… and the war is on!

There are those who see us only as a source for theft, who will do what they can to steal from those of us who work hard for what we have.  They are the ones who wish us harm and will smile at us while planning their next attack.

I love my Saturday mornings, when I can sleep late and then sit out on the patio with my coffee and cinnamon roll.  Afterwards, I will sit in the sun with my eyes closed, soaking in the sunshine.  This morning, as I sat in the solitude, I heard a rustle in the trees.  Opening my eyes, I quickly saw where branches were still moving, but nothing that caused it.  Closed my eyes again and a minute later, more rustle.  This time I was quick enough, and saw that my greatest fear has been realized.  The monkeys have returned.

When we first arrived in Addis, one of the first Saturday mornings we sat outside with our coffee and breakfast, we had the little critters show up.  We found them cute and lovable, even getting them to feed out of our hands.  If you remember the pictures we posted of Terese feeding one.  While they gathered around to welcome us to the neighborhood, others ran through the flower beds eating anything that was not green, while the younger ones jump in and out of the trees.  We did notice there was unusual commotion elsewhere in the yard, but it wasn’t until they moved on, did we notice the debauchery that had taken place in our yard.  Terese felt bad Monday morning when Michael, the gardener showed up and almost fainted at what was left of his garden.

I have to admit, there was a bit of guilt at letting this happen, because Michael is very proud of his work, as he should be.   I don’t remember if I blamed it on Terese, or she blamed it on me, but it was at this time we realized, the monkeys are no longer welcomed in our yard.

If one or two comes to our yard and stays high up in the tree eating the seeds that grow on it, it would be no problem.  But if one or two show up, others follow and before you know it, they are having a block party.  They are not dumb.  They have seen us go in and out of our house, and realize the handle on the door has something to do with opening it.  One had the audacity to come into our kitchen while Terese was doing dishes and attempt to eat an apple, still wrapped in cellophane, knocking over the trashcan in the process.

Last year when I battled these little degenerates, I first tried using the water hose to drive them away.  The only place it drove them was higher in the trees.  They would go just beyond the water stream and no further, as if they wanted to feel the mist on a hot day.  Soon I found a water squirter in Michael’s room.  One of these things you fill with water and press the plunger.  It sent water higher, but still not enough.  In the meantime, Shawn, the gardener next door would just throw rocks at them.  I tried that, but it just gave the idiots something to laugh about.  I may even have heard a snicker from my wife.

Notice the difference in this picture from the ones above.  Here she’s trying to kill a monkey.

It just got worse.  The more I battled them, the more would show up.  It’s as if one ran back to the others and said, “Hey guys, the idiot with the water hose wants to play with us again!!”  They stayed just out of reach and at times would hunker down behind the back wall of the yard, and send one of the youngest ones to slowly raise its head above the wall to see if I was still there.  If I felt they were all gone, or if I went back inside to get more coffee, when I returned, the whole troop would be bouncing through the trees again.

So, I knew something else had to be used.  I contacted some people back in the States and had a secret weapon sent to me.  It had to be disassemble to make it unrecognizable by any Government inspector, and shipped to me in three separate containers.  After weeks of anticipation, the weaponry finally arrived.  I quickly hid in the back room giggling while assembling the slingshot.  I knew I had ‘em now!

Okay, now I am a humanitarian of sorts.  At that time, I didn’t really want to kill the little bastards, just drive them away.  So I ordered some rock salt to use as ammo, just in case any of the projectiles gets under their skin, it wouldn’t cause an infection.  But it took only a few shots to realize it disperses too quickly and will not get to the target.  So I came up with an excellent idea, if I say so myself.  One word – paintball.  These are the little balls with paint inside that are used all over the country in mock battles.  They are usually shot with paintball guns using highly compressed air.  I ordered a small pack of 50 caliber paintballs as a test.  This Saturday morning, I had my opportunity to test them.

So, as I mentioned above, the monkeys have returned.  I quickly headed in the house, grabbed the weapon and ammo, and went out onto one of the upper balconies.  One lone critter climbed up high in a tree, and sat in a clearing.  I pulled back the strong elastic tubing of the weapon, aimed and released.  In less than a heartbeat, the yellow paintball pierced through the air and hit the little sucker right in the chest!  It evidently did not break, probably due to the thick fur as I heard the ball fall to the roof of the little building below and roll away.  But I know it stung, as the monkey yelled out, “Holy bananas!” and quickly disappeared down and did not return.  Not even to see what the heck happened like they normally would.

Normally when I try to fight them, many show up to watch the fiasco, but it was about 5 minutes before any of them came around.  I’m thinking the one I hit ran back to the others saying, “Hey, don’t go in that tree over there, because if you do your chest will hurt like hell!”

Several things have come out of this.

1. The monkeys came
2. The monkeys were driven away.
3. The monkeys will return.
4. … and I will be ready.
5. As I type this, it is now Dwaine: 1, and Monkeys: 0.

As I start writing this, I’m currently stuck on the island of Mauritius down by the southern end of Africa and cannot return until Tuesday the 4^th.

This trip was planned about a month ago, then on August 16, the Ethiopian Orthodox Patriarch, Abune Paulos died, leaving the country in mourning.  Then 4 days later, the Prime Minister, Meles Zenawi died causing a ripple in the government which spilled out into the streets.  We were scheduled to fly back to Addis on Sept 1^st, but because of the massive influx of people flying in and out for the funeral, along with a few demonstrations at various points in the city, and add the traffic, both foot and vehicle, it would have been a nightmare to return at that time.

