Bugs and Grubs

Apologies to all domestic etymologists but British insects are dull and unispiring. Oh ok, spiders are pretty cool. And stag beetles. But THAT'S IT. Sorry Dad, the dragonflies are cool too. Oh sod it. Insects in general are fascinating, but here they are outsized, outlandish and everywhere. I am often late to work or dinner because I have been distracted by another crazy beetle built like a bull-dog. One morning I came to the office to find a huge moth trapped in a cobweb. I gently extracted it and took it outside. It covered my whole hand. I promise to upload a photo as soon as my camera starts behaving. Butterflies are ok, pretty and flirtacious, but a moth like this is something quite special. The locust Joe's holding clambered over our hands like a drunken robot, it's mad red eyes rolling.

As well as a newfound admiration, I have also discovered the nutritional value of our crawly companions. It only took two months in Africa but I have finally eaten some grubs. Yesterday as the guys were busting the bee hive in the roof of the dining hall we clamoured for honeycomb. I have had honeycomb at home, rich and sweet, but this nyika honey was raw and spicy, quite heady and overpowering. It was also populated with grubs. I was going to pick them out but White assured me they were edible. Anticipating a humorous 'make the mazungu eat something gross' moment I told him I would if he would. And he did. So I did. And it was quite delicious. Now I can't wait for the white ant season. Apparently you fry them in butter.

Carey, get out your cane

I spend most lunchtimes lounging in that hammock. I'm a bit of a hammock-hog. But the ants only seem to bite me, and seeing as the ants will swarm over absolutely anything you put on the ground, I monopolise the cool security of the suspended seat. Honestly, thirty seconds after putting your radio, plate, mug, bag, FEET on the ground then they are swarming all over it, engaged in the most dogged investigation. On this occasion I'm enjoying the sweet, if strangely fibrous, sugarcane that Oli bought me for my birthday. Considering we are, yes I have to keep saying it, 3000km from the nearest shop it was pretty amazing that I got anything. But I did. There it is. If you've tried sugarcane then skip this bit, if you haven't then you may be interested to learn that it is not what you expect. At all. First, hack the end off your cane, then pare it down until the white pith is exposed. Then you tear into it trying not to let the raw syrup run down your chin but actually into your mouth. The pith, which you hope to be pleasantly chewy, is actually like dry straw and completely indigestible. It must be spat upon the floor with relish. You end up with sugar all over your face, scraps of pith all down your front and a pile of chewed cane on the floor. Oh yes. And a strange high if you eat enough of it. I also got a pile of scones, a chocolate cake, a mug and a beer.

The Deep Dark African Night

There are several shades of night in the bush and numerous moods. Our house is in the staff compound, and the houses ring with chat, children and music. Transistors blare out soca and quato as the evening fires are being lit and the compund bustles with activity. The walk down the valley and through the marsh to the other side of the camp brings a chill as the water cools the air. You drift through pockets of hot air, then cold. It is eerie and feverish. Although the cicadas have stopped their ceaseless creaking with the setting of the flushed sun the night is far from silent. Bats chase you along your path, hunting the insects that flock to your torchlight. They emit loud sonic chirrups like tiny flying saucers feeling their way through space. Walking up to the lodge for dinner takes you through the pine plantation, and the trees groan and sigh as if the whole forest was alive and waiting to eat you. I've never felt more like little red riding hood, except this time with a leopard at the door. When the moon is full the sky seems to glow from all around, it is the only thing in the sky, you can see your companion as plainly as you would in the day. Cool silver light spills over the grasslands highlighting the trees and the looming stone. The lake lies clear and calm in the bowl of the valley, showing the moon it's distant face. When the moon is hidden the stars, frosty and detached, fill the sky from the very horizon, and the Milky Way runs across the dome, misty and ethereal, the highway of the heavens.

Wish You Were Here

Africa Burning

Nyika Safari Company helped to set up the Nyika-Vwaza Trust, and organisation that aims to protect and to manage the two reserves of the Nyika Plateau and Vwaza Marsh. One of the main duties of the Trust in the dry season is fighting bush fires that can start with only a spark and spread as fast as a man jogging. With tinder dry grass to burn and ancient forests and rare orchids to protect the responsibility is an serious one. The only feasible method of fighting fires is to take as many bodies as possible to the site and beat the fire out. We have only about 20 rough, pot-holed roads over the whole 3 000 square km plateau and only the camp is serviced by water-mains, so a functioning fire service is out of the question. With only one single-engine plane water drops are also unfeasible. That leaves sheer brute force as the only alternative. The tragedy is that most of these destructive infernoes are started either by careless or inexperienced hikers or, more commonly, by poachers. Knowing that the scouts tracking them will not only have to stop to report the blaze but will also be needed to fight it, the poachers simply slink away under the cover of the rising haze. Poaching is not only fuelled by the curio trade but also provide the African Doctors who sit in their ritually marked plots on the outskirts of most villages and towns with their raw ingredients. Fighting fires on the nyika is an involved and complex social issue.