Smol smol

“Smol smol” – perhaps my favorite Krio phrase.

I ask my host grandma who wasn’t feeling well about her health & she replies, “Ah tel God tenki smol smol.” (Literally, “I tell God thank you small small” but a better translation is “well, I’m alive.”)

When I’m asked ten times a day about my sprained ankle by everything single person who sees me limping on the street, (whether I know them or not) the response is always “ee don bete smol  smol.”

When people ask how the Mende language learning is going – “smol smol.”

One could argue that the goal of training is to ease us into all things Sierra Leonean smol smol, or bit by bit. (It’s debatable how slow the integration process is in practice, but I think they try not to overwhelm us too much!) Still, I do have one personal saga about taking smol smol steps to get used to things in Salone. This is the story of why I am officially over my fear of arata (rodents).

It all began the first night at my host family’s house. The sound of rats scurrying across the ceiling was slightly unsettling, but at least there was a bed tent between myself and the arata. Who knew mosquito nets are actually very useful rodent guards? A few days later, I found a smol smol mouse dead on my floor. I shuddered, but acknowledged it wasn’t so bad. Much smaller than it sounds at night… My nine year old host sister Aminatta disposed of the creature for me.

I grew accustomed to listening to the arata at night. Just when I had finally gotten over my fear that the arata would eat through the mosquito net, I woke up to find a giant rat dying on my floor. Picture the rodents of unusual size (RUSes) from The Princess Bride, and you’ll have a good idea of how big this rat was. I approached it, thinking it was dead, but it began thrashing it’s tail about. I decided being a wimpy American who is not accustomed to giant arata was justified in this instance. (Smol smol steps, right?) I jumped over the rat and had my host grandma come sweep it out of the room for me.

A few days later, one of my Krio teachers gave me a tiny kitten that could “kill the arata.” I named the kitten Towei, which means pumpkin in Mende. However, I had my doubts about how effective the scrawny white kitten was going to be when it came to hunting RUSes. It turns out, I should have had more faith in Towei.

As I sat on my bed grading papers from summer school a few nights ago, I heard a crash near my window. I turned the beam of my headlamp towards the noise, and saw Towei wrestling with a rat that was the same size as her. (This time I’m really not exaggerating!) I wouldn’t say that she was winning the fight, but I had to admire her guts. I certainly hadn’t made any effort to fight off the rats up to that point. I realized I would have to get over my fear of the rats if I wanted my cat to survive long enough to be able to fight off future rodents. Taking a deep breath, I looked around my room for a suitable weapon. I settled on my umbrella and THWACK! Let me just say, that it is way harder than you would think to kill an arata with a blunt object. Their bones must be made of iron…Anyway, it was by far the most disturbing thing I’ve done here and I don’t recommend trying it! Nevertheless, at least I know I can survive alone against the arata when I get to site.

This afternoon, my host mom uncovered a rat nest in a box of old blankets in my bedroom. I didn’t see those rats, but she told me they were huge. Good, I’m glad a Sierra Leonean has confirmed my diagnosis on the unusual size of the rodents. At least they’ll make a good addition to tonight’s rice and sauce! I’m kidding. Not that I ever actually know what kind of “beef” is floating in my okra and palm oil…(No, I really am kidding!)