Wandering through Time and Place

Exploring the world with Curtis and Peggy Mekemson
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    • The Art Of Burning Man 2014— From Praying Mantis to LOVE

      Posted at 4:47 pm by Curt Mekemson
      Oct 7th
      Giant praying mantis at Burning Man 2014. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

      This giant praying mantis was one of many art works featured at Burning Man 2014.

      The praying mantis appeared out of a dust storm with wings flapping. He was one big guy. Think humongous. Think scary. Peggy and I had to go check him out. It was art— and art is our primary reason for attending Burning Man.

      When you arrive at Burning Man, the greeters give you a map that shows where most of the art is. The 2014 art map showed 233 installations scattered across the Playa and throughout  Black Rock City. Since weather had delayed us by two days, there was no way we could see it all. So we decided to go “random.” We would wander around and check out whatever caught our attention. Following are a few examples.

      Bird with wings lowered and raised by pedals. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

      Much of Burning Man art is interactive. This bird immediately attracted Peggy. She climbed up the ramp and into its stomach. The bird’s wings were designed to be raised or lowered by pedal power.  Peggy went to work. A crowd urged her on.

      Large bird sculpture at Burning Man 2014. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

      Another view.

      Geometric sculpture at Burning Man 2014. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

      The geometric lines of this sculpture caught my attention.

      Geometric Sculpture and Man at Burning Man 2014. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

      Shooting from a different angle, I caught the Man in the background.

      Much art at Burning Man incorporates a sense of humor. I called this guy big ears. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

      Much art at Burning Man incorporates a sense of humor. I called this guy Big Ears. He was wired for sound. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

      Love letters in the dust at Burning Man 2014. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

      Love is big at Burning Man. (grin) The Embrace sculpture can be seen in the distance through the E.

      Peggy caught this interesting reverse perspective on the love letters. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

      Peggy caught this interesting reverse perspective on the love letters. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson.)

      Big O in Love sculpture at Burning Man 29014. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

      The big O in Love was hard to resist.

      This sculpture reminded me of a Hollywood set piece.

      This sculpture reminded me of a Hollywood set piece.

      Climbing up a sculpture at Burning Man 2014. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

      Burners love any sculpture you can climb. Often, as in this case, climbing is encouraged.

      Wind operated kinetic sculpture at Burning Man 2014. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

      Wind operated this kinetic sculpture.

      These cubes created the illusion of climbing far into the sky. (Photo by Don Green.)

      These cubes created the illusion of climbing far into the sky. (Photo by Don Green.)

      Alien at Burning Man 2014. Photo by Curtis Mekemson.

      For the past several years, strange alien creatures have been found far out on the Playa near the perimeter fence.

      NEXT BLOG: Wandering around Black Rock City.

      Posted in Burning Man | Tagged adventure, Art at Burning Man, art at Burning Man 2014, Black Rock City, Burning Man, Burning Man 2014, Love at Burning Man 2014, photography, Praying Mantis at Burning Man 2014, travel
    • Athens and A Splitting Headache: Greek God Style… The Mediterranean Cruise

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Feb 15th
      The massive Temple of Zeus located near the base of the Acropolis.

      The massive Temple of Zeus located near the base of the Acropolis.

      We like our gods to have a touch of humanity. The Greek gods had more than their share. They would party on Olympus, chase after the opposite sex, and constantly intervene in human affairs. They could be jealous, revengeful and petty but they could also be generous and protective. It was good to have one on your side.

      The replica of the Parthenon in Nashville, Tennessee has a replica of what the statue of Athena located in the historic Parthenon may have looked like.

      The replica of the Parthenon in Nashville, Tennessee has a fully sized model of what the statue of Athena located in the historic Parthenon may have looked like. I think the spear alone would have given Zeus a headache.

      Each Greek city-state would choose a god to be its special protector. With Athens, it was Athena. Both the Parthenon and the Erechtheion on the Acropolis (featured on my last blog) were built in her honor. Athena, according to Greek mythology, sprang fully grown and armed from the head of Zeus. Not surprisingly, Zeus had a massive headache prior to her birth. You might call it a splitting headache. His son, Hephaestus, god of the forge and blacksmiths, took his mighty chisel and split opened Zeus’s head, thus releasing Athena and relieving Zeus.

      Zeus was also honored in Athens with a massive temple located near the base of the Acropolis. In addition to being the king of the gods and father of Athena, he was a notorious womanizer. He married his sister Hera, who was constantly trying to thwart his womanizing ways. One of Zeus’s more famous trysts was with the renowned beauty Leda. Zeus seduced her in the guise of a swan, so the story goes. It was a favorite subject of Renaissance Painters. One result of the seduction was that Leda went home and laid an egg, from which the even more beautiful Helen of Troy was hatched.

      Our guides took us to see the Zeus temple and then on to visit site of the 2004 Summer Olympics. We stopped off to watch the changing of the guards in front of the Prime Minister’s official seat of government and hurried on to a very expensive restaurant that our guides had selected.  I assume they received a handsome kickback. Sadly, our time was running out and we returned to the ship. Other sites would have to wait for another time.

      A side view of the Temple of Zeus in Athens looking grey against grey skies.

      A side view of the Temple of Zeus in Athens looking grey against grey skies.

