Colonization: Part 2

I advise you read Part 1 before continuing.

Day 2

2200 - Unsung Heroes. Bedtime finds me exhausted from the previous night's marathon of events. Having only slept a couple of hours, the lack of rest seems to be affecting my constitution as I've developed a mild sniffle, quite out of the ordinary from my usual state of health. The day has passed uneventfully, a small handful of sleep cycle disrupting siafu still wander about the house in an unorganized pattern, a far cry from the highly coordinated offensive staged the night before. My day has been spent meticulously cleaning in an effort to prevent further such visits from this host of unworldly scavengers. The valiant chungu, heroic champions from the previous night's engagement, have wasted no time resting after being tested by the most formidable of opponents. Numbers clearly depleted, the remaining workers can be seen scurrying here and there, carrying various anatomical components harvested from their sociopathic harassers back to their nest, spoils of the previous night's success.

I can't help but feel proud on behalf of these diligent little workers, their upset victory having sent shock waves through the animal kingdom as the unstoppable siafu juggernaut has been turned away. I'm half tempted to purchase a bag of sugar to present to these blue collared bastions of hope and determination for a job well done, but the other half of me who spent the day cleaning is in no mood to dump an entire bag of sugar out on the floor just to say thank you. These thoughts pass through my head as I drift off to sleep, comforted by the thought that some sort of universal justice has shined a light of good fortune down on my team first, 'can do' attitude carrying housemates.

0100 – Evening Entertainment. I awaken to the sound of Gracie (or Rachel, I haven't decided on a name yet), the rat who lives in my rafters, clambering around my small kitchen. Another one of my roommates, we get along for the most part, though occasionally we disagree on minor issues such as who should get to eat the food I pay for, where in the house it is appropriate to use the potty, and whether or not we should adopt a “no climbing on the mosquito net” policy in the house. Her visits have become a nightly routine (although last night I believe she was away visiting her auntie in the choo) and she is no doubt calling upon me to play our favorite game which involves her knocking something in the house over and then trying to hide from the spot where I shine the flashlight.

I humor Rachel (or Gracie, I haven't decided yet) with a few rounds of play, but the few remaining siafu wandering aimlessly across the floor combined with my lack of sleep the previous night have me unwilling to leave my net to take a more active role in our game. I power down my spotlight, tell Gracie (or Rachel) that she's won tonight's round, and slip back into a deep slumber.

0300 – Emergency Broadcast System. Once again I am awakened by a rustling sound, no doubt Rachel (or Gracie) has gotten a hold of some wrapper, baggie, or twisty tie and is calling me out for round two. Still in no mood for these late night antics I roll over and power on my torch to tell her we'll have to reschedule, but HOLY FREAKING DOG FOOD! Once again I find myself inside a reverse Gateway box as my torch casts light on a collection of enormous living black patches checkering the walls of this room that only seems to be getting smaller. Being well tuned in to the emergency broadcast being transmitted by my early to bed, early to rise chungu roommates I scour the room with my searchlight praying not to see what comes next: the cold blooded, puppy hating siafu have already established a marching corridor around the perimeter of the room and seem to be organizing for yet another military operation. Wasting no time, I quickly and thoroughly ensure that my steel reinforced, mosquito proof netting is well tucked in on all sides of the mattress as it is my first, and only, line of defense against the pack of tenacious predators surrounding me. Ben, the spider who has taken up residence high within the innermost chamber of the 'No Malaria' zone, quivers at the sight of this ungodly horde, but if I've learned anything from the previous night's experience it is that so long as we hold our position within the boundaries of the net kingdom we should be safe from the man- (and probably spider-) hungry jaws of these invaders.

