The Rat

I woke up today at 7:15 feeling decent. I had gotten a good night's rest, I was looking forward to work that day, and I was feeling very adventurous. I could get used to this life (and if I did, nothing would ever phase me again). I went to take a shower, getting ready to face the stench of the latrine. When I opened the door, I was faced not with the smell of a latrine, but the sight of a rat. My blood went cold. I shut the door, took a few steps back, and called Issa, who was sitting on a sofa. Stammering, I tried to explain what I had seen. "J'ai, j'ai vu un... ah... J'ai vu un... ra-... un topo... eh... J'ai vu un rat. Je ne sais pas la mot. J'ai vu un-". Finally, Issa understood. "Ah, vous avez vu un rat?" He grinned. He told his mother, who asked me if I was scared of rats. I told her not especially, and with a well-meaning chuckle, she walked away, alongside Issa. I was once again left alone in the room. My heart wasn't beating. I was terrified, but in shock. I had to take a shower, and so cursing under my breath, I gingerly entered the now ominous shower. After what might have been the most stressful shower of my life, I jumped out, and rushed to my room. By then, my fear and shock had turned into rage. Rage at this shit country, rage at myself, rage at a now obviously present, and obviously vindictive god. I got dressed quickly, looking around. By then, my dad had arrived, and I had breakfast with him. I told him the situation, and both he and Babacar dismissed it, lightheartedly laughing me off as a spoiled city boy. 

I went to work, and my mood slowly lifted. The high point of the day was When, during my break, a kid came up to me to ask me a question. I was listening to music and looking at memes, and so I didn't hear a single word of what he or she said. Without even lifting my eyes from the screen, I said I don't know in French and forgot all about the kid. All in all, I had a decent work day. I will get 88 SSL hours for my work at ImagiNation Afrika, more than enough to finish them all off. 

Now I am in Babacar's office, writing on a Chromebook. I just finished off two Kinder eggs and three Ferrero Rocher. I plan on going to the bathroom as soon as I finish here. Right now, I feel good. I feel genuinely calm. If I think about what goes on around me, if I listen to the goat yells outside the widow, then I am reminded of my situation. But right now, right here, I feel as close to normal as I possibly could.

Senegal is so much worse than I could ever have imagined. My parents made a huge mistake sending me here, and I am confident that a lot of water will have to go under the bridge before I even think of going on a trip alone again, be it to Paris or to South Sudan. I wish I had stayed home in the US, I wish I had said no. These days have been disasters. My only happiness comes from having a working shower or a toilet that flushed. This place has made me bitter and taken a toll on me physically, psychologically, politically, and socially. That is the only thing that brings me any joy. The envy I have for my dad, who will leave in a day, is indescribable. 

And yet, when asked if I want to leave, if I want to get out of this place, I cannot bring myself to say yes. I want to continue. I want to continue, and I don't really know why. I must speak carefully, because I am speaking for an audience, but I do not really know why I want to stay. I'm not a very masochistically person normally. I think I want to stay so as to prove it to myself that I am capable, out of pride, and out of hope. If I can survive here, in this goat infested, diseased, smelly, dirty, infernal breeding ground for rats and corruption, I can survive anywhere. So I will continue, with the full knowledge that I can leave anytime I want.