the continuing saga of the bees (final episode?)
once upon a time there lived two adorable babes in a little house in the heart of africa. in the house with them lived a handful of hairy spiders, a family of geckos, one grey mouse, and three massive bee hives. the previous inhabitants of the house – cockroaches – couldn’t handle the competition and quickly died off, legs up. but back to the bees. they weren’t nearly as friendly as the geckos, and on several occasions actually attacked the poor girls, leaving itchy welts that grew and grew and spread up arms and down legs. the ladies were forced to politely request that the bees leave. unfortunately, it seemed the bees were necessary to maintain the house’s rent-controlled low price, and so the landlord was less than enthusiastic about removing them. he asked that they be patient with the bees, negotiate, reach an agreement, use diplomacy, lock themselves in the house with mosquito nets shoved in the door cracks.
after a few months, the girls were feeling terrorised by their housemates and so, by unanimous vote, decided to take preemptive action. they enlisted a troop of brave cooks from the kitchen, equipped them with jugs of pesticide spray, and bombarded the house while the bees were sleeping. many of the bees died (may they rest in peace), as was recounted in the sorry tale: massacre in musha. the two crazy chicks hung up a banner that said ‘mission accomplished’ and donned their flight suits.
the mission was, however, not so much accomplished. more of a quagmire really. within a few days more bees (cousins of those who’d perished in the massacre) flocked to the house, angrier than ever, plotting suicide missions under doors and into the living room of the little ladies’ humble abode. an emergency meeting was held and decisions made to bring in the special forces. a man was called in. for the purposes of our story we will call him B. Mahn, though that is not his real name.
B. Mahn took the down-payment on his services and disappeared for two days, ostensibly in search of supplies and other secret agents, though witnesses saw him with a few bottles at the local joint. on the third night B. Mahn returned with three bucking lads of about fifteen, clad in protective gear (long-sleeves and hoodies), their only weapons a homemade ladder, some sticks, and a magic little bottle of something-or-other for motivation. our heroines, damsels in distress, remained fortified in their castle and peaked out the windows at the carnage without.
after a few minutes of banging and what one must assume to be cursing in kinyarwanda, a buzzing sound began reverberating throughout the house. thousands and thousands of bees began dive-bombing the windows and doors in search of sanctuary. the girls quickly turned off the lights and huddled together fascinated while B. Mahn and his team ran in circles outside swatting their heads (a traditional bee-ridding dance, shared by many diverse cultures). the dance continued for many hours, outlived only by the buzzing of the bees against corrugated steel roofing which echoed and made sleep nearly impossible. our heroines carried their mattresses into the quietest of rooms and hunkered down for the night.
the next morning B. Mahn was gone, never to return. in his stead were piles of dead bees, a gaping hole in the roof, bits of honey-comb strewn about the yard, honey dripping down the wall of the house, and two missing buckets (rumored to have been placed inside the rafters to release the special anti-bee medicine). to this day the house is bee-free. though the less fortunate one of our two young ladies rolled over during the night and was stung on the face.
letters from abroad 