Defensive perimeter secured, I calmly reassure Ben of our safety and lay down to rest as there is nothing more we can do at this point other than patiently wait out the storm brewing on the horizon. I power off my torch once more and lie back in the darkness. Waiting. Listening. Around me I can hear the collision of iron-jawed wills as these two super colonies cross mandibles in part two of this epic struggle. The crackling sound is like being inside a living, breathing bowl of Rice Krispies as the snapping of exoskeletons and the popping of tiny little ant knees and elbows echo in the otherwise dead silence of the night.

As I lay in complete blackness every speck of dust and strand of thread that brushes against my skin prompts me to immediately power on my light to ensure the unpenetrated state of our netted stronghold. Each time for naught as the net continues to hold strong. As the minutes roll by my eyelids drift downward and, hands resting on my torch, I fade back into the world of dreams, waiting for this most unfortuitous night to pass.

0400 – Parting Ways. My eyes open to complete darkness. In this place which is miles from the nearest source of electricity, the absence of a moon makes it impossible to see one's hand in front of one's own face as people are forced to pinch themselves under the blankets just to confirm that they are indeed still alive. I feel a piece of lint brush against my face and gently brush it aside, and then another, and another. I quickly power on my crank driven search beacon, illuminating the interior of my netted fallout shelter only to find that both the in- and outsides of this polyester woven defensive textile have been completely overrun by the ruthless, ozone depleting insects. “Ben you betrayed us”, I silently scream with my eyes as my bunk-mate, too humiliated to think of excuses, hangs silently from a web spun out of disgrace and disappointment, too ashamed to even make eye contact.

Having no time for drawn out accusations I quickly sit up, shake out my bed sheet, and wrap it around my scantily clothed lower half. After last night's ordeal a friend of mine has told me that, left alone, these black sheep of Darwinism are capable of killing and consuming a small child over the course of a single night. Having many infant-like qualities myself I feel incredibly threatened and decide that it is simply too dangerous for me to remain stationary for another minute. My saving grace on this night is that the chungu were able to rouse me from my slumber before I could fall prey to the siafu's baby-craving appetite. Exhibiting a level of preparedness instilled into me by my scouting days, I gather the few emergency items that I had the prudence to bring with me into this dead-end death trap: an ant resistant jacket, 3 socks (non-matching), and a flashlight. I have to move quickly as the first venom filled bites from the acid spitting, maniacal arthropods can be felt moving up my legs.

I quickly don the person protecting jacket and socks (2 for the feet, 1 for my net handling hand) and set to work untucking the net from it's holdings. I'm able to clear enough of this inter-meshing of false hopes and shattered dreams out from under my mattress before the sock on my hand is completely overtaken, forcing my to quickly shed the garment as though losing the first hand of some sick, sadistic game of strip poker to my pursuers. The time has come for me to leave the false security once afforded me by the net.

“Die out there, or die in here” I tell myself myself, I already know what I must do. I look at Ben as if to say “Sorry buddy, you're on your own. I'll buy you a drink if we both survive this”.

Ben understands, and wiggles an arm as if to say “What are you waiting for you fool? Get out of here.” I toss the sheet over my body to act as a protective barrier between me and the completely infested, I can only assume to me more effective against malaria carrying mosquitoes, net. Looking like a tacky, 70's patterned ghost (you buy my sheets if you don't like the design) I slip through the opening I've created for myself and into the Colloseum amongst legions of nefarious, colony wrecking cannibals. The carnivorous invaders have clearly spent the last day studying my movements, tendencies, and evasive tactics as they are just much faster than last time and seem to anticipate my every move. My natural agility combined with the savvy technique cultivated by years of veteran experience still give me the edge in this match up, though I dare not test fate any further by remaining in this vulnerable position. I race through the door and, as I do, I see the droves of refugee chungu carrying their children and wounded as they flee into the rafters.

“Tell the world what's happening here”, they seem to say with their eyes before turning again to flee in search of safety from the genocide loving siafu.

“I will”, I promise as I choke back the tears and turn from the horrible atrocities being committed around me.