      Another photo of the Zeus Temple in Athens. This one features the upper part of the columns with their Corinthian tops.

      Another photo of the Zeus Temple in Athens. This one features the upper part of the columns with their tops decorated in the Corinthian style.

      In 1852 a storm topped one of the massive columns from the Temple of Zeus and it has remained there ever since.

      In 1852 a storm topped one of the massive columns from the Temple of Zeus and it has remained there ever since.

      We watched as guards high stepped their way through the Changing of the Guards at the Prime Ministers seat of government.

      We watched as guards high stepped their way through the Changing of the Guards at the Prime Ministers seat of government. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson)

      I found the choice of shoes, um, interesting.

      I found the choice of shoes, um, interesting. At least the guards were guaranteed warm toes on a cold night.

      The site of the 2004 Summer Olympics in Athens features a statue of a discus thrower winding up to throw.

      The site of the 2004 Summer Olympics in Athens features a statue of a discus thrower winding up to throw.

      One of several courses from our expensive Greek lunch.

      One of several courses from our expensive Greek lunch.

      Peggy and I and pose with our two Greek guides.

      Peggy and I and pose with our two Greek guides.

      NEXT BLOG: We journey to the enchanting Greek Island of Corfu on our Mediterranean Cruise adventure.

      Posted in Wandering The World | Tagged 2004 Summer Olympics in Athens, Acropolis, adventure, Athena, Athens, Athens Greece, Changing of Guards in Athens, Leda and the Swan, Mediterranean Cruise, Myth of Athena's birth, Temple of Zeus, Zeus
    • Athens… The Cradle of Democracy and Unrest… The Mediterranean Cruise

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Feb 11th
      The Acropolis with its graceful Parthenon shown above is probably the wold's most famous historic site.

      The Parthenon, standing proudly on the Acropolis in Athens, Greece, is probably the wold’s best known historic site.

      Athens was grumpy. Several years of extravagant spending by the Greek government and its citizens had come home to roost with the worldwide financial crisis of 2009. The European Union had required steep austerity measures in Greece as the price of a pulling the nation back from the brink of fiscal chaos. Nothing was sacred from spending cuts including social services, wages and pensions. A massive influx of impoverished immigrants and a nascent neo-Nazi movement added to the country’s woes. Everyone was expected to make sacrifices to help solve the crisis.

      Since sacrifices are best made by someone else, there had been massive strikes and violence in the country.

      Standing near the Temple of Zeus, we watched as yet another group of protestors hit the streets of Athens.

      Standing near the Temple of Zeus, we watched as yet another group of protestors hit the streets of Athens.

      We didn’t know what to expect but had decided to see Athens on our own. Tours offered by the cruise line were very expensive. It helps assure a healthy profit margin. There is neither encouragement nor support for independent exploration. No handy-dandy sheets are handed out saying this is what you should do if you want to see such and such on your own.

      Normally our self-guided tours worked great but Athens proved to be challenging.

      From the moment we stepped off the ship, taxi drivers offering tours inundated us. Tourism had dropped with the fiscal crisis and was dropping even farther with the end of the tourist season. The air of desperation turned to rudeness when it was discovered we were planning to use public transit. Finding the right bus stop and the right bus turned out difficult, however. When we finally did find the bus it was pulling out of the bus stop. Out of frustration I turned to a taxi driver. We were able to hire two taxis for an all day tour for the six of us that was substantially less than the cruise tours.

      Was it worth all the hassle? Absolutely.

      Much of who we are in the West evolved from what happened in the City State of Athens between 500 and 350 BC. We visited the cradle of democracy and walked where Socrates, Plato and Aristotle had walked. We climbed up the Acropolis and admired the Parthenon and other buildings that have been a major inspiration for Western architecture for 2000 years. We watched the changing of the guard at the Prime Minister’s residence, visited the site of the Athens 2004 summer Olympics and concluded out tour with an expensive but excellent Greek meal.

      If you are a history buff, as I am, having your photo taken with the Parthenon as a backdrop is a true privilege.

      If you are a history buff, as I am, having your photo taken with the Parthenon as a backdrop is a true privilege. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson)

      This corner shot shows one of the few statues that remain of many that once decorated the Parthenon. (Many can be found in the British Museum.)

      A close up of the corner  shown behind me above features one of the few statues that remain of many that once decorated the Parthenon. (Many can be found in the British Museum.)

      Extensive renovation work is being done on the Parthenon, as well as other buildings on the Acropolis. ( Photo by Peggy Mekemson)

      Extensive renovation work is being done on the Parthenon, as well as other buildings on the Acropolis. ( Photo by Peggy Mekemson)

      A full-scale replica of the Parthenon as it would have looked like originally can be found in Nashville, Tennessee. We stopped by to check it out after our Mediterranean tour while visiting with our daughter and her family.

      A full-scale replica of the Parthenon as it would have looked like originally can be found in Nashville, Tennessee. We stopped by to check it out after our Mediterranean tour while visiting with our daughter Natasha and her family.

      My grandson Ethan provides an interesting perspective in this Nashville photo on the original size of the Parthenon.

      My grandson Ethan provides an interesting perspective in this Nashville photo on the original size of the Parthenon.

      Another impressive building on the Acropolis is the Erechtheion. An olive tree decorates the front of the building.

      Another impressive building on the Acropolis is the Erechtheion. An olive tree decorates the front of the building.

