A Proliferation of Nast

With rainy season just behind us, freshly washed clothing actually dries before it can mold. Produce is abundant and cheap. Rare treats like eggplants and bell peppers make guest appearances in the marketplace. Jen Lees laugh uproariously as they chase children with chameleons (for some strange reason Kenyans find them mortifying). It’s a great time when the roads aren’t yet piles of dust and the verdant hillsides sing with life.

My friend M stayed with me one weekend to discuss some Peace Corps business and hang out. Taking in the landscape by day and the stars by night, she was smitten. She went so far as to suggest I remove the door of my latrine so I could always enjoy the view while… y’know.

One night, M and I got into bed and immediately she spotted a fuzzy black caterpillar on my blanket. She picked him up with some toilet paper (their hairs cause fiery pain in the skin), put him outside, and came back to bed. All the while I’d sat as still as a rock holding its breath. Little did I know it was only the tip of the iceberg.

A couple days later, as I got into bed, my mosquito net thudded onto my foot with uncharacteristic weight. I turned back to see a glistening brownish-green mass the size of a Costco banana. With a yelp I shrank into fetal position and watched as the slug twisted himself upright. Then I used my socks to push him onto the ground. The sound when he landed was enough to haunt me the rest of the night, and the gluey residue he left on my sheet, net, and floor was enough to scare me into staying in bed ‘til morning.

The slug-in-the-bed is either really funny or just so nasty I can’t stop laughing every time I think about it. Well now that I am thinking about it, it’s not quite with mirth that I emit these sounds akin to retching.

Anyway, I knew this day would come, but I hoped it wouldn’t. The termites from last year are back. They’re a little different. Half of their bodies are red, and they’ve been building mounds on the baseboards around my house. I thought that they might be less frightful the second time around, but they’re not, maybe because they’ve started earlier, maybe because they’re a different species, and maybe because I’m a coward. Maybe it’s like that time I got my wisdom teeth pulled in two separate sessions. I was obliviously welcoming of the procedure the first time ‘round and then crying before the needle hit my gums the second.

I’d rather have another slug in my bed the size of my thigh than live through the apocalyptic invasion of last year again. Better yet, I’m gonna spring for the whopping ten-dollar pesticide and get my house sprayed while I’m in Nairobi fundraising for Camp GLOW.

I wish I’d had the sense to take a picture with that slug. It was a snot the size of twenty chameleons! Man! Maybe next time.