When the head of a church dies, there is sadness and mourning imbedded in the prayers of the people. When a leader of a country dies, there are mixed emotions throughout the populace.  I found it most interesting to get opinions of some of the local people who grew up in Addis.  One individual told me he was a despot who murdered women and children.  I reluctantly listened to him, and was unsure how accurate his beliefs were, because all leaders of a country who are hated, “kill women and children”.

Some said he did good because he helped drive out the Communist back in the 90’s.  One simply said, it’s neither good nor bad but the will of God.  Either way, I’m stuck here until Tuesday.

So we decided to move to a resort further up on the coast of the island, since we were through with our work and had Labor Day off.  We are having to pay a little out of our pockets because the price is slightly above per-diem, but we figure it’s worth it.

I have been to places that are in the crotch of the world, and places like this that it is a once in a lifetime trip for many.  So, as I sit here on my balcony writing this, I’m listening to the waves of the Indian Ocean, literally a stone’s throw away.  One of my co-workers commented last night, people in the States save their money for years to vacation in the places we work at.

While here on Mauritius, I take advantage of the beef in the country.  In Addis the beef is tasty but tough.  Here on the island, the beef is flown in from South Africa and is grain fed like in the States.  So I make sure to get my belly full of tender beef while here.  Also, in Addis, fish is flown in since the country is land-locked, but here, it’s fresh.

The first morning we were here, I sat in the open air lobby after breakfast checking email.  The waitress from the little bar nearby brought me some little cheese chips to munch on along with my drink.  While seated, a little fathered creature flew onto the table and quickly plucked one of the chips out of the cup and disappeared.  This took place so fast, I was unsure what it actually was.  Afterwards, I heard a tapping sound near my feet, and looked down and saw the thief banging the chip on the floor to break it into smaller pieces.

So, I set a chip out on the edge of the table, already broken into beak-sized portions and waited with the camera of my cell phone.   Within seconds, another critter showed up and took the bait, as seen below.  Afterwards, I sat back in the chair reading email and casually had my hand hanging down off the chair with the chip I was eating, when it too disappeared from my fingers.  The little thief!

During the day, we decided to go further north about 10 kilometers to the little resort town of Gran Baie and be tourists.  I bought a few items for my wife and we ate at some of the outside dining areas.  One thing I have learned while traveling to other countries, always be wary of anything that is placed on your table in a very small bowl, that is green.  Always taste it very carefully before indulging.  I should have taken a picture of one, but I think my camera would have melted.

The town is a resort area, but not the type you see many places.  The tourists are not the type you see walking around with enamored looks on their faces, with cameras and fanny packs hanging off of them, but mostly young people who look like they swam to get to the island.  No cameras and fanny packs, but sandals and backpacks.

We took a taxi from the resort we were staying at, but the $30 for the ten kilometer trip was too high for us, since they service the resort where many wealthy people stayed, they knew they could get those prices.  So, after doing that once, we found out we could walk a quarter mile and catch a bus to Gran Baie for 28 rupees (93 cents).  It took much longer, but it was also worth the sightseeing along the bumpy ride.

Remember a few months ago, I posted a picture on Facebook of two beautiful women I met on a beach on Mauritius?  I had the fortunate opportunity to visit with them again when their parents had a going away party since they were leaving the island for their next post.  Sam, the oldest, plans to be in the Marine Corps when she’s old enough and wants to be a surgeon afterwards.  She has taken full advantage of life on the island, even learning to dive in the waters and swim with the dolphins.  The little one with the curly hair, Ashley, wants to be a dentist.  She’s sure of it.  I had most fun talking to them.  These two little ones just love life.  Their little sister, Calley, was not feeling well and slept on the couch with her favorite book imbedded in her arms.

The continuation of life depends on our youth.  They are the ones who take over the society we hand them.  I only wish it could be better than when we received it, for I am convinced we have not done well.  But I remind myself at times that life is still good because kids are a part of it.  Island or no island, if kids are involved, life is always good.

D.

I’m currently working on a piece about Mauritius, but had to mention something else first.  Pizzas are not a specialty in Ethiopia, but we can go to the Hilton Hotel and get some fairly good ones.  While Terese is in the States with her new Grandson, I decided to have pizza tonight.  As I sat eating, a young mother came in with two little girls, who I guess was probably 6 and about 4.  The younger one had frizzy hair like that associated with a child that never sits still.

The Pizza Master creates his pizzas on a marble counter for all to see, which has a small shelf with some decorative items on it in front.  When the two little girls arrived, a waitress came and moved the table aside.  Then the girls dragged chairs from one of the tables over to the counter.  The older one knelt in her chair with arms crossed, resting on the counter, watching the Pizza Master, while the little frizzy headed one, stood in her chair watching with her elbows on the counter supporting her head.

Now I have to assume these little ones are regulars, since the waitress knew exactly what was needed as soon as they entered, but I was intrigued how the girls watched pizzas being made without reaching out to play with something on the counter.  I could not imagine my Grandsons sitting that still.

But then, the Pizza Master dropped a ball of dough in front of each girl along with a small wooden rolling pin.  They flattened the dough out, rolling and pushing here and there, then after a few minutes he added sauce.  The older girl used a spoon to carefully spread hers around, and the little one started out with a spoon, but then resorted to her hands.

Soon, a pile of cheese was added, then other ingredients were place within their reach.  After the two girls were satisfied with their creations, they clambered down and sat back at the table with Mommy.  I didn’t stay long enough to watch them receive their pizzas, but I can’t help thinking how proud they must be when their finished handiwork is delivered out of the brick oven, onto their plates.