The steadily ascending sensation of mastication progressing up my legs prevents me from spending too much time investigating the source of the infiltrating swarm, but it is clear that the siafu have returned with a force several times larger than the night before. Last night's defeat has clearly infuriated the queens of all the major siafu kingdoms and, in return, they've sent their entire attack force to make an example of the PTA meeting attending, read-to-their-children-before-bedtime chungu to any who would dare to challenge the siafu's iron pincered grip on the ant kingdom. Revenge is the only thing that consumes the siafu's collective consciousness on this night. Revenge...and eating babies.

0410 – The Bigger The Front, The Bigger The Back. Ousted from my humble accommodations by the unrelenting host of rabid, expansion-crazed war criminals, I race through the darkness in search of a safe place to wait out the remainder of this hell forsaken night. Teetering on the edge of defeat, thoughts of tendering my unconditional surrender to the siafu's undoubtedly maniacal demands hover around the outskirts of my consciousness as I stagger up the steps of the deserted health center. But thank God for night watchmen! As I plant myself on a chair in front of the main entrance, picking away at those foul creatures of the night that have managed to latch onto my person, a voice comes out of the darkness.

“What is it”, the voice inquires.

“Just a little problem with safari ants”, I respond.

A spotlight fires on, casting a pale blanket of visibility over the calamity of nature that desperately seeks to assimilate my savory being into the inner working of their digestive systems. One look at the dark swarm of vermin attached to my legs and he is off, shredding through the night toward my house like a detective determined to get to the bottom of some case breaking clue.

A cool and collected individual, the soft spoken guardian of the night usually carries a quiet assertiveness about himself that seems to draw conversation out of those around him. In another life I could easily see him standing behind a bar counter, listening empathetically as sullen, boozed-up bar patrons lay their life's most heart wrenching moments upon his fatherly ears, offering timely lines of sage quality advice before wiping away the sweat of spilled drinks from the counter. He seems more likely to verbally persuade the would be perpetrator of any crime against he health center into turning back peacefully than anything else. But on this night he moves with the steadfast resolve of a mother cobra, determined to protect her cobra cubs from some cobra devouring predator.

Minutes pass as I sit alone under the pre-dawn skies of Kenya, dressed only in a pair of festive colored board shorts, a warm-up jacket, and a pair of non-matching socks. I comb over my appendages, sorting out the last of the deforestation-causing stowaways and tossing them aside. Were it not for this coven of black-magic-producing, Christmas-ruining man eaters it would be a perfect scene. Finally the night watchman returns from assessing the situation.

“They're all over the house,” he tells me.

I take the liberty of reading into his words as meaning “It's an absolute mad house in there, and were it not for your cunning and ninja-like prowess you would be in milkshake form for the culinary enjoyment of the terrible siafu queen herself right now.” I inform him that this is the second such night I've matched wits with this catastrophe of Darwinism.

“You just need to put Jik,” he tells me.

“Jik?” I respond inquisitively. Jik being a brand of bleach sold locally.

“Jik, “he repeats, “They hate it, they'll run far away.”

I ask where I can go about acquiring such a miracle tonic and am informed that there is a ready supply available within the health center.

“Wait here,” he tells me, knowing that the zero-eyed, blood-crazed siafu have already acquired a taste for my delicious flesh, and that my presence would undoubtedly cause them to regress into a demonstrative feeding frenzy. I heed his advice, leaning back to appreciate the serene African sky, waiting for the next development in this epic drama as the light of the watchman trails off into the distance.

0430 – Light In Dark Places. “Now we just have to wait”, the watchman says as he returns from his showdown with our unscrupulous opponent. He sets down a large white jerry can of Jik and begins to brush the last,most tenacious of our opponents from his legs.

“Were you bit”, I ask.

“Yes”, he says, “but that's war.”