      Another important building on the Acropolis is the Erechtheion, which includes the Porch of the Caryatids, lovely Greek maidens who have been turned into graceful columns.

      the Erechtheion  includes the Porch of the Caryatids, lovely Greek maidens who have been turned into graceful columns. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson)

      A close up of the Elechtheion, windows, and an olive tree representing Athena's gift to Athens.

      A close up of the Erechtheion, windows, and an olive tree representing Athena’s gift to Athens.

      This is a shot looking upward at the end of the Erechtheon opposite the Porch of the Caryatids.

      This is a shot looking upward at the end of the Erechtheion opposite the Porch of the Caryatids.

      Looking upward at the Temple of Nike on the Acropolis.

      A final view: The Temple of Nike on the Acropolis.

      NEXT BLOG: We continue our exploration of Athens with a visit to the huge temple of Zeus, see the site of the 1904 Olympics, watch guards do the kick step and eat fish and moussaka for lunch. Note, in order to make more time for other writing projects, I will be blogging on our Mediterranean Cruise Adventure on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.

      Posted in Wandering The World | Tagged Acropolis, adventure, Athens, Caryatids, Erechtheon, Greece, Greek, Mediterranean, Mediterranean Cruise, Parthenon, Temple of Nike on the Acropolis
    • Petros, the Magnificent Pelican of Mykonos… The Mediterranean Cruise

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Feb 6th
      "What a wonderful bird is the pelican, whose beak can hold more than his belly can." Pelicans are my absolute favorite bird and I have never met a more impressive specimen than Petros of Mykonos.

      “What a wonderful bird is the pelican, whose beak can hold more than his belly can.” Pelicans are my absolute favorite birds and I have never met a more impressive specimen than Petros of Mykonos.

      One sight you are almost guaranteed to see when you visit the Greek island of Mykonos in the Aegean Sea is Petros, the Great White Pelican. He’s easy to locate. Look for a large flock of camera-pointing tourists.

      I googled Petros to see what I could discover about this magnificent bird. Sorting through the various “facts” was challenging. Here’s what I learned. In 1954 or 1955 or 1958 a fisherman found a wounded or exhausted Pelican and nursed it back to health. He then freed the bird so it would return to his wild ways of summering in Europe and wintering in Africa. The pelican, however, had discovered that life in Mykonos was quite sweet. Why spend all that energy flying thousands of miles, swooping over the waves, and diving for dinner when he could waddle around town and have people toss him fish? He decided to stay.

      The Mykonosians fell in love with the big bird and named him Petros after St. Peter or maybe after Petros, a popular World War II Greek hero. Once, a neighboring Island stole him. It almost caused a war. In 1986… or there about, he was run over by a car. The driver was lynched. (Actually the driver wasn’t lynched. I just made that up. But look at it my way. With all of the misinformation floating around on the Web about Petros, how could one more piece hurt?) Anyway, Jackie Kennedy Onassis felt for the grieving Island and found them a new pelican that was promptly named Petros. Or, more likely, Jackie contributed a mate for Petros before he was run over and the Hamburg Zoo in Germany provided the replacement (or two, or three).

      Whatever the truth about Petros, there is no doubt that the Mykonosians love their mascot, that he continues to enjoy his life of leisure, and that tourists flock to take his picture. In fact Petros has become a major tourist attraction in his half-century on Mykonos and a community that depends on tourism can never have enough tourist attractions. Petros is worth his weight in gold, or at least Hungarian Goose down.

      Petros seemingly enjoys cool water dripping down onto his beak.

      Petros seemingly enjoys cool water dripping down onto his beak.

      Petros playing ghost? Or possibly drying his wings cormorant style.

      Petros playing ghost? Or possibly drying his wings cormorant style. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson)

      Ah, that feels good.

      Ah, that feels good. (Photo by Peggy Mekemson)

      A final cose up of Petros, the White Pelican of Mykonos.

      A final close up of Petros, the White Pelican of Mykonos. If you have enjoyed these photos of Petros, I would highly recommend that you check out the blog of my friend FeyGirl at  Serenity Spell out of Florida who is producing some of the most beautiful bird photography to be found on the Web..

      NEXT BLOG: Continuing our exploration of Mykonos on our Mediterranean Cruise adventure, we get lost in the town’s confusing, narrow streets, find windmills, and discover a church to match the beautiful churches of Santorini.

      Posted in Wandering The World | Tagged adventure, Aegean Sea, Greek island of Mykonos, Mediterranean Cruise, Mykonos, Petros the white pelican of Mykonos
    • “Psst, you want to buy a fine rug?” Kusadasi, Turkey: The Mediterranean Cruise

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Feb 4th
      Dozens of Turkish rugs were scattered on the floor in Kusadasi, Turkey, thrown out in a frenzy of encouraging us to buy.

      Dozens of Turkish rugs were scattered on the floor in Kusadasi, Turkey, thrown out in a frenzy of encouraging us to buy.

      The rugs were flying, quite literally, and landing on the floor in front of us. Twenty minutes earlier they had been neatly rolled up at the back of the room. Now five Turkish Rug salesmen were expertly flipping them out onto the floor, a new one every ten seconds. We had been wined; we had been dined; we had been educated. Now the final push was on, the push to get us alone in a room where more multi-thousand dollar rugs would be thrown at us and we would eagerly pull out our credit card with the highest limit.

