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.