There is a war.
I am at war.
I am not yet sure who the victor will be.
The casualties have been high, the stakes are higher.
But there can only be one winner.
Dear ants in my bedroom,
You are going DOWN.
The Pale Face who keeps poisoning/squishing/drowning you.
My first few weeks here in my homestay house I noticed a large number of sugar ants crawling along the doorway and corners of the room. At first I ignored the little buggers. They were nothing, and I was a mighty human. I was not to be bothered by the likes of them. Then one day I noticed a few of them straying from their designated path and venturing forth into a region of the room I thought we mutually understood to be mine. This was unacceptable. So for the next half hour I pulled up a seat (aka sat my happy ass on the ground) and watched the habits of these brave wanderers. (I know, what has my life become that this was, and still is, in my opinion, a good and entertaining way to spend a half hour)
To preface my discoveries I must explain that my floor is cement covered in scraps of “linoleum”; plastic patterned floor covering. I asked my homestay mother what it’s called, so I can ask for some at the local store when I need to cover my own site house in scraps. Her response; “it is carpet”. My response”…then what is the soft stuff that covers floors?” Her response “…carpet”. With a smile I reply “aaaaand the straw mats people use in doorways to collect dirt?” Her response (with a look in her eyes wondering if I’m missing a chromosome) “…carpet. It is all carpet”
So where are these ants marching one by one? Under a flap in the middle of my belongings. And what pray tell did mine eyes discover under the flap? A full blown ant colony, multiple dirt hills, paved roads, electricity, and a democratic system. Ant hills. In muh room. I quickly stood up, proclaimed a Glee’s Mercedes-esque “Helllll to the no,” and proceeded to go Godzilla on their ass. I scooped up all the dirt onto a piece of paper and tossed it out the window. Sprayed my precious bug spray on the escapees and as a final touch, sprinkled (poured) powdered toilet bowl cleaner over where the hills used to be.
As I fell asleep that night, the first night in a long time where I didn’t include “pulling ants off bed and self” in the pre-bed ritual, I smiled the sweet sweet smile of success to myself.
They were back 3 days later. Two feet from where the massacre had occurred. Clearly ants have no respect for the dead. UPDATE: I started this blog entry nearly a month ago and am sad to report that yours truly, was absolutely and unequivocally (in love with Edward Cullen, lol, couldn’t resist a culture reference) but seriously, the loser of the Ant-2011 war. Towards the end of my stay at homestay I started keeping a tally when I got home of how many ants I had to pluck off my body. On my worst day I reached 20 in 15 minutes.
So for those of you who are avid readers of this blog, (which if you aren’t, I understand. We can’t all be winners) you know that it’s been a while since my last entry. My deepest apologies, I was in the middle of training, and the electricity at my homestay method was about as reliable as the pull out method (if you have to ask… google it) But as of Friday I have moved to the Southwest of Uganda and into my new home for the next two years. I realized as I was unpacking that this will be the longest duration I’ll be living in the same residence since high school. (Thank you University of Florida Department of Housing) Kinda excited. P.S. That thanks was sarcasm.
So to sum everything up. Anteaters are my new favorite animal. I’m all moved into my own house and loving it. And in the past month of not blogging I seem to have acquired an obscene amount of stories I can’t wait to tell you guys about. I can’t decide if these incidents find me… or if I’m seeking them out.