The Story of the Stowaway Scorpion

First I mutilate a cow with an automobile. Then I fail to pay my Botswana speeding ticket. But my record as an international outlaw continues to grow. I am now a smuggler of agricultural products across international boundaries. The customs officials didn't look hard enough! The story goes something like this:

One day, a usually cheery yellow scorpion was tired. He was tired of being in the heat of the Namibian desert. He does not remember where exactly he was--it could have been the Trans-Kalahari border post; perhaps by a hostel in Windhoek or Swakopmund; or maybe near the Intercape bus. Where he was is not important; what you need to know is that he was hot. And he wanted relief in the form of shade. As he scuttled around at a rather slow pace, he wondered if he was feeling the effects of heat stroke. He didn't know how much longer he could go on if he didn't get out of the sun.

Then he found it! A medium-sized, olive green backpack, with just the smallest of openings of the zipper on one pocket. It looked like a very cool and inviting backpack, and the yellow scorpion began to cheer up again as he climbed down inside the pocket, and burrowed into the shade of toiletry bottles and a toothpaste tube. Yes, this was a good place to relax.

The scorpion stayed in his pocket a very long time--at least a week, if not more. Then, one Thursday evening, his little pocket started to jostle and shake more than he was used to. "This is not comfortable at all," he thought, as the bottles bumped him around. "I am leaving!" And he scuttled out into the light.

When he emerged from his pocket, he could not figure out what had been causing the bumping (my guess is that the cause had gone to fetch her clean laundry from the line while packing her bag to leave in the morning). The scorpion was a little hungry, but could see nothing in this strange environment that could offer any help for his empty stomach. There was fuzzy carpeting, a giant desk, and what looked like an oasis of solitude under the bed in the spare room in Oliver's apartment. He scuttled under the bed, and tried to hatch a plan for how to get back to the Namib Desert He did not know this world was far far away--in fact, over a 20 hour bus ride away!

After a day and a half, with no sign of any food coming his way under the bed, he decided to wander a little in search of sustenance. Climbing his way up some sheets and onto the softness of a pillow, in the early morning light he saw great potential just a pillow's length away: a human! The scorpion began his approach. But the human, Sean, must have a sixth sense for scorpions when crashing at friends' houses the night after travelers unknowingly leave predatory animals from Namibia in the spare room. Sean woke up eye to eye with our yellow friend and, with lightning-like reflexes, jumped out of bed, grabbed a glass, and captured the unwitting arachnid.

The yellow scorpion would never see the Namibian Desert again. After becoming the apartment's focus of attention for the day (Etienne researched where the little guy was from, and learned how much scorpions like cool dark places like backpacks), the scorpion moved to the Cape Town Waterfront offices of Maersk Shipping to keep Etienne company. But the scorpion was not happy being a pet, and the diet on the Cape did not suit his stomach. The yellow scorpion decided to depart for the desert in the sky, and Etienne honored him with a Naval funeral.

Author's Note: I am relieved that the scorpion did not pop out of my bag sooner (like when I was digging clothes out during the week in CT), and am glad he chose the night after I left to make his presence known. I did not learn of this rather amusing tale until after arriving in Germany. Oddly enough, I would soon be on my way to Hannover, home of the famous 80s band, Scorpions. Coincidence? Perhaps...for as Klaus Meine will tell you, scorpions are "Always Somewhere".

I Bless the Rains Down in Africa…or do I?

Before leaving the U.S., I researched weather conditions for June and July in Gaborone. A 1% chance of precipitation based on 5-year data left me fairly certain I would not get to create this post. But on Monday I woke up to hear the wind rustling the leaves, felt the humidity in the air, and thought that it might just be my lucky day. Rain!

One of the few Setswana words I’ve learned here is pula, which means "rain" but is also the name of the Botswana currency—and the pula is broken down into 100 cents, called thebe, meaning "raindrops". The fact that money here is named after rain testifies to the value and importance of the latter in this arid country, where most of the land is the Kalahari Desert. Rain is not only money--it is vital for survival, to get a lot of it is lucky, and to have it at all, particularly at this time of year (even if it's just a few thebe), is a blessing.

The clouds hung low all day Monday, and as evening fell in Gaborone, lightning flashed across purple skies, thunder boomed, and the heavy downpour began. I think it could best be described as “raining zebras and wildebeests.” I stepped outside for a minute while I was cooking dinner to smell the freshness that always accompanies a new rainfall and allow my upturned face to soak up a few of the thick drops streaming out of the dark heavens.

It had been a good day—-work was starting to pick up, I’d just come off a great weekend of seeing incredible African wildlife, and the rain was falling on the edge of the desert. What better way to celebrate than by invoking the lyrics of that poetic band of the 80s, Toto? I bless the rains down in Africa…and sense a potential song for a future karaoke night. Turn it up (and enjoy the Lion King clips in the background!):



JD from Scrubs likes Toto too! And the scooter-driving scene is somewhat reminiscent of African roads and drainage systems...



The next morning, I woke up, and realized it was still raining. What happened to a 1% chance of precipitation? This must be the 100-year rainfall event. Why oh why did I only bring 1 pair of office-worthy closed-toed shoes? Oh right, because it wasn’t supposed to be like this! Forget sunny skies and average daily temperature of 75 degrees. I put on my tennis shoes for the commute to work, and changed once I arrived at the office. Indeed, all day, people were saying that this was unseasonable weather. Climate change is real, folks. And I’m hitting myself for giving up the sunny skies of a somewhere-else-summer for African winter. Tuesday night featured rolling power outages at our little house after we got back from seeing a movie. Luckily the stove is gas-fired, and our landlady provided us a battery-powered light.

Surely this weather couldn’t last more than 48 hours? Oh, but it could. Wednesday morning, and the rain was still drizzling off and on, expected to last until the weekend. This feels like Portland in winter, and not at all the quick, hour-long downpours you expect from African rains. Let’s just hope the Limpopo don’t overflow-oh. The cloudless blue skies can come back anytime now. I just pray the sun doesn’t take as long to reappear as it took Toto to break up (Are you serious, Wikipedia—how were they producing albums for 31 years? Did anyone really pay attention to them after the album Toto IV?). Hurry boy, it’s waiting there for you…