The Flea War

 

The flea infested bamboo saga continues. The cutters came back Saturday. Saturday and Sunday they continued to chop at the stand of bamboo until every stalk but one was felled. For some reason, they left one bare stalk stand. All around it was the litter of its companions, in disarray just where the stacks had fallen when chopped down. My yard and the ground outside the fence was a massive jumble of branches and stalks, some 30 feet long. I had to step over the foliage to get to my gate. Monday morning, the workers retuned to begin to clear the debris. The idea was to salvage the bamboo wood. That meant stripping the foliage from the stalks.  With machetes in hand, the four of them set to work hacking off the green shoots, stalk by stalk, until each was bare, then stacking the wood spears outside the fence or in my yard. It was tedious work, but then so had been the chopping down for the small bamboo forest. I was amazed at the strength and stamina of these four slender men. They worked steadily for eight hours a day for four days, only taking a break at lunch time. The harvested bamboo will be used for fencing by the Presbytery, since the house and the bamboo are part of the Presbytery’s property. Hopefully that will include my yard, since the bamboo fence is gone.

The burning

On Wednesday, I was greeted by new sounds and smells. While for four days I had listened to consistent machete slashes and inhaled the aroma of cut greens, now I was greeted by the crackle of a fire and the smoky air to ingest. Ash residue floated over the house and against the windows. They had begun the burning of the foliage. The idea was to not only get rid of the foliage, but also of the fleas by burning their nesting spot. That presumes that they stayed put during the chopping. I’m not convinced of that but time will tell. The fire was built around the roots of the cut stalks and was fed from inside and outside the fence area. Flames lapped at the stumps as it ate the greens. The wind dispersed the plume of smoke throughout the neighborhood. And as with the cutting, the new activity quickly gathered a crowd of observers. Children on their way to school stopped to watch the inferno and then had to be prompted to move on to classes. The security guards from PIASS, across the street, leaned over the metal fence around the campus to watch the feeding of the flames. The only creatures absent were the birds. For four days, they had hovered, swooping in to feast on the bugs that were stirred by the chopping, but the birds fled when the fire began. There was no morning chorus.

I have a love-fear relationship with fire. I love to watch one in a fireplace or other controlled area, but I fear the sight of untamed flames – too many years around California wildfires. I spent Wednesday in the house, with the windows closed against the smoke and ash as fires blazed, at one point one in the front of the house, one at the side, in my neighbor’s yard and one in my back yard. I could feel the heat through the closed windows. .No one was concerned but me. A few of the PIASS staff members came to watch for a while and thought I should be thrilled that the burning was going so quickly. I tried to smile. I didn’t say anything. This burning is a common practice in many places in Africa but it makes me nervous. I remember one night driving down the Zomba road in Malawi, being seized with panic at the sight of fires along the side of the road. Those with me laughed at me. I had that same feeling all day Wednesday. I tried to stay away from the windows and keep myself busy, but the fires were always there, crackling and smoking.

On Thursday, the workers returned to finish the job, raking the yard and burning the last of the foliage. Every plant in my front yard has been crushed, burned or both. The area was a war zone. The war against imbaragasa (fleas) was fought in 7 days. Now we wait to see if the battle was successful and wait for the rains to replenish the crushed, charred ground.