The Brown Snake

Wisdom dictates that you should be afraid if snakes, or at least respect them by giving them a wide birth. Even after holding one in Australia and more at the Meserani Snake Park, I was still a little blasé – even when I saw a photo of a python swallowing a crocodile!

Mbise told me that one afternoon he had seen a very large python climbing the mango tree that stood above our potting hut, but I looked at him wide-eyed, still not freaked by the presence of snakes.

Occasionally small, thin, black snakes appeared among the plant pots; if Mbise saw them, he would chop them to a thousand pieces, if I found them, I would flick them into a bag and release them in scrublands. They were cocky though, sitting up waving slightly, ready to strike.

One evening, well after dark one of the secondary school teachers asked me to take his house girl to the hospital because she had been bitten by a snake five hours earlier. I castigated him on two levels, a snake bite should be attended to immediately, and it was not so safe driving after dark because of bandits. The bite was by one of those small black snakes and the girl turned out to be ok.

But the bugger was trying to avoid forking out money for treatment to a girl in his personal employ!

I was visiting Ngarenanyuki with a fish-farm educator and I sat in the Landrover while the guy spoke to a farmer. I spotted some small kids playing beside a small mud so to fill in time, I decided to have a chat to them. I had just taken half a dozen steps only to be stalled by a swish! A brown snake darted, straight as an arrow across a four metre gap between buildings. I thought snakes always ‘snake’ along! I wondered about the safety of those kids, but researched later that it was a non-venomous species.

But I knew then that I could never outrun a snake!

We had refurbished a water scheme at Mwakeny village and carried out a planting programme at the primary school so responded positively when the village government asked us to conduct an environmental programme targeted at the village farmers.

In the shade of a Jacaranda tree, the school kids [typically] set up a table and chairs for us – we had some comfort while the attendees were to sit on the ground.

I had noticed farmers burnt off the scrubby and weedy over burden before they cultivated in preparation to sowing their crops and I wanted to use this opportunity to encourage grazing rather than burning because it is better for the environment. This from a guy who in his forestry career burnt 200 ha per annum! I wanted to explain that animal effluent provides plant nutrition.

Our presentation team had performed before an audience of thirty odd men and women and I was giving my anti-burning dissertation when I noticed a large brown snake making its way down a track behind the audience, approaching them.

‘There is a snake approaching from behind you.’ I said casually, so as not to create alarm.

But it did!

First thing was that Mags had climbed to the top of the table! The women in the group scattered and the men with fimbos [traditional walking sticks] attacked it!

‘Kill it, Kill it!’ shouted Loti my co-worker.

‘It’s not venomous!’ Nobody listened to me, but I was sure it was the same as the one I identified at Ngarenanyuki.

‘It is not safe with the school so close.’ The chairman said, obviously someone had heard me!

Nobody had actually hit the snake and it darted into the security of a small patch scrub and long grass.

So what did the men do? They set fire to the scrub and grass! Out shot the snake and it was clubbed to death! Someone proudly held up the shattered body of a once beautiful piece of nature’s work that had been at the wrong place at the wrong time.

My body language must have shown my feelings because the village chairman gave me a weak smile!

It was pointless carrying on with the seminar because of the excitement the snake had generated.

It certainly pays to be wary of snakes, the father of an old friend of mine was spat at by a spitting cobra, the spit on human skin is harmless, but he copped in the face and the venom can cause permanent blindness! Mzee was fortunate, he received rapid treatment and the full force of the venom did not get into his eyes. However he was blind for a few days.

I still see the beauty of snakes, but now I’m really cautious.

Open Sesame

The water situation was not good at the best of times at Makumira and Henry had to carefully balance what little was in his tank between household requirements and the tree nursery. It was normal for water to flow into the tank for around half an hour at 7:00am, but when it didn’t, he wasn’t surprised.

As a last resort his nursery workers carted water from the creek, which was not too far away.

Henry was aware that no water was coming into the tank but was surprised when Nnko, the teacher responsible for the environment and infrastructure at the secondary school, arrived with four students. He wanted Henry to take them up to the intake of the water scheme ‘because there was a problem’.

It is a long journey up there and Henry did not speak much because the track is steep and slippery. But he did fathom that the teacher and his students had been up there the day previous ‘and there was a problem’.

The water scheme was established by a women’s group who apparently had used most of the funds on themselves rather than the project so the work and materials were shoddy. Farmers tapped into the line (because it was plastic, not steel) to irrigate crops and would often block the line with a screwed up plastic bag – no concerns for the people below.

The teacher and the students had been looking for blockages.

Near the intake, water was gushing, damaging the track and a farm, scouring the soil and washing recently germinated bean plants away. A student, digging for the pipeline had broken it with an adze!

‘The school had no money for the necessary parts.’

‘So why did you drag me way up here?’ Henry asked.

‘To show you.’ Replied Nnko.

Henry felt sorry for the farmer, she had lost half of her soil, which was why he felt pressure to rush, even though the cause was already lost!

They called at the school plumber, Fundi, and arranged to meet him either at his house or the intake.

It would take Henry half an hour to reach home, collect some money and another half hour to get into town. It was just after midday when he arrived in town but at midday shops closed for lunch until 2:00pm!

He had to cool his heels, but managed to buy two lengths of 4” pipe and tied them to the roofrack.