We share in a moment of heartfelt, camaraderic laughter that can only be shared by a duo of fearless titans who have just gone head to head with Satan's minions and lived to tell the tale. The laughter fades into conversation as we rest in the shadows, discussing ants, agriculture, and anything else that comes to mind as we wait for the magical siafu dispersing elixir to work it's magic.

0500 – Heroes Part. As we venture together back into the epicenter of the squall my brother in arms tells me that the tsunami of insomnia producing invaders has begun to recede, though looking into the recesses of the still crawling room it is difficult to tell. Having made my daring escape under the cover of darkness I was never afforded an opportunity to appreciate the sheer magnitude of the invading force that sought to capture and lay feast to my lean, free range, organically fed frame. The droves of foiled attackers retreating through columns of solid black back into the forest are the only sign that our desperate counter-offensive has indeed been effective

The sun rising, with night watchmen losing the majority of their powers in the light of day, signals my companion that it is indeed time for him to leave, lest the safari ants catch up to him in a weakened state on the road home. We bid one another farewell on the steps of the dispensary and I relax again as I wait for the sunlight to wash away the last stains of the invasion.

Epilogue: After two restless nights and half a gallon of bleach the following evening brings no trace of the freedom hating invaders. Days roll into weeks, weeks into fortnights, and still, no sign of the impending danger. The chungu start to put back together the shattered pieces of their colony, and life returns to normal in this otherwise normal mud-based village here in rural Kenya. I am told that these ominous offspring devouring creatures are seasonal, and that this just happens to be their season of inflicting pain and suffering on all of nature's children. No doubt the queen, infuriated by the route of her forces, is at this moment conspiring with her top generals (those whom she has not had executed for their incompetence), plotting their next offensive against yours truly. I know these blood thirsty, carnage loving savages will return, and I have an entire bucket of bleach waiting for them when they do.

*This blog entry is dedicated to Ben who passed away peacefully in his web at the ripe old age of 3 weeks, nearly one week after the siafu's retreat.

Through The Lens

Nairobi is a city with many blessings: cool weather, paved roads, elephants that drink from a bottle, and, of course, free "high" speed internet. Feeling fortuitous at having the latterest of these blessings I've decided to seize the moment and post a few of the more exciting sights that I've managed to catch on film (but not really since everything is digital these days). When you weed out the 9000 other pictures I've taken I actually look like I half decent photographer...

Dancing Machine. My host brother Memusi (Masai for “surprise”). You may be able to find a dancer with more talent, but not with more enthusiasm.

Hitch Hikers. We almost stopped to pick up these two clean shaven travelers but sped off after spotting their three shady friends hiding in the bushes. Never let your guard down here.

Colobus Monkey. This Loitokitok resident steps out into the cool morning air to collect the morning paper. Seconds later, upon realizing that paper delivery is non-existent in this region, he began to throw projectiles that are better not discussed in such a public domain.

The Beautiful Night Sky. A midnight breeze blows a cool wind across my aching shoulders, carrying the distant, sand person-like cries of a donkey on the air as I snap this photo of the Milky Way while doing my best to hold perfectly still.

If you've ever wondered who can attract more attention, a US Ambassador or a monkey, you need only look at this photo to learn the answer. At least this little guy seems to be listening.

Colonization: Part 1

 The Peace Corps assured me before signing up to be sent halfway around the world that every day of service would bring a new adventure. What they neglected to inform me was that the nights would be just as full of colorful, character enriching experiences. The peaceful nights of Loitokitok have done little to prepare me site. Mysterious noises, midnight visitors, and witchcraft are just a few of the challenges I'm sure to face in trying to secure a restful night of sleep over the next two years. Despite these minor obstacles I manage to keep my spirits pretty high and continue to enjoy adequate amounts of the deep, restful sleep that is key of my adonis-like appearance. In spite of my near perfect nature, every so often an event, or series of events, arises that is capable of pushing even yours truly to the brink of exhaustion.

