Predator and Prey

All is quiet as the prey unknowingly slips its shoes off and relaxes into the early morning warmth. The prey becomes engrossed in reading material and ceases to notice its surroundings.


Meanwhile, the predator swiftly and silently approaches. With each inaudible step, it seems to twitch with excitement and anticipation. It is close, so close, and ready to attack when -

"AHHHHHHH!" The prey screams, jumps onto the coffee table and completely freaks out.

No, we're not talking about lions and lechwes in the Okavango Delta. We're talking about me, in my office, nearly being bitten by a cross between a black widow spider and a roach. This is the most innocent of my recent encounters with bugs, but come to find out, this particular bug sprays its attackers with urine, and if it gets in your eyes, well... ke mathata a matona, to say the least.

My bug woes all began about 3 weeks ago, as I was beginning to move out of my house in order for a new roof to be put on. Peace Corps issues all volunteers a huge, thick, fuzzy blanket for the cold winter nights. Well, living up to my nickname "Tess the Mess," I had just thrown it on the floor when the weather got warmer and let it be. As I finally picked it up to put away, I heard a soft "flop" onto my bed. I assumed there had been a book wrapped up in it, or maybe I had unknowingly dropped my cell phone onto the blanket. A closer look at my bed revealed how wrong I was.

It was a tarantula. A huge, hairy, menacing tarantula. This was the first time I had ever seen one in real life, and it's hopefully the last. After I called the gardener to help me, I decided to name him Clarence (...rest in peace).

Fast forward a couple weeks and I'm comfortably staying in my landlord's extra bedroom as my roof gets put on. I'm lounging on my bed, sipping some ice water and reading a book, when I hear a rustle. Assuming it's the gardener outside my window, I don't think much of it. There's another rustle, and again. Geeze, I'm thinking, that sure sounds like it's right inside my bedroom. This thought brings a flashback of when I was at homestay and the family cat would jiggle my windows open in the middle of the night and jump onto my bed, scaring me shitless. My landlord doesn't have a cat though...

It was a cockroach. A huge, germ-ridden, terror-inducing cockroach, and it brought along its brother. I swear, the things had frog legs to propel them across all my belongings (my clothes are on the floor, since I don't have a dresser) and away from my can of Doom bug spray. Needless to say, I didn't sleep in my room that night.

On top of all this, I am in a constant state of having 50+ mosquito bites on my body. I'm considering keeping a count on my blog so at the end of two years I'll know how many bites I've gotten. Thank goodness for my malaria pills, because otherwise I'd probably be hospitalized.

Finally, enough was enough and I decided to "Doom" my room before I went to sleep last night, despite my hatred of pesticides and the like. I thoroughly sprayed my room, closed the door, and let the poison do its magic as I brushed my teeth. When I re-entered my room, there was - could it be? - silence. No buzzing or rustling. I went to climb into my bed and saw something lying there.

It was a dead roach. A small one, but gross, and on its back. Rest in peace, lil guy, but get the heck off my bed.

In my previous life, I wouldn't have considered myself especially scared of bugs. I found it easy to live in peace with the occasional daddy long legs. The reason, I suppose, for my laid-back attitude, was that I had never actually encountered any scary ones before. Let's hope that my "predator and prey" analogy doesn't become true, and I survive the next two years out here!