Guess what: we have a rat in the house! which should be in no way surprising as it's next to a huge garden and is over 100 years old. This rat has provided far more entertainment than it probably should. Sally thought she saw a tail disappear behind the old-as bookshelf in our computer room when she was drunk on Saturday morning, but she wasn't sure. Then someone else saw it run behind the bookcase Tuesday evening, and last night in the kitchen, another volunteer and I saw it run from the hallway under the oven, then again from under the oven to a different part of the kitchen. What makes this lil' retelling amusing is that one of the grown men in the house freeeeeeeaked out when he heard about the rat and ran to his room. This prompted Sally and I, sick of the sheer boredom of going from a house of 30 to a house of 9 and desiring to take advantage of Brian the semi-pervy Irish guy, to run to the store, buy some random vegetable whose name I don't remember in English much less Portuguese, and fashion a fake rat to leave random places around the house. PROBLEM IS now they think we never had a real rat and are calling off the exterminators. OOPS I feel like a sheepish nine-year-old.
In other news, I'm working with someone new at the project, who's so much easier to work with than my previous co-volunteer it's almost unbelievable. Yesterday we played bingo for the full two hours and they loved it; turns out I'm actually working with elderly Americans. The bus stops by police have become a regular part of the trip home. I've been questioned every time but have only had to get off the bus that once. I've started bringing my ID.
My Portuguese somehow became somewhat proficient; I had a full conversation with a cab driver last night and can now understand my kids about 75% of the time. They call me one of four names: Leah (very rarely), Mia (again for some reason the translation of my name), Tia (sounds like "chia," this one means Aunt and is what I get the most), or Profesora (which rolls together like pfffessssra) when they really need my attention. I still get confused by no, the Portuguese word for on and in, which makes every billboard look really negative. NO Rua do Catete, no sua marcado local, no casa, etc. (Nao means no but sounds like "now" so you see where the confusion ensues?) Also, I recently learned moro and morro mean live and die, respectively. The children asked me vai a mora em Rio? and I was all like "NO what are you suggesting?!" For the most part, though, I'm maintaining a tenuous grasp on the language, preparing for my week outside the city when I won't be with English-speaking people and I'll need all the communication tools I can get. I THINK I MIGHT GO BUNGEE JUMPING during that time. But I'm not sure yet. XTREME Rio?!
Oh here are some pictures of things:
This is Flamengo Beach, where I run every day (or did at least until I did something silly to my leg).
A gorgeous picture of Luara, the 8-year-old love of my life. I let her win twice at bingo.
This is a random picture from my birthday. Fist pumps are big in Rio.
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