The birds and the bees

I’m going to punch a hawk.

They’re selfish little feckers and someone needs to teach them some manners. I’m not sure if generally they’re considered to be endangered and in need of protection, but there plentiful in supply here and the latter is certainly true at the moment – someone better protect them from me.

Living in a tented compound means that everything is compartmentalized. Tents are for sleeping and hiding and quickly changing in before anyone walks by and catches a glimpse of your nakedness. The cooking happens on a fire behind the kitchen building (which surely means we should no longer call it a kitchen?) and then you pile up your plate and take it to one of two covered eating areas. One has a tv. The other has a fridge and the drinking water. Surprisingly, the fridge/water one wins my affection. Toilet and shower facilities also each get their own buildings. Instead of having one big house with a roof that covers everything you need, you walk between each specialized piece of the puzzle. Which is normally no big deal.

Here’s an idea of what it looks like:

(I’m not sure if it hinders or helps morale to have everyone walking around in towels. I’ll try to get a photo of that some other time)

Such a compound is, however, disadvantaged by the presence of natural elements. We all curse the weather. It is constantly too hot or too cold, with the exception of a couple of hours a day during only a couple of months of the year, when we might be inspired to complement the not too displeasing conditions. Plus the dust gets into everything. And the bugs. My goodness, the bugs.

But before I tell you about the bees, allow me to share my current tale of woe about the birds.

The food situation leaves a lot to be desired. Luckily at the moment quantity isn’t an issue, but variety sure is. If one was satisfied to survive on carbs alone she would be fine, but a little protein always helps you navigate your day, and a fresh fruit or veggie is the thing that dreams are made of when you haven’t seen one in a while.

Though I approach the food hut with trepidation and just a hint of misguided optimism each meal time, this is what I nearly always end up walking away with (note the tomatoes, which will be the sole contribution to my 5 to 10 a day today. Unless a big glass of Tang counts. Cause I'm having one of those later. yummm)

There’s always beans, and some sort of meat. It’s usually goat which can actually taste ok sometimes, particularly when they don’t leave shards of bone as little surprises as you chow down. On Sunday’s we buy and slaughter a fresh goat to barbeque, but for most days, the stew size chunks of meat are usually boiled and mixed into a sauce, or fried. Some days I’m hungry enough that it looks good, and so I take some, cautiously rationing my portion to ensure everyone will have a bit (a consideration that not everyone shares). These are typically the days when I’m truly hungry. I really want to eat. I’m probably grumpy, partly attributable to the fact that I’m hungry enough to think the goat looks good.

So I take my morsels sparingly, enthusiastically and with just a hint of shame. And then proceed to the eating area.

Which is where the siege begins. It’s a true invasion.

The first time it happened I screamed. To be fair, I’ve screamed probably every time it’s happened since as well. It was over before I could process that it was happening. It was the memory of the feathers on my face and neck and the meat that just recently been piled purposefully on the plate in my hand that helps piece it all together. Because now the meat is gone, and the rice it was once placed on is dishevelled from the swift removal process. And there’s a hawk out there laughing at me and feeling all victorious and top-of-the-food-chain. Which we have probably enabled on account of all the animal rights and animal protection rules we spout. He doesn’t know his place anymore, and we have no one to blame for this except ourselves.

To have a bird with a wing span as long as your arm swoop in over your shoulder and pillage the only part of your dinner that is not a carb (they won’t touch the ugali either. Ick) is an insulting, personal attack. Plus you’re left with the decision of whether or not you can proceed to eat the remainder of the food on your plate, knowing that its talons have been submerged in it and have been god knows where else. Usually, morally brow beaten by the incident – and too lazy to turn back – we accept our fate and have a lighter dinner than planned. Incidentally, on these nights the food tastes a little more like dirt than usual.

I feel like one of those villagers in any movie ever made where dragons descend to terrorize and destroy. Only this time there won’t be an ending where we discover that we’ve just misunderstood each other and become friends. I feel like I need to be one of the ignorant villagers who always start the movie resorting to violence.

Majestic and awe inspiring. NOT!

They have no scruples at all. At least the cats have the decency to beg for our bits of food. Plus, we think the hawks help explain why we never manage to keep kittens for very long, which I’m sure you know displeases me greatly (but enough about that).

The other interesting development in the past few days is the discovery of this bee hive. You can’t tell from the photo below, but it’s bigger than my head (which is already large on account of having to contain all my awesome intelligence) and when I took the photo the entire outside was moving because it was covered by its inhabitants.

Here’s why I have a bigger problem with its existence than I normally might:

If they were to keep to themselves all would be fine, but they’ve taken to descending en masse, mainly into and around the tent next to mine, but also venture my way. We’re talking easily 1000 bees, swarming. Since our tents don’t zip up properly, if you’re inside one when this happens, your only choice is to quickly tuck your mosquito net around you, make sure you’re not touching the sides, and hope the Big Guy In The Sky is listening.

Leading me to once again ask myself: why have I chosen this??

Then I take a walk with a friend down to the 'river' and it stops seeming so bad. For the moment.

PS: got a call from Forehead Guy yesterday. We're both going to be in Juba next week. You know what that means - our first Guys Say the Darndest Things of 2012! Stay tuned!