It all started in the early afternoon of a hot September day
in Amani House. I was home from school because the plumber came to look at yet
another problem with the pipes that occasionally bring running water into our
home and because Standard 7 was taking the National Exam, during which no
teachers are allowed in the school except for the headmistress.
So, there was I was, minding my own business, putting away
tools and cleaning up after the successful repair of our waterways, when all of
a sudden, I hear a scurrying from the pantry. I haven’t heard this scurry in a
while. We knew we had at least one rat in our pantry a few weeks ago, but upon
noticing this new housemate, living rent-free and eating our food, we put out a
special buffet for him in the form of Supa-Kill, the Dutch rat poison we bought
should such a guest arrive unannounced. (I’m not kidding, the name of this
stuff is SUPA, as in super, Kill and
is complete with toxic warning signs and a picture of a dead rat printed on the
bright yellow and red box).
In the last few weeks since presenting our special guest
with his feast, we heard no more scurrying…until yesterday. I turned on the
light in the pantry to find a long grey tail following the small grey-brown
body of our friend, Panya (rat in
Kiswahili), down behind the cupboard. In the past I probably would have rolled
my eyes in annoyance and hoped that he would eventually just leave or die, since
I noticed all the Supa-Kill was gone. But today I was inspired. I grabbed a
broomstick (without the broom part at the end), closed the door to the pantry
with me and Panya inside, and climbed up on the cupboard with my flashlight and
the stick, peering behind it, looking for our house guest.
I spotted him easily and began poking towards him with the
broomstick. My initial plan was to scare him out in the open area and, to put
it bluntly, whack him to death. Well, two things happened to curtail my clever
little plan. One, I realized I would never be at a point where I was
comfortable smacking the little guy to death and, two, he was faster (and
cleverer) than expected. I found myself chasing him back and forth behind the
cupboard for a while.
Then an idea came to me: block either side of the cupboard
where he could escape. I set up two very nice little homes from old cans and
boxes and wait for him to choose one. His choices were the giant can that used
to hold peaches we got as a gift from the Sisters at Gonzaga or a small mail
package box that came to us from America, two very suitable homes for such a
small creature. After setting up my traps…I mean new living arrangements for
our friend…I began chasing him back and forth again until he found his way in
to the giant peach can, a good choice considering it was much roomier and
probably smelled better than the old musty box. Once he found himself settled
in his new quarters, I closed the door on him using a piece of cardboard.
Now it was time to move his new home outside. I asked my
community mate to open the door to our gate so as to not take my own hand off
the top of the can. Once I got outside the gate, I began walking a little ways
from our house so that Panya would not come running back in after me. As I was
walking, I began drawing attention, naturally, as people asked themselves why this
white girl was holding that giant peach can covered with a piece of cardboard
out in front of her with stiff-arms. I saw two girls about my age sitting
outside and talking. When they saw me, as I drew closer to them and farther
from my own house, one of them asked what was inside.
“Panya,” I responded, to which her immediate reacting was,
“Don’t let it go! We have to kill it.”
So, with that, they got up and ran over to the open area
where I stood, looking for rocks. The plan was for me to let the rat go and
they would throw giant rocks at it. Just as I was preparing to let it go, a man
and a woman were walking by, looked at us a little funny and then kept walking.
Then another man passed by and nonchalantly asked, “Nyoka au panya?” (Snake or rat?), as if this were a typical
goings-on in our neighborhood.
“Panya,” I answered and he prepared himself too with a rock
and a stance that meant he was ready to throw.
Finally the time had come for me to release him and instead
of running in the direction of the three musketeers armed with stones, he began
running down the hill in the direction of the couple that had passed by a few
seconds before. It was running right for the woman and as it got closer, she
jumped at exactly the right time for it to pass under her feet and her friend to start kicking it. His kicking led the rat to run back up the hill
towards us. It ran and he kicked but it still got away.
By that time, the three musketeers abandoned their failed
attempt the throw rocks and they went after it in the same style of kicking
that the man used on the hill. All of the beatings had certainly slowed the rat
down which allowed one of them to simply, and sadly, stomp it to death. And
while I find no joy in our having to kill the unwanted visitor, I was able to
laugh at the slightly turbulent but communal effort to complete our mission and
rid our neighborhood of its tiny intruder.
There was something so normal about six adults chasing the
rat down for the sake of the neighborhood. Nobody would have wanted Panya to be
their next unexpected visitor so they did what they could together to prevent
it. I’m thankful for my neighbors literally jumping in to help and I felt one
with them in the great task of catching the little panya.
