Belanti Balkew was one of my students and my main mechanic. Never had I met a more optimistic young man. I can still hear him telling me that he could have my Volkswagen engine apart and back together in less than three days, no small feat for any mechanic in East Africa, where parts, once ordered, could take months to arrive. I was always a little incredulous when Belante explained what he could do. Whenever I asked him if it would be possible to accomplish a certain task, his answer, no matter the circumstances, was "I'm one hundred percent positive." He said this with such a winning smile that I could not help but return the smile and then leave things in Belanti's hands.
A short, squarely built son of an Ethiopian entrepeneur who owned a fleet of Fiat trucks outside Addis Ababa, Belanti possessed the light brown skin of an Ethiopian highlander and a finely chiseled face typical of the people living near Eritrea. He was, perhaps, the most knowledgeable mechanic on the campus of the University of East Africa where I taught English and where my wife was a clinic nurse.
I first met Belanti while he was working on one of the university's tractors in "the pit", a special area partially dug out of a hillside where faculty could change the oil in their cars and work on the undercarriages. Belanti was laboring away on a big Massey-Ferguson, a leftover remnant at the agricultural research station which had been donated by President Moi for the construction of the university. All I could see of him at the time was his Ethiopian Afro bobbing away beneath the tractor. He mumbled in both Amharic and English, but I could barely understand what he was saying.
I introduced myself and asked him how the work was going. He began to explain, and then, before he could actually finish his first sentence, he bolted from under the tractor, emerged at the entrance to "the pit" and began racing down the road as he peeled off his clothing.
What a strange young man, I recall thinking. While I was wondering if the rest of my students would exhibit equally bizarre behavior, I encountered the shop foreman strolling past the tractor.
"Where is he going?" I inquired, pointing in the general direction Belanti was heading. "And why is he taking off his clothes?"
"Drivers," the foreman answered, scratching the side of his head as his eyes followed Belanti into the field.
"Drivers? I asked in amazement. He's looking for drivers for the tractor?”
The foreman shook his head and broke out in laughter. I was totally confused. He guffawed once more and then pointed at the young Ethiopian who was jumping up and down in what appeared to be some exotic dance. Since I was new to East Africa and its customs, I imagined that I was about to get a very interesting lesson. As I observed this wild, half naked dance in the field, the foreman motioned me over to the tractor. He knelt down and reached inside the pit. When he brought his hand out, I noticed a black insect gnawing away at the calloused part of the his thumb.
"This, my friend, is a driver!" It was the largest black ant I had ever seen, and what the foreman told me next set up a fear of these army ants that would last at least until I had my first personal experience with them only a few weeks later.
Every tribe in East Africa respected these ferocious intruders. When they moved into an area, practically everything else moved out--at least until they had rid the area of all other food sources. What Belanti was doing in the field, every thinking person would do also, for when enough driver ants positioned themselves on one's legs or arms, some sort of signal, transmitted among the ranks, triggered a feeding frenzy that would only end when each and every ant was plucked from the skin. Some of the ants would even manage to take a little flesh with them because their mandibles were so strong.
I recall one evening in particular when one of the families at the university found it necessary to move in with their neighbors until the ants left their home. Apparently, their baby had begun screaming in the middle of the night. When a simple bottle of milk did not do the trick, the mother took a kerosene lamp into the baby's bedroom only to discover that the baby was covered with these “army ants”. Once the parents realized what was happening, they plucked the baby from its crib, awakened their other children and began removing the ants as they headed for the neighbors' home where they would spend the next couple of nights. The ants would literally clean the house of all other insects and then leave as quickly as they had come.
I had heard stories about driver ants, and I had observed what they could do to animals in the wild. Once, while we were on safari in Amboseli Game Park, we came across what was left of an animal carcass after the ants had stripped the bones clean. Our guide explained that he had seen the zebra injured, but still alive, earlier in the morning. In only a few short hours, the ants had eaten everything and then gone on their way!
Sammy, my Nandi gardener, explained to me one day that many of the tribes still used the ants as "sutures" whenever they needed to "sew" up a wound. When the occasion arose, they sought out a line of “safari ants”, as they were sometimes called, picked out some of the larger "guard" ants, positioned their large mandibles on both sides of the wound, and encouraged the ants to chomp down. Of course, once the mandibles were in place, it was relatively easy to twist the ant’s body, leaving only the mandibles in place on the wound. The result was a pretty neat and inexpensive set of "sutures". Some days later, the mandibles are removed with nothing less than a reasonable scar and a few small holes where the mandibles puncture the skin. Sammy rolled up one sleeve and produced a scar on his left arm. If I hadn’t known any better, I would have imagined that a plastic surgeon had done the work!
My first experience with these tenacious little beasts came during my fourth week in Kenya. Because the grass was so tall in my back yard, I failed to notice an advancing army of driver ants. I stood in their path just long enough to encourage a significant number of them to scale my legs and then send that mysterious signal. Thanks to Belanti, I knew just what to do. It was my turn to dance with the ants, and although the pain was something I'd do most anything to avoid, as I peeled off my clothing and began removing the ants, I'm sure a smile was spreading across my face. Somehow I could not wait to get to class the next day and tell Belanti that we were brothers of the safari ant dance! After that, I no longer feared the ants so much. I had survived the famous attack. Make no mistake about it, however, I would certainly avoid the little rascals from then on.
A few years later, after the birth of my first and only son, I sat in the house one day doing lesson plans for the next day's classes. Christopher, who was two years old at the time, was playing on the front porch where I kept track of his bobbing head as he ran back and forth and jumped up and down, having what appeared to be a wonderful time. Suddenly, he began running back and forth quite a bit faster and jumping quite a bit higher. At first I attributed this to his unusually high energy level. However, during one of his jumps, I noted that he had a rather unusual expression on his face as though he wanted to scream, but just couldn't quite do it. About the time I realized that the driver ants must have discovered him, he let out a blood-curdling cry. I raced to the front porch, picked him up, and headed away from the ants while I peeled off his shirt and pants. He was still terrified even after I removed the last ant, and I knew the pain would go on for some time.
For days, even weeks, he would not go out on the front porch, no matter how hard I tried to convince him that the ants were not there. He kept searching for them, imagining that any small black rock or soil particle was another ant waiting to devour him. Even when his overalls would disturb the skin on his legs, he would begin running while he pounded his little fist on the offending spot. I would stifle a laugh and then pick him up and carry him. Eventually he stopped looking for the ants, although he still feared them.
All of us became acquainted with the safari ants, and before long they seemed about as common as East African women carrying pots on their heads. Of course, everyone, including the local tribesmen, had a sure-fire plan for discouraging the little beasts. To my knowledge, however, no one ever prevented them from going wherever they pleased.