      Part of the show was an interesting demonstration on how carpets are made. Hundreds of hours are involved.

      Part of the show was an interesting demonstration in the craft of carpet weaving. Fine rugs can take over a year to complete.

      Peggy was ready. The falling rugs had hypnotized her. Her eyes were glazing over and she was levitating out of her seat as a handsome dark-eyed Turk wooed her with fine words. The last time I had seen that look we had ended up with a timeshare in Mexico. This time I was fortified, however. When the salesmen was passing out drinks to soften us up, I was one of two from our tour group of 30 who ordered arak or raki, the unsweetened Middle-Eastern anis drink with the smell of turpentine and the kick of a mule.

      I admit the rugs were beautiful works of art, but I was arak strong. Our cabin in the woods of Southern Oregon did not need a Turkish carpet. “I’m sorry,” Peggy explained to her new best friend. “My husband doesn’t want a rug.” I was truly the bad guy in this scenario and the salesman gave me the look to prove it before he sidled off to corner another victim… oops I mean client.

      Buying a rug in Kusadasi is reputedly the quintessential Turkish experience and a whole industry is set up to make sure you have it. The cruise industry is a major partner in this endeavor. Lectures on bargaining and quality are given on board the ship before arrival. Lists are provided of safe, preferred shops (i.e. those that share their profit with the ship). Our tour guide hurried us through ancient Ephesus sergeant-like to make sure we would make it to the shop on time. Tours are tightly scheduled. Each tourist needs the opportunity to buy a carpet.  Everyone profits. For the cruise ship this can mean a 50-60 percent kickback.

      I hurried Peggy out with the promise of lunch and the opportunity to buy presents for the grandkids. Her brother John and his wife Frances stayed to buy a carpet, however, and ended up with two. Later we celebrated with them in their rambling Texas home as they rolled their children’s inheritance out on the floor.

      Dozens of small shops were located in a modern Turkey bazaar near the port. It was touristy but fun. Since we were one of the last ships of the season, we found true bargains.

      Dozens of small shops were located in a modern Turkish bazaar near the port. It was touristy but fun. Since we were one of the last ships of the season, Peggy found numerous bargains to make up for carpet we didn’t buy.

      I was amused by this shop that offered genuinely fake watches... truth in advertising.

      Truth in advertising. (grin)

      As we wandered through the shops of Kusadasi I was attracted by the rich colors.

      As we wandered through the shops of Kusadasi I was attracted by the wealth of colors.

      This plate was another example of the rich colors found in the shops of Kusadasi.

      This plate closeup is another example of the rich colors and intricate patterns found in the shops of Kusadasi.

      Francis unrolls John and her new silk carpet in their Texas home.

      Frances eagerly unrolls John and her new silk carpet in their Texas home.

      A closer look at the carpet. It really is beautiful and John assured me they bargained for a good price.

      A closer look at the family heirloom. It really is beautiful and John assures me they bargained for a good price.

      NEXT BLOG: We visit the Greek Island of Mykonos on our Mediterranean cruise adventure and meet the island’s famous Pelicans up close and personal.

      Posted in Wandering The World | Tagged adventure, Buying a Turkish Rug, genuine fake watches, Kusadasi, Kusadasi Turkey, Mediterranean, Mediterranean Cruise, shopping in a Turkish bazaar, Turkish carpet, Turkish rug
    • Chapter 32: Goat Soup, Greed and Everyday Life

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 12th
      After a day of teaching at Gboveh High School, I would follow jungle trails to surrounding villages and farms. This picture features a Kpelle farmer with his three boys and young daughter. Harvested rice is piled behind the family.

      After a day of teaching at Gboveh High School, I would follow jungle trails to surrounding villages and farms. This picture features a Kpelle farmer I met along with his three boys and young daughter. Harvested rice is piled behind the family.

      In some ways our everyday life as high school teachers resembled our everyday life as elementary school teachers. We would crawl out of bed at 6:30, eat a quick meal and walk to school. Shortly after 1:00 we would be home downing peanut butter and jelly sandwiches with the school day finished. Our nap was next.

      The new location encouraged wandering. After siesta, the dogs and I would disappear into the jungle. This continued a tradition of hiking in the woods from my earliest childhood years. I explored the surrounding village trails going farther and farther afield. Sometimes I would take my compass so I could draw primitive maps and figure out where I had been. Tribal folks were surprised to find me out in the bush but were always friendly.

      I discovered where the cane fields and whiskey stills were, found a primitive but well-built wooden bridge across the river, made my first acquaintance with Driver Ants, and avoided the numerous poison snakes.

      Sometimes Jo Ann would join me and on occasion I would take Sam, other Volunteers and Peace Corps staff along. The hikes provided an opportunity to explore aspects of tribal life not normally found in Gbarnga. They also served as a major part of my exercise program. I became svelte, or maybe just skinny.

      A Kpelle woman and her daughter take turns pounding palm nuts in this 1966 photo taken near Gbarnga, Liberia.

      A Kpelle woman and her daughter take turns pounding palm nuts in this 1966 photo taken near Gbarnga, Liberia.

      Jo Ann holds an Eddo or Taro leaf. The tubers of this plant are used as food throughout the tropics.

