room from my bed. There’s no way it would come to my bed… No way…. So then my sister walked me outside to the bathroom (it was dark and scary out, ok?!) I calmed down by a lot by then I’d like to say. So I calmly, casually, got into my bed.
But as I pulled back the blanket, what did I see? One, two, three little, brown rat turds. Once again, panic attack. Maeddie came in, took one look at me and said, “Liteboho, what is wrong?” “The rat… The rat….was in my…. bed.” Once more, she told me to not be afraid, and that I was “free here” (I still don’t really know what that means, but it’s really calming to hear).
So at that point… what’s a girl to do?
Go to bed and pray that the rats don’t eat you in your sleep.
I swear, I woke up during that night because something was on my head. I told myself that it was just my hair falling on my face… It couldn’t have been something else… Could it?
RATS, I would have been on the 1st. Car, bike, bus etc. out of there..brave girl. We are so well off in USA, but, don’t really appreciate it. Hope you are enjoying school & friends now. Hi to my favorite 21 yr old Gd daughter.
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