The River of Ants

Raining….  Glorious long, slow rain foretold by black skies and great gusts of wind, accompanied by rolling thunder.   We’ve had a lot of this and at some point I will tire of it, but it takes me back to the excited anticipation of hurricanes in Louisiana and the quickening of my pulse when the wind began to kick up on the boat.    Actually, that trip was so  defined by storms and incredible winds, it took years for me to stop getting nauseated when the wind blew.  I was the one who did all the foredeck work and on a sailboat without fancy rigging, that’s the “gorilla work.’  i.e it takes the strength of one to haul anchors, reef sails, hoist the mainsail sometimes…   When we would peek out of a protected anchorage, Bob - having wanted to throw on as much sail area as we had - would deftly guide us out of the harbour, and immediately we'd get knocked down when we ventured out of the lee of the land into  real water. Since I did the sail changes, almost always getting sea sick, that soon wired a Pavlovian circuit: wind = nausea.   Years after we'd settled onto dry land, I got nauseated every time the wind blew – lasted about two years.   Old neural networks die hard.   Long after that stopped happening, if the wind changed at night I would sense it and stagger out of bed to  do “take compass bearings” to see if we’d pulled anchor in the night, only to realize I was safe and secure on the second floor of a house in the hills.   I was probably an Oregonian in another life.  As Brett’s girl-friend Molly mentioned, a true Oregonian runs outside when it starts to rain.  The rest of the world runs inside.   My heart sings when it rains.

In Gulu, with the start of the rains, non-Oregonian creatures  head inside.  A few nights ago, when I work up at 4:30AM AGAIN, I saw a wide-ish undulating snake like pattern moving from the closed window down the wall next to my bed.  Scrambled to find my glasses to see what this moving mass might be and it was ANTS - fortunately not a Black Mamba though.  Giant ants, not little sugar ants and they were traveling in a colony.   Eeeeuuuuwww.   These ants were easily ½ inch long.  And – as prone to exaggeration as I can be, that particular fact is actual fact. You can look it up. There is no insect repellent – we’ve used it all on the white-ant-zap-fest a week ago.  Still, BOP just blows things out of the way, instead of killing them.  So I spent the next 10 minutes whacking ants with my shoes. 

All I could think of as I am frantically slaughtering ants, was the river-of-ants scene in the Poisonwood Bible, where a literal river of ants would creep in a descimmate every living creature in their path: as in whole cows,  goats, people….   Pulled my bed away from the wall and tried to get back to sleep, but spent the next hour ruminating on a list of things I could set the legs of my bed in to keep ants from winding their way up the legs and into my bed…  There has not been a return, but I spent the next day further terrorizing myself researching Soldier Ants, giant ants in Uganda, etc.  When I got to the part about the mandible being so big they can't actually feed themselves, so have to depend on the colony shredding the victim, I stopped.  This is too much to think about…  Got a can of KILLZ the next days – hoping it does what it says and sprayed the window, the wall – you name it.  I’m happy to report that I am still alive and able to tell the tale. 

Last week held a small victory.  I have finally, after two months, been able to extract a report of sorts from the Gulu Town Police.  I can now submit this to my travel insurance. Now this would seem a straight forward matter, but even the Ugandans were horrified at the process.  It took a total of nine trips and talking to/pleading with to six different people to get this done. 

“Hello, my name is…. And I was burglarized….. and I’d like a copy of the report….”

“Oh no madam, we must first investigate. (It’s been 6 weeks – the trail is cold). And then we must type the report, and then we must…… and it must be stamped. It is not valid until it is stamped.”

“You first wait and we will come make some diagrams.” (This never happens)

A month later:  “Hello – remember me?  I MUST get a copy of ….”  "A stamped report is not necessary, just the original statement on your letterhead will do." 

“Oh no madam.  That is not possible.  We must….”

The Ugandans at my office suggested I talk to the DPC: District Police Commander.  He’s lovely, they all are… But they are very literal, and things are just done the way they are done.  That is all. I explain that charging me 60,000 shilling is equivalent to robbing me again, after I have already been robbed, it makes noimpression. Certainly this charge is not true.    This is the way it’s done.  Truly, everyone has been sympathethic,  but this Mzungu just cannot understand about Official Stamps?    All of the Ugandans I met waiting there are kind and smile and we shake hands.  And NO ONE ever questions or gets impatient.   This is an amazing trait – and is, at once, both ingratiating and infuriating. 

‘You comeback later and….”

I met Komaketch (a name meaning unlucky in Acholi) This doesn’t bode well.  I know the name because someone has suggested,  I be named Komaketch Nancy, because of my many mis-haps in Gulu.  I decline – but here’s that name again.  Komaketch is very nice and assures me he will deal with it.

Since I am now returning  to the Police Station multiple times during the day, they realize I’m serious.  Now the OC (Officer in Charge of Crimes) “requires to talk with you.” He  explains  - again -why this is “not done," and is quite put-out  with me but finally  relents and lest me know there is a middle ground that is FREE.   If  “you just first meet the DPC.”  Here we go again.  I feel like I am playing a game of Shutes and Ladders and keep getting dumped back down at the bottom of the game again.

This goes on, multiple trips, my LABE friends telling me this is bribery and that I should go see the REGIONAL Police Commander – which I do.   He listens to my story and says: “Madam let me explain ... Blah – blah  - blah. And for the official report with a stamp  you must first pay the bank 60,000 shillings and bring the STAMPED RECEIPT.  It is written.  There are no exceptions.”

I remind him I am a VOLUNTEER, not a rich Mzungu.  He is not moved, but he finally also offers the middle ground.

I return to the Police Station, feeling fully defeated, but  - in fact – someone has finally written the “To WHOM…” letter as it is called, saying that I have reported the crime to the police and the reference number is… and the best part is:

It Is STAMPED!”

I obviously need a STAMP - for something.  Then I will be officially - what?  But today, I have moved beyond getting a Police Report and have started transcribing wall charts used in Acoli Language classes  into  online modules.  It’s all in Acoli  and I’m understanding most of it and am amazed.    Gee this is one post I wouldn’t mind the CD reading.  Loucine, if you’re out there.  I AM using Acoli!  But – the most interesting thing is that I recall having dreamed this many years ago and actually telling someone I had the most bizarre dream about making charts in a language I don’t know…. 

I needed that – a little something meta-physical in my life.  How I have missed that here, but the culture itself is alive with tales of witch doctors, witchcraft and spells and mind-control.  I’m giving all that a wide berth…   Life is complicated enough with man eating ants and such.   By the way – the White Ants have arrived inside despite closed windows…  and the KILLZ sort of works!   Diana Gardens is blaring at full tilt.   And today, the Marching Band played a new piece: The Battle Hymn of the Republic. Again - only four measures.   life is - well - not GOOD exactly, but improving.