The animals in my life

OK, so for the last 6 or 7 weeks I've been living with the offspring of my cat, Kali. I originally gave her this name due to the alarming number of scratches I carried on my arms and legs courtesy of her claws. Since having kittens, she is like a completely different cat, and that is a good thing. Motherhood has mellowed her out like time does for a good cheese (which is something that doesn't exist here). I've found homes for two of the three kittens, but I can't bear to part with all three little rascals, so I am keeping the third one. I was struggling to come up with a good name for mine for awhile, almost accidentally choosing "Oliver" like that old Disney movie. Eventually, I found that in problems on naming kittens, it always best to consult one's niece. I mentioned my trouble to Grace, and she immediately gave me the name "Princess" for all three. I told her that wouldn't quite work, seeing as A) they can't all have the same name, and B) they are all fellas. She took it in stride and came right back at me with "Taco", "Nacho", and "Burrito". I was stunned. I doubt I could outdo those names even given 100 monkeys with 100 typewriters and 100 bottles of rum. So my little scamp is now official named Taco. The hilarious part of this is that the word "tako" in Swahili means buttock (yes, its singular). Everyone will think I am calling my cat "Buttock", but that's a price I'm willing to pay.

Over these few weeks, I've also been dealing with the polar opposite of the animal kingdom from kittens- safari ants. At least, I think that's what they are... I remember stories I used to hear about killer ants, possibly from Tanzania, that would swarm up a person and devour him in 2 seconds if he stumbled across their hill. Perhaps those stories were exaggerated, or perhaps I was watching a movie, but whatever the case, those very ants are laying seige to my house. I first took notice one day when I was walking along the road to my house and saw this big black line lying across the road. The way these ants travel is frightening, they form what looks like a solid river, comprised of thousands upon thousands of these centimeter-sized (Davis- that's a little more that 1/3 of an inch) beasts. Roughly half of their total length is their enormous jaws, which they have no hesitancies in using to chomp on one's toes. I have made the mistake of not watching where I step around these little devils, and I will tell you that tevas are minimal protection. I wasn't too concerned that day, I just stepped over their ant-river and continued walking. That night I went to the kitchen for a late night banana, and was instantly sad that I went barefoot. The ant-river had somehow snaked its way into my kitchen, and I had stepped right on it. The next few moments involved my cats being freaked out by the spastic jumping, stomping, and twitching that their master engaged in trying to rid his feet of the little biters. The crazy thing is that half an hour later, they were gone and had cleaned my floor of bread crumbs and various other bits of food. When I went to bathe the following day, I was chagrined to see that they had takin up residency in my bathtub. While I bathed, I constantly was alternating feet so that they wouldn't get me, and due to my tall-man lack of coordination I nearly fell many times. That would have been lovely... The new guy in my house, Mr. O'Malley, got pretty freaked out when I told him they'd been assaulting my castle (I found out that Tanzanians are very scared by these ants...). His solution? Burn them. To give him credit, it worked. We grabbed some old leaves and newspaper and roasted these ants but good. This was about a week ago, and so far they haven't returned en masse. I'm crossing my fingers, these little dudes are fierce. I don't want to scrap with them any more. But in all honesty, I prefer ants than what some other volunteers have to deal with. One girl has had mouse-sized spiders terrorizing her since she arrived. I think we all know that I would have cried and ran home (home being America and its lack of mouse-sized spiders).
PS- I'm dressed like a cowboy (hat and pink shirt and all) right now.

Kwa Heri, "Bachelor Style"

About a week ago, my headmaster called me into his office on the pretense that he wanted to discuss the laptop. He had borrowed it again for his son to use. Apparently I am unable to learn from my mistakes, because once again I have put all my music, pictures, and important documents on there. I'm following the "lightning never strikes twice in the same place" chain of logic on this one. (Strangely, I just taught my students that lightning can, in fact, strike twice in the same place and does so all the time). So I went into his office with some apprehension, thinking perhaps he had hired Mr. Old Guy to perform surgery with an axe again. Well, it turned out that he only wanted to know when I needed it back, and to tell me that the movie-ruining-line in the screen had disappeared. The line has since returned, but I was happy that all my files still existed. And that was how he got me.
My headmaster is a wily cat. He doesn't ask for things that he wants right away, he plays the waiting game, trying to manipulate a person's emotions until they are in a good state to asked a favor. For example, in the past we were having some beers together and out of the blue he brought up some requests about the library, when I was all relaxed and congenial. It works. I didn't want to ruin the vibe by complaining, so I acquiesced to his wishes. I think he pulled the same technique this time as well. He knows I am concerned with the laptop, so he decided to give me a scare followed by some positive news to bring down my guard. Then he brought up the real reason he asked me into the office, again out of the blue.
I'll give you the critical background information you might not have heard. Right now there are 16 student-teachers from the Univ. of Dar es Salaam staying at our school. They're living in several houses around campus while they complete their teaching internships. Concurrently, we have a new biology teacher who arrived yesterday and will be living on campus. But at this moment, his house is occupied by the temporary fellows from Dar. So he needs a place to stay whilst they are here, for another 6 weeks or so. All the houses on campus are made to a government standard; they are identical. If you think about it, there are 16 people in two houses (do the math) and then there is me, by myself. My whiteness does give me some breathing room in this area, but at times I feel a little guilty. Maybe the oh-so clever headmaster caught on to this, I don't know. But he asked me, since I have two spare rooms, if this permanent new teacher could stay with me for the six weeks until the student-teachers head back to school.
What could I say? I really like my privacy, which I've made it clear is not easy to come by here. But to say no would have once again ruined the vibe between me and the headmaster, so I agreed. So he moved in yesterday, and we will have the next six weeks together. I guess it will be like my home-stay experience with Mama Mipawa all over again. (I forgot, I visited her when I went to Morogoro for Mulletfest. I brought them fried grasshoppers, and they said it was the most wonderful gift...) My guest/roommates name is Malick O'Malley (perhaps spelled Omali, but he sounds Irish, its great) and he seems to be a good guy. He bought me a fried fish yesterday. That is the tell-tale sign of a good guy.
It will be hard to lose some of the freedom I had when I lived "bachelor style", as the Tanzanians have described it. "Bachelor" has somehow infiltrated into the Swahili language, the same way we use "safari" in English. If you are not married, you live "bachelor style"- which for me was cruising around in my pajamas on Sunday and making PB and J pretty often. But it will be interesting to live with someone, not as a student like during home-stay, but as a roommate and equal. He'll help me with Swahili, how to cook and live more like a Tanzanian (just so I know...) and so on.
Also, I wore an American flag as a cape on the 4th of July, I wore it to class and taught in it. I bought it at an outdoor booth that was also selling "The Little Mermaid" and "Real Ghostbusters" sheets. I bought these as well. Ah, the things you can find.... Last, "kwa heri" means goodbye. Read a book, why don't you?