He was concerned about the farm, the repair and the time to travel as well as the necessity to irrigate his nursery that evening.

He waited outside Tanga General and at 2:05 the Indian woman arrived with her Tanzanian helper. There were three padlocks to open the steel shutters, the woman took and returned one key at a time. The concertina steel barred doors had another three padlocks, again opened one at a time. Next there was wooden doors, this time with a padlock at the top and one at the bottom. Finally there was a normal double door with a normal key.

‘Open Sesame!’ Henry said as at last he entered the shop.

The power was out! In the dim light they could not find a 4” joiner, so to the storeroom, where there were three layers of padlocked doors! Inside was pitch black. The torch batteries were flat and Juma had to run for petrol because the generator was dry!

But they didn’t have a 4’ joiner!

Henry went along to Bulk Supplies who were busy, so again he had to cool his heels! Finally, the assistant searched but could not find a 4” joiner, but while waiting Henry noticed one tied up on a display board.

‘I’ll have that one.’ Henry was not his normal polite self anymore!

The assistant finally acquiesced but jibbed on the price – Henry had Tsh30,000 in his pocket and his hand on the joiner. The assistant not sure of the price, thinking it was more like Tsh35,000. Henry did not bargain, he took the joiner and slapped the notes on the bench.

‘Don’t worry about a receipt!’ was Henry’s clincher.

After picking up the teacher and his students, Henry rushed up to the intake where Fundi had plugged the pipe with a banana tree trunk and cleared the pipe ready to make the repairs – water flowed again.

Henry located funds to rehabilitate the whole line, make improvements and to pay Fundi. He spoke to the village government about illegal tampering of the line.

Along the line new standpipes were established for the village communities, and all agreed the hospital should take priority for water allocation.

Somebody, perhaps Fundi or an appreciative person, ensured that Henry received a daily ration of water – well-judged because there was seldom excess.

It’s nice when things work out.

Wasps, the German Variety

You don’t expect wasp stings in the winter! My arm still itched a couple of weeks after it happened.

Queen German wasps hibernate, hidden my stacked firewood and it so happened as I carried an armload to the house, I woke one up and she injected me with her venom. Wasp stings don’t bother me too much, because the pain is temporary and the itch is just like a spider bite.

In the bush small spiders regularly fall down your neck, inside your shirt. They don’t normally bite, but when they’re constricted by tight clothing, they defend themselves.

Usually wasps nest on holes in the ground or in tree stumps, but at the onset of winter, the nest usually dies because it is too cold for workers to forage. Mind you they can withstand more cold then honey bees. Mated queens find somewhere warm to winter over and begin a new nest in the later spring.

They are an introduced pest here so whenever I see a queen, either looking for a place to hibernate or actually hibernating I will squish her.

During my forestry training we were cutting gridlines through indigenous bush, which required the line to be clean and clear – so a theodolite or compass could take a reading. Each day there was at least one rotting tree stump to be removed and always the stump housed a wasp nest.

The most effective method of killing a wasp nest is to poke a beer bottle filled with petrol into the exit hole and allow it to glug, glug into the nest. The fumes kill off the insects.

I was the exterminator, elected due to my small stature – no that’s tongue in cheek, I never liked wasps! The trick really is to kill them at night while they are all in the nest, but in the bush this was not an option. The wasps that were on the outside were confused and would die in a few days – they were unlikely to sting, and luckily I was not stung.

Hooks and I used to search out wasp nests because we were beekeepers and wasps rob beehives - as well they damage the environment. He had a little rock cyanide left over from killing wild beehives – I had better explain that: Devastating for our honey industry are the diseases foul brood and varroa mite and wild hives harbor those diseases so contaminate commercial hives.

So with this poisoned wasp nest, we were able to dig out whole, which was about the size of a soccer ball, made up of the papery substance. Well, I took it up to our local primary school to show the kids, but by the time I arrived back at the office, there was a message from the school that some of the wasps had revived.

Hooks and I had a little clean-up to do and the kids enjoyed a sunny afternoon outside!

There was a very strong nest in a plantation beside the bridge that crosses Grave’s Dam. Our hives were just two hundred metres away and we reckoned that the nest was in a sunny spot because it did not die out over winter – in fact two winters.

I hand-cut a line [track] to locate the nest – I had used the old trick of tying a short length of cotton to a worker [yes and it’s not easy], so I could track her, therefore I had a fair idea where the nest was.

While writing this an idea came to me – to tie cotton to a wasp, catch it in a jar, then put the jar in the fridge. The wasp will be immobile after a while providing the opportunity to super-glue the cotton to the abdomen. Release it where you caught it and when it warms up, follow it home.

The nest was in a rotten stump and there were several exits – they actually forced me away.

Hooks and I suited up in our bee gear – using tape to seal any possible gaps in the gear. We took out time because the wasps were going to be savage.

We each filled a five gallon knapsack fire pump with petrol and filled another two spares.

The wasps attacked us about ten metres from the nest – it felt like a hitting a yellow wall! Wasps can sting and sting unlike a bee that dies after stinging. Our suits were doing the job but we confessed later that we had the urge to run!

The pumps can be set as a wide spray or a jet, Hooks was jetting directly at the stump and I was misting to reduce the fliers.

Twenty gallons of petrol later, we had won the day and temporarily reduced the population – the battle continues.