Day 1

2000 - A Quiet Night. Time to start preparing supper. People in Kenya are notorious for taking their evening meal at hours that the rest of the world would already be fast asleep. In a place where electricity is scarce, daylight hours are typically spent on more productive tasks while nights are typically reserved for eating and sleeping (really, how many other things can you think of to do in the dark). This particular night finds me ready to do both, having already passed the day performing hard, physical labor in my shamba (garden). Energy spent, stomach growling, I am ready to refuel and recharge for the next day. I set to work on preparing dinner, eggplant generously given to me the day before by a kind-hearted fellow volunteer. As I chop ingredients and start to boil water I remain oblivious to the evening that fate has in store for me.

2010 - The Shudder. As happens every night around this time, the entirety of my sheet metal roof begins to shake about wildly, making a sound that most closely mimics that of a completely naked body clumsily jetting down a water slide that is devoid of all moisture. As in nights past I lumber outside, expecting to see nothing less than an entire tribe of baboons gathered around, stomping and howling wildly as their leader tries his luck at using one of those weird, shaky exercise belt things that, according to film strips, were apparently so popular in the 50's. But alas, as with every other evening since arriving in my community, I shine my torch on a completely barren roof, bringing me no closer to discovering the source of this mysterious phenomenon. This part of the story has no bearing whatsoever on any later events, but, being an unsolved natural wonder akin to aurora borealis or the tooth faerie, I thought it would be fun to mention anyway.

2015 - The Plot Thickens. Bumps in the night thoroughly investigated, I return to my kitchen (A.K.A. the side of my small, oval, one room house where I've agreed with myself to keep the food) to refocus my efforts on actively preparing dinner, as I've in my storied life that found food left unattended to cook on it's own rarely turns out particularly savory. I return to my duties of chopping and stirring but what the deuce?! The colony of ants that normally rents out the space beneath my house has completely sprawled itself out onto the wall of my kitchen like the remains of a chili dog carelessly eaten just before boarding the tilt-a-whirl.

Chungu is the local named for these ants. Small in size (as far as ants go), these industrious, community minded workers have inhabited this structure since before my arrival and will undoubtedly continue to do so long after my departure. I feel as though I have an understanding with these soft spoken critters as we have found a way to co-exist peacefully since day one. I don't interfere with their colonial duties, and in return they restrict their in house activity to cleaning up dead insects, droplets of water,and and morsels of food I should happen leave behind (hence my decision to designate a single side of the room as the kitchen). It is a perfect symbiotic relationship. But tonight these normally peaceful colonists have mobilized en masse for some unknown purpose. Columns of workers carrying miniscule white globes march within corridors boundaried by two thick black stripes of sentries guarding against any threat. High in the rafters, packs of these workers amass to form dark, living patches up to a foot in diameter as they await some unknown signal. “What are they waiting for”, I wonder. A signal to attack? A movie premiere? I don't know and, frankly, I don't care. Even though every cell in my body is screaming “Holy Jeepers” I know that these peaceful beings have never once acted aggressively toward me and, lest I should find some way to provoke them, our peaceful co-existence has no reason to end tonight.

2020 – Preemptive measures. The migration continues as I return my attention to not burning dinner. I notice the number of dark, crawly patches steadily increasing in number and area, rolling from the kitchen to the bedroom (A.K.A. the side of my room with the bed) like a blanket of ominous storm clouds menacingly covering the country side. My sleeping place, a mattress resting on the floor alongside a pile of broken promises from the carpenter who assured me that the bed I commissioned him to make would be ready three weeks ago, though currently a safe distance from the rapidly advancing brood, is clearly in the path of a storm that I have no intention of losing sleep over. Exercising an amount of foresight typically experienced only by madam Cleo, Nostradamus, and other such prophets, I decide to take the initiative and tuck the edges of my mosquito net in around the perimeter of my mattress, thus setting up a defensive barrier around the sanctuary that is my resting place. I resist the urge to seal myself inside the sanctity of my net as there is still a pot of cooking food to be attended to. A decision that will play a heavy hand in shaping my experience for the rest of the night.

