Waking Up with Mpashi

One morning, I woke up and scrambled for my shoes so I could rush outside
to relieve an aching bladder which was too scared and lazy to venture
out in the night. On my way back, I noticed a somewhat unusual line of
ants in my yard. It was a very long line with a small amount of dirt
mounded on either side. It had rained the previous night which
normally results in more ants coming above ground; I thought nothing
of it and proceeded to boil water for breakfast.

It had just boiled when my counterpart came to try my new bike. After
circling my nsaka, he stopped, front wheel on the mounded ant line.

        “Ehh…”
        “What is it? The ants?”
        He just shook his head and kept staring at the line.
        “Are they bad?”
        “This is mpashi.”
…

In training I heard about the mpashi: the ants that move from place to
place leaving nothing edible in their wake, the ants that deliver an
extremely painful bite, and as one PCV said, “They seek heat so they
gun for your crotch.” Those of you who have read The Poisonwood Bible
may remember the ant scene; these are those ants, only they seem to
attack one house at a time instead of laying waste to an entire
village.

With these stories in mind, I have been vigilant. On my 18km bike ride
to give a health talk with my counterpart I would see a line of ants
and ask, “Is this mpashi?” The answer was always the same, “No. When
you see them you will know.”
…

I crept closer to the line wanting to keep my distance, not wanting to
be bit in that most sensitive of areas. The line looked more like a
highway, the ants running furiously along it, their small shiny
red-black bodies pushing their way through my yard.

My counterpart shouted for someone and my nearest neighbor,
BaPriscilla came. Before even greeting me, she looked around my yard
and told me to sweep it. In defense of the complaint lodged, I held up
my broom, a collection of woody twigs, which had not survived the
kids’ attempt to clean my house- it was well-intentioned destruction.
She then walked over to the line of ants. She and my counterpart
exchanged rapid words in Bemba. Then he left, leaving two monolingual
people who spoke different languages to deal with the mpashi.

I asked her what I should do about them. She called her eldest son who
brought a better broom. She then spoke to her son who left again. She
then began to sweep my yard, which I believe was more in response to
the fact that she was tired of it looking like no one lived there. Her
son soon returned with ash from their fire and sprinkled it on some of
the holes along the ant line, then left. I had heard stories about
putting a line of mealie-meal (used to make nshima) around your house
to prevent them from entering; it has something to do with the white
color.

Standing in the middle of my yard, my neighbor continuing to sweep and
the impashi momentarily scattered, I grabbed the wisps of my
dilapidated broom and helped finish the sweeping. She had swept the
majority of my yard, my own contribution small in comparison. She gave
me the better broom to keep and then also left.

My counterpart came 10 minutes later and circled my house.

        “The mpashi are very close to your house.” He had discovered more in the back.
        “Should I be worried…?”
        “Ah no. They only attack your house if you have kolswe.”
        “BaPrisicilla found an old tea bag with holes chewed in it from my
roof as she was sweeping!” There was a note of alarm in my voice.
        “Actually, we got that one.”

I remembered the swollen rat that I had discovered the week before who
had been a victim of the peanut baited trap. “Have the mpsahi ever
attacked your house?”
        “No, but they have attacked my mom’s house and my shop. They ate all
the sweets and saladi.”
        “They got through the plastic bottle to the oil!?”
        He confirmed the statement with a head nod and added, “The only thing
which is cool about the mpashi is that when they attack your home all
the kolswe leave at once. But, if they kill too many it will take a
long time for the mpashi to leave your house.”
        “So I don’t have rats so they won’t attack my house…?”
        “Yeah. But if they do, you must immediately leave.”
        “But where will I go?!”
        “Ah… there are so many houses…”

I hoped he was telling me this in warning of a distant future that was
never to come.

The rest of my morning consisted of me periodically checking for ants.

They were gone by 10am.

(as a follow-up, the ants came back the same night further away from
my house in my yard but my neighbor ladies came to take care of it and
the mpashi have not been back since)

Let Me Introduce Myself

Midwest winters became ingrained into my identity; as a child I would eat snow that collected on the wool of my mittens. Snow soothes me. The cold refreshes me. So when placed for Peace Corps in Africa I considered myself lucky to have a country far enough away from the equator. Still,there will be no snow in Zambia (well, maybe in the mountains).

That is what originally led me to the title of my blog and, I think, makes  for an interesting story. How does a polar bear, an animal for all intents and purposes adapted to the tundra, survive in Africa? Considering this juxtaposition led me to other similarities between myself and the Arctic bear. I do not do terribly well in the heat. My hair tends to be a barometer for the humidity frizzing into a large halo.  I will admit it, I put on some weight living in New Orleans over the past year (culprits:fried catfish and grits) and then finding out I will be in Africa for the next two years (this won’t be there, so into the mouth). Probably the most obvious comparison is also something that I consider to be part of my identity: my stark whiteness. I am pale- a yeast even! I have always been and always will be. The running joke in my family is that if I went jogging at night wearing shorts I would not need to wear reflective clothing. The only thing about the bear that I don’t identify with is, thankfully, the hairiness.

So, what’s a polar bear to do? This is my tale: the adventures of one polar bear learning to survive, thrive and hopefully love her time in Africa.