      Jo Ann holds an Eddo or Taro leaf. The tubers of this plant are used as food throughout the tropics.

      Hidden by palm fronds, I climb up a Kpelle ladder I discovered on one of my jungle hikes. Notches in a trunk serve as rungs.

      Hidden by palm fronds, I climb up a Kpelle ladder I discovered on one of my jungle hikes. Notches in the trunk served as rungs for the primitive but effective climbing device.

      Peace Corps staff member Dick Hyler and his wife Maureen join me on a hike through the jungle.

      Peace Corps staff member Dick Hyler and his wife Maureen join me on a hike through the jungle.

      Our social life was nothing to write home about. Unlike single Peace Corps Volunteers, we had each other for amusement. We did maintain our friendship with other married couples. Occasionally students or teachers would drop by. Sam was always hanging around, even when not working. I maintained an ongoing chess game with the minister of the Presbyterian mission. We would send our house boys back and forth with moves.

      The largest social event we hosted was a goat feast for our fellow teachers from the high school and elementary school. Between finding a goat, having it slaughtered and making soup, it turned into a major project. Three women teachers from the elementary school came over to help with the cooking chores. They wanted to make sure the goat was properly cooked. The soup along with rice was delicious, and plenteous. No one went home hungry, or sober for that matter. I’d bought two cases of club beer and one case of Guinness Stout to accompany dinner. Drunk driving was not an issue. No one owned a car.

      Even with everyone stuffed, there was ample goat chop left over to feed the dogs for a week. It lasted a night. Liberian dogs always ate like they were on the edge of starvation, even fat Liberian dogs. Somewhere in the midst of the four-legged feeding frenzy, I heard a yip and went outside to find that Brownie Girl had shoved a goat bone through her cheek. The medical emergency was minor; her real concern was being knocked out of the action. The other dogs and Rasputin were gobbling down her share. I pulled the bone out and Brownie Girl jumped back into the fray. It was pure greed. Not a scrap was left in the morning.

      One of my favorite pastimes was to sit outside in the late afternoon, drink a gin and tonic, and watch the incredible tropical lightning storms. We found a jeep seat somewhere that made a comfortable couch for our porch. On occasion the sky would turn an ominous black and we could hear the storm as it ripped through the rainforest. The impending mini-hurricane would send Jo and I scurrying to yank clothes off the clothesline and batten down the hatches, i.e. make sure doors and shutters were firmly closed.

      Dark storm clouds like these over Gbarnga suggested it was time for Jo Ann and I to quickly take in the laundry and shut up our house.

      Dark storm clouds like these over Gbarnga suggested it was time for Jo Ann and I to quickly take in the laundry and shut up our house.

      Every month or so, we would visit Monrovia for a touch of city life. Eating at the French restaurant by candlelight, spending an hour in the air-conditioned super market, hanging out in a book store or seeing the latest movie did wonders for morale. It almost made up for the three to four-hour harrowing taxi ride. We even took Sam with us once for his ‘birthday.’ He really didn’t know when it was so we declared it was during the trip. He still uses the same birth date.

      Our really big break from teaching was a one-month trip to the big game parks of East Africa. In my next blog I will feature facing elephants and lions and water buffalo in a Volkswagen beetle, Oh My.

      Posted in Peace Corps | Tagged adventure, Gbarnga Liberia, Gboveh High School, jungle walks, Kpelle, Monrovia Liberia, Peace Corps, Peace Corps Volunteer
    • Chapter 31: Minced Green Mamba

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 10th

      Welcome to “The Dead Chicken Dance and Other Peace Corps Tales.” I am presently on a two month tour of the Mediterranean and other areas so I thought I would fill my blog space with one of the greatest adventures I have ever undertaken: a two-year tour as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Liberia, West Africa. Every two days I will post a new story.

      When I have finished, I will publish the stories in digital and print book formats.

       

      Tropical rainforests are home to numerous species of snakes. A large boa lived in this lake, which was just down from our house.

      Tropical rain forests are home to numerous species of snakes. A large boa lived in this lake, which was just down from our house in Gbarnga, Liberia.

      Another denizen of the rain forest that receives considerable press is the snake. As a youth I had become aware of their treacherous ways by reading Tarzan comic books.

      We encountered a number of the wily serpents in our two years. They came in a myriad of sizes, shapes and colors. I already mentioned the tiny orange snake in the driver ants’ nest. “Very poisonous,” Sam had said.

      I also found a black one coiled up in our flower garden and another poised in a tree above my classroom door. One dark, rainy night Jo and I were walking home from chaperoning a high school dance. Our flashlight was on the verge of dying. I looked down and found my foot three inches away from landing on top of a snake that stretched all the way across the road… which was just about the distance I managed to hop on one leg.

      The Liberians assumed that all snakes were poisonous. We decided while in Liberia to do as the Liberians did. The only good snake was one with its head chopped off.

      The most poisonous was reportedly the cassava snake. This ugly pit viper was about as long as your arm and twice as thick. It was supposedly sluggish; you had to step on it to get a reaction. When you did, it was all over though. Sluggishness disappeared. It whipped around and struck causing instant death. On my jungle hikes I always encouraged the dogs to go first and watched them closely. Like Rasputin, they were snake-wise. They detoured; I detoured.