2025 – Enter the Villain..As I rush to finish preparing dinner in the midst of the ominous creeping shadow that continues to surround me I discover the source of the ants' antics (I couldn't resist) as a second, larger breed of ant has now entered the arena and begun to establish a perimeter around the base of the wall. Siafu, or safari ants, I'll later learn these cold, heartless beings are called. Genetically engineered in a secret laboratory 30 miles beneath the North Pole, these emotionless killing machines have the DNA of Stalin, Hitler, Dracula, the bad guy from Rocky IV, and pretty much every really evil dude in history. Armed with a pair of metal shearing jaws, these steel plated, picnic-hating bandits march by the millions and are capable of taking down a cheetah in full stride. With a bite that feels like one million band-aids simultaneously torn off the hairiest body part you can imagine, these oversized mandibles on legs never even bothered to grow eyes, deciding instead that any organ incapable of inflicting pain would only make them less efficient remorseless murderers.

I’d had another encounter with these flesh-loving crawlers about a week before when they completely and mercilessly eradicated the entire cockroach population of my choo. It was a night that saw me playing a real life, no holds barred, life or death version of “ants in the pants”, as I was forced to strip down to my underwear in an attempt to clear my body of their blood-craving fangs while I spent the duration of the evening relieving myself in the forest whenever nature called. Basically, I knew this was one group of tiny, crawly, black things that I did not want in my pants again (not that I really want any tiny, crawly, black things in my pants).

2030 – Rising Waters. As the siafu begin to pour into the room like Pepsi all over a new leather jacket, conflicts begin to arise as the two opposing colonies flood wave after wave of combat ready soldiers onto the battlefield. Skirmishes erupt everywhere around me like miniature science fair volcancos fueled by the baking soda of malice and the vinegar of desperation as the peace (and sugar) loving chungu struggle to defend their humble nest from the life hating, all matter consuming siafu. The colonies would like nothing to do with each other as violence between the two factions spills out toward the center of the room like some kind of reverse, overflowing toilet. As the shadow of violence creeps ever closer to the place I am sitting I decide that my legs, still on the ground, are just as appetizing to the flesh-craving siafu jaws as anything else resting on the floor and decide to raise them up onto the chair with me, monitoring the situation as I enjoy my long awaited supper.

2100 – Testing the storm. My dinner safely stowed away in the inner workings of my alimentary tract, I resign myself to the fact that the environment is simply not conducive to washing dishes and toss my soiled utensils in a nearby basin. The room now looks like an inside out dalmatian as massive congregations of chungu checker the inside boundaries of my living quarters. Down below, the confrontation between the nomadic siafu and the kind-hearted chungu settlers rages on as far as the light from my tiny lantern allows me to see.

 Realizing that I have a potentially long night ahead of me and deciding that nothing would draw out the experience more than spending the night with a set of fuzzy, unbrushed chompers, I decide the time to test the waters of safety has come. I grab my toothbrush, luckily within reach, take a few deep breaths and then make a dash for the one tool I have in my room that might serve to aid me in this increasingly dire situation: my trusted broom. Careful never to keep my feet on the ground for any extended period of time, I clear the path with my trusted sidearm amidst a series of carefully timed, skips, hops, and jumping heel clicks. My movements resemble those of a former high school river dance championship runner-up who, trapped in the moment when he failed to secure the title of “river dance champion”, continues to live in the past, river dancing to himself as he sweeps the halls of the educational institution where he is employed as the assistant head custodian. My only saving graces are that the shutters on the windows are closed and that, even if they were open, people here have absolutely no idea what river dance is. I manage to clear a path to the floor and make a break for the cover of darkness, my legs moving at speeds that, quite frankly, make lightning seem lazy. But the wind shattering speed of my movements must have created some kind of siafu pulling vacuum as I begin to feel the searing pain of their barbed jaws grinding against bone as they help themselves to mouthful sized portions of my lower appendages. After escaping a safe distance from the house I pick off the few leg-chomping offenders lucky enough to get a taste of my succulent flesh. Broom in one hand, toothbrush in the other, I enjoy a moment of peace and good personal hygiene under the stars.

