When I moved into my field house in Thailand to begin my dissertation
research, I wasn’t exactly moving into 5-star lodging for a spectacular
vacation. The previous resident had left in a rush and didn’t tidy up before
leaving. And the current residents… the rats… hadn’t really kept the place up to pristine
sanitation standards, nor were they intent on moving out anytime soon.
Field stations are notorious for NOT being the ideal, most comfortable living quarters; oftentimes set up in remote, relatively inaccessible places with no electricity, and sometimes even without access to clean water.
My house in Thailand by many standards, relative to other primate field stations my peers and colleagues reside in, actually DOES seem like extraordinary accommodation with 24hr electricity, an outdoor hose with running water (not drinkable, but safe enough to use for cleaning), an indoor toilet in the Thai-style bathroom, and the hot water shower (I installed the second day I arrived).
But when I first arrived with the intention to settle in to the space for the next year or so and saw the grubby conditions, I knew I wouldn’t last longer than a month if I didn’t overhaul the space and make it my own. And with my parents coming from Canada to visit just two months after my arrival in Thailand to experience firsthand what my “exciting, adventurous” life is REALLY like (read: *sigh* why did she go into anthropology of all things…? Or, perhaps more reasonably: my baby girl is on the other side of the world marooned in the abyss of treacherous nature!!), dropping out and running home wasn’t an option. I had to survive, which meant I had to clean up (Survival Tip #5).
So, I immediately started to clean with all that I had: a squeegee, some rags, and the outdoor hose. I started with the dishes, and that’s how I first met Jambee. Without saying a word (because at that time I couldn’t speak Thai and she can’t speak English) she squatted down beside me and began helping with the dishes. Then she went inside and cleaned the bathroom while I started on the kitchen. Never have I been more impressed with the kindness of a stranger. Our only means of communication consisted of exasperated gasps, the universal signs of human facial expressions and gestures, and A LOT of laughter. As I watched her I was certain I could never have cleaned that bathroom on my own. It was horrid.
In fact, there were other places I just couldn’t bring myself to clean either: behind the fridge, the grey (formerly white) walls, the dilapidated kitchen corner with the massive hole (aka, rat entrance) that exposed the plumbing pipe (waste disposal only) underneath the toilet… I did the best I could at the time, cleared an area for myself, kept it tidy and avoided the rest.
Not long after that came the worst day ever, when one of the rats died behind the fridge.
That was the beginning of a long battle against the rats to claim ownership of the house. And it culminated one and half years later,when I was plastering a hole with my bare hand, fighting a rat on the other side who was pushing the wet plaster back at me as I filled the hole.
And it was in that moment that I realized that during my time in Khao Yai I had grown from a bumbling city girl, crying over poking a dead rat with a stick attempting to fling it out of the house, who avoided the “too gross to clean” areas, into a self-determined woman on a mission to reclaim my house.
Over the months prior to plastering that hole, I had built a new wall (with friends) to fix that decrepit kitchen corner, covered or sealed all the other exposed holes in the house I could I find, and cleaned everything, EVERYTHING with no exceptions – wiped down the walls (Jambee thought I painted while she was gone over the weekend, but I had just washed the walls), reoriented and cleaned behind the fridge, cleaned out and sterilized the base of the fridge that was filled with stagnate water enjoyed by the rats (they liked to hide under the fridge when I walked in on them in the kitchen), and built a make-shift sink and installed a toilet hose to upgrade the previous squatter toilet into a manufactured version more consistent with North American preferences.
As I pushed back and cursed at the rat, only a blobby-goo of wet plaster between our hands, I emphatically proclaimed (in Thai and English) that I wasn’t backing down, so he better get the *bleep* out of here. In the moment, I was taking on a little rat, but much bigger than that rat-human hole-plastering showdown I was demonstrating everything I had learned in my time living on my own on the other side of the world: that with experience and understanding I had the confidence to conquer my fears and take on any challenge.
Even a little measly rat.
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Field stations are notorious for NOT being the ideal, most comfortable living quarters; oftentimes set up in remote, relatively inaccessible places with no electricity, and sometimes even without access to clean water.
My house in Thailand by many standards, relative to other primate field stations my peers and colleagues reside in, actually DOES seem like extraordinary accommodation with 24hr electricity, an outdoor hose with running water (not drinkable, but safe enough to use for cleaning), an indoor toilet in the Thai-style bathroom, and the hot water shower (I installed the second day I arrived).
But when I first arrived with the intention to settle in to the space for the next year or so and saw the grubby conditions, I knew I wouldn’t last longer than a month if I didn’t overhaul the space and make it my own. And with my parents coming from Canada to visit just two months after my arrival in Thailand to experience firsthand what my “exciting, adventurous” life is REALLY like (read: *sigh* why did she go into anthropology of all things…? Or, perhaps more reasonably: my baby girl is on the other side of the world marooned in the abyss of treacherous nature!!), dropping out and running home wasn’t an option. I had to survive, which meant I had to clean up (Survival Tip #5).
So, I immediately started to clean with all that I had: a squeegee, some rags, and the outdoor hose. I started with the dishes, and that’s how I first met Jambee. Without saying a word (because at that time I couldn’t speak Thai and she can’t speak English) she squatted down beside me and began helping with the dishes. Then she went inside and cleaned the bathroom while I started on the kitchen. Never have I been more impressed with the kindness of a stranger. Our only means of communication consisted of exasperated gasps, the universal signs of human facial expressions and gestures, and A LOT of laughter. As I watched her I was certain I could never have cleaned that bathroom on my own. It was horrid.
In fact, there were other places I just couldn’t bring myself to clean either: behind the fridge, the grey (formerly white) walls, the dilapidated kitchen corner with the massive hole (aka, rat entrance) that exposed the plumbing pipe (waste disposal only) underneath the toilet… I did the best I could at the time, cleared an area for myself, kept it tidy and avoided the rest.
Not long after that came the worst day ever, when one of the rats died behind the fridge.
That was the beginning of a long battle against the rats to claim ownership of the house. And it culminated one and half years later,when I was plastering a hole with my bare hand, fighting a rat on the other side who was pushing the wet plaster back at me as I filled the hole.
And it was in that moment that I realized that during my time in Khao Yai I had grown from a bumbling city girl, crying over poking a dead rat with a stick attempting to fling it out of the house, who avoided the “too gross to clean” areas, into a self-determined woman on a mission to reclaim my house.
Over the months prior to plastering that hole, I had built a new wall (with friends) to fix that decrepit kitchen corner, covered or sealed all the other exposed holes in the house I could I find, and cleaned everything, EVERYTHING with no exceptions – wiped down the walls (Jambee thought I painted while she was gone over the weekend, but I had just washed the walls), reoriented and cleaned behind the fridge, cleaned out and sterilized the base of the fridge that was filled with stagnate water enjoyed by the rats (they liked to hide under the fridge when I walked in on them in the kitchen), and built a make-shift sink and installed a toilet hose to upgrade the previous squatter toilet into a manufactured version more consistent with North American preferences.
As I pushed back and cursed at the rat, only a blobby-goo of wet plaster between our hands, I emphatically proclaimed (in Thai and English) that I wasn’t backing down, so he better get the *bleep* out of here. In the moment, I was taking on a little rat, but much bigger than that rat-human hole-plastering showdown I was demonstrating everything I had learned in my time living on my own on the other side of the world: that with experience and understanding I had the confidence to conquer my fears and take on any challenge.
Even a little measly rat.
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| Picture Source: Dharma Comics (https://www.facebook.com/#!/dharmacomics) |
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