      Of all of Liberia's snakes, the Cassava Snake was the most deadly.(Google image)

      Of all of Liberia’s snakes, the Cassava Snake was the most deadly.(Google image)

      We even had a giant boa constrictor hanging out in the neighborhood. It lived in the reservoir just down the hill from our house. Town folks would spot it occasionally slithering through lake like the Loch Ness monster. I started calling it Nessie. Whenever a local dog or cat disappeared, it was assumed the snake had eaten it. My thoughts tended more toward a hungry Liberian, but this didn’t discourage me from suggesting to Boy the Bad Dog that he go play in the lake. He refused.

      Soldiers eventually drained the lake in an unsuccessful attempt at finding the boa. Maybe it had developed a taste for Guinea Fowl and moved up the Superintendent’s compound.

      The green mamba was an even more feared snake. It was said to climb trees, leap from limb to limb, and chase people. Jo Ann and I assumed that the Liberian who told us this story had been sipping too much fermented cane juice.

      At least we did until we looked out the window one day and saw a green mamba climbing our tree. Faster than I could say, “Let’s sit this dance out,” Jo had grabbed our machete and was through the door. The mamba saw her coming and wisely made a prodigious leap for a higher limb. It missed.

      Down it came amidst a mad flurry of machete strokes. Not even the three musketeers could have withstood that attack. It was instant minced snake. After that I learned to have more respect for Jo Ann when she was irritated.

      In a slight reversal of roles, a snake did manage to ‘tree’ Jo once. I was happily ensconced in my favorite chair when I heard a scream from our outdoor bathroom. Talk about primitive male instincts. Hair on end, adrenaline pumping and blood rushing, I grabbed the machete and charged outside.

      I threw open the bathroom door and there was Jo Ann, standing on the toilet with her pants down. Meanwhile a small black snake was merrily slithering around on the floor in hot pursuit of the little toads who considered our bathroom home. It had crawled under the door and across Jo’s foot while she was sitting on the pot. Had it happened to me, I might have been on the toilet, too.

      Needless to say, I quickly dispatched the snake and saved the day. What a man!

      Posted in Peace Corps | Tagged adventure, Boa Snake, Cassava Snake, Gbarnga, Green Mamba Snake, Liberia, Peace Corps, Peace Corps Volunteer, West Africa
    • Chapter 30: How to Fly Rhinoceros Beetles

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 8th

      Welcome to “The Dead Chicken Dance and Other Peace Corps Tales.” I am presently on a two month tour of the Mediterranean and other areas so I thought I would fill my blog space with one of the greatest adventures I have ever undertaken: a two-year tour as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Liberia, West Africa. Every two days I will post a new story.

      When I have finished, I will publish the stories in digital and print book formats.

      images

      An African Rhinoceros Beetle. (Google image.)

      Most of our bug encounters were less traumatic. Indeed, some, such as our interaction with rhinoceros beetles, we classified as entertainment.

      These large bugs were a throwback to ancient times. In addition to being a good three inches long, they were coated with armor. The males had a huge horn projecting up from their noses; thus the name. They are reputedly the world’s strongest animal and can carry up to 850 times their own weight. Liberian children would tie a thread around the horns and fly the beetles in circles.

      When we went outside after dark with a flashlight, they would sometimes dive bomb the light and crash into us Kamikaze like. It hurt. The buzzing noise made by their wings meant that we could hear them coming in time to flinch.

      One of my more unique discoveries was if you put several of the big males down next to a female, they would become quite excited. Before long one would sidle up to the female in what was obviously an attempt at beetle foreplay. Permission granted, the male would them mount the female. It had all of the grace of two Sherman tanks going at it.

      I know, get a life Curt.

      Another insect of note was the sausage bug mentioned earlier as doggy treats. These guys were large flying abdomens. They would buzz in lazy circles through our house at night flying so slowly that Jo and I used them for badminton practice, knocking them out of the air with our rackets. Afterwards, Do Your Part would be invited in to clean up the carnage.

      The best action by far was on the big screen, our screen door that is. Here we witnessed the law of the jungle in action.

      The bright lights of our house guaranteed a hoard of small juicy insects would be attracted and clamor for admission. The opportunity for a free lunch quickly attracted a crowd of gourmet bug eaters. It was the bug-a-bug feast all over except the players were different and less greedy. There was a lot more stalking and a lot less gobbling.

      Knobby-toed iridescent tree frogs would suction cup their way across the screen at a glacial pace and then unleash a lighting fast tongue on some unsuspecting morsel.

      An eight-inch long praying mantis was a regular visitor until Jo Ann did it in, wrapped it up and shipped it off to her old zoology instructor back at Sierra College. He reported to Jo that the monster never made it. I suspect someone in the Monrovia Post Office opened the box looking for treasure. Surprise!

      My favorite predators were the bats. They would fly circles around the house and pick a bug off the screen with each circuit. I could have my face inches from the screen and not disturb the hunt. Whoosh, a bat grabbed a bug for dinner. Zap, the pinkish white frog tongue unfurled and reeled in dessert. A night at the movies was never better.

      Posted in Peace Corps | Tagged adventure, Liberia, Peace Corps, Peace Corps Volunteer, Rhinoceros Beetle, West Africa
    • Chapter 29: The Invasion of the Army Ants

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 6th

      Welcome to “The Dead Chicken Dance and Other Peace Corps Tales.” I am presently on a two month tour of the Mediterranean and other areas so I thought I would fill my blog space with one of the greatest adventures I have ever undertaken: a two-year tour as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Liberia, West Africa. Every two days I will post a new story.