2115 – Turned Back. Teeth brushed, bladder empty, I decide to play my hand at bed time. Approaching the house, now completely overrun both outside and in, I tighten the laces on my ultra aerodynamic running shoes and am off. Again, my legs are pumping so quickly that they appear to be moving backwards as I enter the house amidst a series of stiff arms, spin moves, and jumping stiff arm/spin move combinations. The broom clears a path to my bed but I am dismayed at what I find as both armies have established a heavily reinforced defensive perimeter around my humble resting place. Though none have penetrated the barrier established by my mosquito net, it is clear that creating an opening for myself is impossible without also opening up a breach in the defense that would allow an entourage of these carnage loving invaders to accompany me inside. Accepting that my current bid at bedtime is premature, and having no intention of laying down to rest surrounded by thousands of jaw snapping demons, I quickly abandon my the operation and retreat to perch high atop my plastic throne. As before, the low pressure system generated by the furious pace of my movements has allowed some of these denizens, who otherwise would have no chance of matching me stride for stride, the opportunity to sink their mandibles into delicious man-flesh once again. High above the blood bath I remove kill-frenzied soldiers from my limbs as I watch intently the epic struggle unfolding beneath me. Momentum swings back and forth like a bird feeder on a windy day as both sides seem locked in a dead heat for superiority. The temptation to enter the fray on the side of the family value-cherishing chungu and start selectively exterminating the siafu enters my head, but my strictly non-violent nature prevents me from doing so, and I continue to watch from above as nature takes it course.

2300 – Back Into The Frass. From the safety of my invincible sky palace I look down on the sea of tiny bodies swirling about below me. Heroes are being made and legends are being written in the history books of both colonies. What the chungu lack in size and ruthless savagery they make up for in numbers and desperation. Every one of them is selflessly defending their hive against this onslaught of demonic invaders, every one of their tiny little ant hearts pumping enough courage to fill an Olympic sized swimming pool into the tiniest nooks and crannies of their valor polished, exoskeleton suits of armor. Why my room was chosen as the deciding ground for this miniature sized battle of the ages I have no idea. I can only assume that the oval shaped, Colosseum style layout of the structure had some influence on the decision making process of these ferocious gladiators.

As the epic showdown rages on the tide of soldiers washes in and out, in and out. Finally I see it. An opening. A break in the storm just wide enough for me to slip through the impenetrable defense of my malaria-proof fortress. I grab my broom as I leap down from the chair and through the window of opportunity like a kangaroo on PCP. My steps are so swift Nike himself could only stand and shake his head in disbelief as I deftly navigate like an arrow from cupid through the cold, black ribcage constructed by a collective of one hundred million tiny exoskeletons and into the heart of relaxation that is my bed. Finally a chance at rest. Finally, an escape from the blood bath that surrounds me.

 But what the heck?! Their numbers haven’t decreased at all. Rather, this demonic horde seems to have reinforced their ranks, holding the enormous wave of reserves back out of the range of my lantern’s weak light, biding their time like a legion of stone faced Texas hold-em champions. The sound of a billion tiny mandibles cackling with sadistic laughter is almost audible as the swarm closes in once again for the kill. I do my best to clear the way with my bristled peace maker, but my footwork gets sloppy. As scores of biting do-badders make their way up my legs I have no choice but to abandon my latest bid at reentry as I dash for the security of my elevated plastic safe haven once more. My speed enhancing running shoes and path carving broom, now completely overrun by foaming at the mouth invaders, were clearly the targets of this clever ruse executed with machine-like precision by my would-be pursuers. Within a fraction of a second I’ve peeled back the armor that once guarded my feet back like the wrapper of a fruit roll-up, hurling them away from me and into the clutches of the scheming siafu. Waves of obsidian continue to wash over the abandoned footwear as, safe atop my lookout once more, I clear the last of these cunning raiders from my body. Walking into a trap, losing my trusted footwear, I must be exceptionally tired or hungry or both, as these beasts of the underworld would never stand a chance against me in my naturally rested state.

