ant attack

Returning to Mahabo, I once again dealt with the many creatures who took over while I was out. You may or may not recall an ant tunneling problem I encountered in my shower a while ago. I thought I had finished with them—what with the poison and the dead bodies that followed.

But no. Apparently they only played dead while preparing to take over the world.

I finished cleaning my house and obviously wanted a shower (two hours of sweeping will do that to you). And what did I find in my shower? Approximately 5 million ants swarming around piles of dirt in my shower.

My neighbors tried to help by putting burning paper into the shower. This killed enough of them for me to tip-toe inside and shower. When I finished, I put down more of that poison. Problem solved, right? I’d wait for the dead bodies, sweep them away, and move on.

But as the ants died, other ants came to take the bodies away. I don’t get this. They did it after the burning paper too. Based on what I know about ants, I just assumed they were going to EAT the dead. Waste not, want not.

Side note: I suddenly no longer have electricity. Long story, but it’s Madagascar, it’s not surprising, it’s affecting TONS of people in my town, and my proviseur is in the process of trying to make an exception for me because I’m Peace Corps. But until then, I have no music and no fan.

Without a fan, I was eager to shower before bed, simply to cool off. Without electricity, I made my way to the shower with a candle. (Everything is more exciting when it’s done by candle. So much more mysterious.) I saw a carpet of ant bodies, and assumed the dead had evacuated, like last time. I set the candle down and when to get a broom to dispose of the bodies (aka sweep them down the hole/drain).

But when I return, what do I find? These are not all dead ant bodies. No, no. That would be way too easy. Half of them are dead. And half of them are alive and doing who knows what with the dead. I’m no ant ritual expert, but I’m sure I was interrupting something.

It was night (read: dark) so I figured I’d just shower on our back porch. Like the shower, my back porch is made of cement and thus perfect for showering. There’s no drain, but there is an edge and that works fine by me.

That was the idea.

But the problem, you see, was that my candle—my only source of light in these electricity-less days—was now in the middle of a swarm of dead and living ants. No big deal, right? I’ll just grab the candle and be on my merry way.

Not so fast. You see, the ants invading my shower (in Malagasy, “ladosy” pronounced lah-DOO-see) are not the little ones that find their way into the sugar. They are BIG and FAT ants. And apparently they have teeth.

After being bitten multiple times on the feet and hands (a strange bite—like it hits the nerves or something)—and after catching ants running up my legs—I decided to call in the authorities. My neighbors—Ramose and his wife (their family situation is interesting and a whole nother story). Ramose is Gasy for Sir and while it looks like it might be pronounced rah-MOOSE it’s actually pronounced (in a quick, squished up way) ram-SAY. You can call him rah-MOOSE in your head if you want. I don’t mind.

Back to the story. So I knocked on the neighbors’ door and explained the situation as best I could. Um, the ants? They’re not dead. Well, there are some dead and some not dead. And there’s a lot. And they do that thing that hurts with their mouth on my feet. See?

Right.

Luckily, my neighbors understand me well. They took one look at the ants in my ladosy and gasped. Their idea was the same as mine—just take my shower on the back porch.

Instead of explaining that I was trying to but couldn’t get my candle, I let my neighbor stomp all over the place killing some ants, then grab my candle and give it to me. We shut the ladosy door.

And then I showered and went to bed and lived happily ever after right? I wish.

I set the candle down, started reaching for my shampoo, and suddenly felt another nerve-stinging bite. I looked down. The ants—those big fat bastards—had followed me.

Okay, no big deal. I’m a big girl. I’ll just stomp around a little bit until they’re dead and then I’ll take my shower.

No no no. See, these are special ants. I don’t get them, but I’m telling you, they can sense their dead and they seek them out. So for as many ants as you kill, that many more come to take away the bodies and to bite your toes. Or ankles. Or higher. The more I stomped, the more I was surrounded, the more I anticipated lovely dreams when I finally made it to bed. And I must say—dead and live ants are difficult to tell apart when you can only see by candlelight.

After trying to deal with the situation myself, I finally gave up and did the inevitable?

Ramose? The ants. . . .

He came and saw the situation and the story ends with me taking my candlelit shower in the neighbors’ ladosy—out in the yard, far from the ants.

Needless to say, I did NOT sleep well that night. I listened to the rats that have apparently moved into my roof while a cricket of sorts kept buzzing and slamming into my mosquito net and I dreamt of ants crawling under the door and up my bed, eating me alive.

The end.