      When I have finished, I will publish the stories in digital and print book formats.

      Army ants cross road

      A trail of army ants snakes across a road outside of Gbarnga, Liberia. Large soldier ants provided guard duty… 

      Even more than termites, driver or army ants are appropriate subjects for jungle bug horror stories. There’s a reason. These guys are ferocious.

      My first experience with driver ants was when I came upon a line of them crossing a trail. At first glance they looked like any other group of respectable ants negotiating a path and minding their own business. On closer inspection, however, I found myself facing a tunnel of knife-sharp mandibles, each one wide open and wanting to crunch down on something. The big soldiers had linked their hind legs and were facing out, creating a tunnel for the other ants to crawl through.

      Always up for a challenge, I took a stick and applied it to the middle of the line. Chomp! I pulled the stick back. The whole line of linked ants came along and a high-speed foot race commenced. I was both the finish line and first prize.

      Or at least I was supposed to be. I gave the ants a free flying lesson. It’s possible they are still searching for their lost comrades.

      Army ants are noted for their bite. In some parts of West Africa they are reputedly used as sutures. Once their jaws clamp shut, they are locked. I can attest to this since one managed to get at me through a hole in my tennis shoe. They are also noted for eating anything that can’t move fast enough to get out of their way. I watched as they gobbled down an unfortunate mouse. Their squeaking dinner simply disappeared under a sea of black.

      Villagers clear out of their huts when the ants come to town. The ants go through, eat all of the bugs, mice, occasional snake and anything else alive, and then move on. It’s a good deal for the villagers and the ants. My attitude about our house being invaded wasn’t nearly as positive.

      It all started on a quiet tropical evening. I was working my way through a James Bond novel, Jo was being good and preparing lesson plans, and Sam was glued to our phonograph, still trying to get Charlie off the MTA. Since bugs were such a central part of our lives, we normally ignored them. It was the hoard of tiny insects hopping and crawling under the screen door that caught our attention.

      “Ants,” Sam said.

      “No, Sam,” I said, assuming my teacher role, “these are not ants.” I was rewarded with an exasperated ‘I know that’ look from Sam.

      “They are running away from ants that want to eat them,” he jumped in to interrupt any further explanations on my part. He was right, as usual. I turned on the porch light. Anything that could hop, crawl, walk or run was seeking sanctuary in our house. Behind them came the ants. They weren’t organized in a neat little line this time. They were spread out across our yard and coming on like a tsunami.

      Jo and I held a hurried council of war. It was time to bring out the big gun, SHELLTOX.  Shelltox was one of those marvelous nerve gasses created by the pesticide industry that was so potent it was banned in the US even though this was still a time in America when DDT was considered as important to controlling six-legged life as butter was to making food taste good. The tiniest spurt of Shelltox and a cockroach rolled over and begin kicking its little legs in the air. We used it liberally.

      Each of us armed with a can stomped off to war. The stomping was serious; it kept the ants off. Back and forth along the enemy line we marched, cans firing, filling the air with whatever odor Shell incorporated into its brew to let us know we were poisoning ourselves. The ants died by the hundreds and soon by the thousands. But still they came on. Our cans begin to sputter. Exiting stage left was rapidly becoming an option.

      I pictured us packing up the cat and descending on the Peace Corps Rep like the ants had descended on us. First we would eat all of his food and then we would tackle his liquor closet. Unfortunately, the ants blinked first. Their buglers blew retreat. We had won the battle but the war was far from over.

      That night, visions of monstrous ants visited me whenever I closed my eyes. Every hour we arose from bed to check if the attack had been renewed. Happily it hadn’t. By morning we were allowing ourselves to hope that the ants had figured out we were dangerous adversaries and moved on to easier targets. The ants had another plan. Mr. Bonal was wandering around outside so I went over to tell him our invasion story.

      “Ah, let me show you something, Curtis,” he said. He walked me over to an old pile of mud bricks buried in the grass twenty feet away from our front porch. I looked down and all I could see was a moving black mass. The area was carpeted with a layer of driver ants several inches thick. There were zillions of them.

      “Welcome to the ants’ home,” John explained. “They have moved in for the rainy season.”

      The Bonals, it turned out, had been invaded the week before when Jo and I were in Monrovia. Again it had been a night attack but this time the ants made it into their house without discovery and found the baby. The baby, objecting strenuously to being a one-course meal, had started screaming. That brought the Bonals on the run. The baby was saved and the ants repulsed.

      John assured me that the ants would be back to visit us again and again until they moved on.

      I decided to remove the welcome mat. But first Jo and I had to restock our ordinance supplies. Off we went to town for umpteen cans of Shelltox, five gallons of kerosene, and a box of DDT. (Years later after I became a certified greenie and read Silent Spring, I would occasionally have twinges of guilt about the DDT.)

      Our plan was to attack the home base with the kerosene, disorient the troops, destroy the barracks, and send the army packing. Of course there was a chance that the ‘packing’ would be toward our house rather than away from it. In that case, our first line of defense would be to mount an all out attack with Shelltox like we had before. As a fallback position, I scratched a narrow ditch around our house, translate that moat if you are romantically inclined, and filled it with DDT. The ants would have to crawl through the stuff to get at us.