2400 – Darkness, the catalyst for adventure. As the night wanes my mind burns with questions. Will these siafu supplant the chungu as the dominant species in my room? Why, oh why hasn't the carpenter finished building the bed I ordered 4 weeks ago? How does one go about acquiring an anteater anyway? Amid all of these questions one thing is clear, I will not be lying down in my bed to sleep anytime soon. A fact that I came to accept long ago. The problem: the light from my small lantern is rapidly fading and my tiny beacon's fuel source rests across an ocean of peril on the other side of the room. While the idea of spending the entire night in a plastic chair is less than ideal, the prospect of doing so in complete darkness flat out sucks.

 My hands tied and the odds stacked against me, my senses sharpen and my resolve hardens as it's time to get serious. I tuck my pants into my socks, slide in my mouth guard, and am ready to go. With the speed of a comet combined with the grace of an autumn breeze I dart through the masses of skirmishing colonists toward my destination. Fortune smiles her sweet smile as my bottle of paraffin rests in an area largely controlled by the chungu and I am able to quickly secure the target, returning the safety afforded to me by Kenya's finest piece of lawn furniture before my shadow has a chance to dissipate on the wall. The siafu never saw me coming. Wholeness uncompromised, lantern burning brightly once more, and isolated from my guitar, I lean back and enjoy all of the entertainment features my cell phone has to offer.

0500 – Conflict Resolution: Darwin Style. As the night drags on a historical event unfolds. Despite having a four to one size advantage, the siafu, having neglected to grow eyes in their haphazard evolutionary quest to become the ultimate murdering machines, begin to fall victim to the teamwork and ingenuity of the chungu's guerrilla tactics. Having the advantage in numbers, the chungu warriors take turns rushing the larger siafu from behind, landing a single bite on the hind legs of their blind aggressors before slipping back out of the range of any counter attack. This brilliant hit-and-run strategy, no doubt thought up on the fly by the chungu top brass, eventually incapacitates the tyrannical brutes thus creating an opportunity the chungu to swarm for the final blow. Hats in Las Vegas are being thrown to the ground for stomping on while Darwin turns somersaults in his grave as the underdog chungu were never supposed to stand a chance in this colossal mismatch. The number of siafu corpses littering the Colosseum grounds begins to rise in proportion to the fallen chungu martyrs. As dawn approaches, my broom once again free from the grimy clutches of the once-thought-to-be-invincible marauders, I decide to make my way once more to my place of rest.

The floor of my room looks like a miniature Gettysburg as the remains of the combatants blanket the field of engagement. I make my way through stacks of corpses several ants high as chaplains and battlefield surgeons tend to the wounded. The lingering siafu presence prevents me from becoming too relaxed as, socked feet constantly churning, I sweep both survivors and casualties of this night of violence away from the entrance to my nylon-fortified sleeping quarters. At long last I am able to enter uneventfully and, thoroughly exhausted, lay my head down for a few hours of rest.

Still in disbelief that such an event could occur I wonder if perhaps the entire episode wasn't just some hallucination induced by the anti-malarial medication so many other volunteers have been having trouble with. No, the wounds left behind from the searing jaws of my would-be pursuers are certainly real enough. Never have I felt like more of a guest in my own home than now. As I drift off into a long-overdue sleep I hope to myself that the evenings events will be a one time only occurrence.