      Then I went to work. Reaching the nest without becoming ant food was the first challenge. Having grown up in red ant country, I remembered how sensitive ants are about their home territory. The slightest disturbance brings them boiling out of the ground in a blind rage. As a kid I used to pour water down their hole to watch the action.

      The Apaches were reputed to have used the red ants’ proverbial ferocity as a means of torturing favored enemies.

      I rightfully determined the driver ants were meaner, bigger and faster than their distant cousins. They would be on me and up the inside of my pants leg in a flash, a fate to be avoided at all costs.

      The initial strategy of removing vegetation was relatively safe. Sam and I stood several feet away and tossed two gallons of kerosene on the nest. A carefully cast match created a raging inferno which proved quite effective in defoliating the area.

      Burning out army ants

      The first part of the campaign was to burn the vegetation away from where the ants lived. Two gallons of kerosene did the trick. Sam helped me while two neighborhood boys looked on. Gboveh High School is up the hill.

      Digging into the nest was much more dangerous; I would be operating behind enemy lines facing thousands of steel jawed troops on a hunt and destroy mission. My solution was to draft a galvanized steel tub Jo and I had used for bathing at our first house. It provided ample standing room and the ants couldn’t crawl up the side. I tossed the tub next to the nest and leapt in.

      Sam tossed me our shovel. Several minutes of dedicated digging brought me to the mother of all nurseries. Eggs covered an area at least three feet across and several inches deep. Right in the middle was a finger sized, bright orange snake.

      “Very poisonous,” Sam said. I figured it had to be pure poison for the ants to leave it alone. We decided to take a break and let the ants and the snake work out their relationship.

      After our standard lunch of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich washed down by orange Kool Aid, we went out to check the results of our handiwork. Success! Long lines of ants, many dragging eggs, stretched off into the distance away from our house. The siege was over. There was no sign of the snake, by the way. Maybe the ants had stopped for lunch as well.

      Posted in Peace Corps | Tagged adventure, Army Ants, Driver Ants, Gbanrga Liberia, Gboveh High School, Liberia, Peace Corps, Peace Corps Liberia, Peace Corps Volunteers, West Africa
    • Chapter 27: Trial by Poisonous Leaves and a Red Hot Machete

      Posted at 5:00 am by Curt Mekemson
      Jan 2nd

      Welcome to “The Dead Chicken Dance and Other Peace Corps Tales.” I am presently on a two month tour of the Mediterranean and other areas so I thought I would fill my blog space with one of the greatest adventures I have ever undertaken: a two-year tour as a Peace Corps Volunteer in Liberia, West Africa. Every two days I will post a new story.

      When I have finished, I will publish the stories in digital and print book formats.

       

      This was the Eleventh Grade class at Gboveh High School in Gbarnga in 1967. Amani Page is second from left on the bottom row.

      This was the Eleventh Grade class at Gboveh High School in Gbarnga in 1967. Amani Page is second from left on the bottom row. Jo Ann is on the right.

      While the Lighting Man provided a hit or miss opportunity for taking out bad guys, a more formal means of determining guilt and innocence was achieved by asking the tribal judge or Sassywood Man to resolve the issue. This tribal official obtained his name through use of poisonous leaves from the Sassywood tree. The accused person was invited to chew a few. If he died, he was guilty. No DAs, lawyers or juries were needed.

      Since modern society frowned upon trial by survival, the Sassywood Man had been forced to come up with a new way of determining guilt. As it turned out, the father of one of my students, Amani Page, was the local tribal judge and Jo and I were privileged to witness an actual trial.

      It all started with Amani showing up at our house at two in the afternoon on a Saturday in the middle of the dry season. His father was about to start a trial. Would we like to see it? There was no hesitation on our part even though it meant like ‘mad dogs and Englishmen’ we had to forgo our afternoon siesta and go out in the tropical sun.

      As we headed west across town through the stifling heat, Amani provided background on the case. The plaintiff’s wife had come home in the evening after a hard day of selling oranges at the market and told her husband that three men had accused her of not wearing underpants. This was serious slander suggestive of loose behavior and the husband had filed charges through Liberia’s western-type court system.

      But there was a potential problem: what if the men knew something about his wife’s behavior he didn’t? Perhaps his wife was lying to him. If he lost the suit, he would have to pay all of the court costs plus he would be subject to countersuit. He decided to hedge his bet by taking his wife to the Sassywood Man first. If he found his wife was lying, the husband would drop the charges and probably divorce her.

      We arrived at court before the husband and wife and were rewarded with front row dirt seats. Jo and I had already asked Amani what the appropriate title for his father was and Amani had told us to call him Old Man, a term of respect. So we did. Old Man didn’t speak English and we didn’t speak Kpelle but there was much smiling and finger snapping. We were delighted to meet him and he was equally delighted to meet his son’s teachers.

      After the greetings were complete, we got down to the important business of preparing for the trial. The first thing Old Man did was to ignite a roaring bonfire, just the thing for a hot afternoon. About this time the husband arrived sans wife.

      “Where’s your wife,” Old Man asked as Amani translated.

      “She is being brought by her family,” the husband replied.

      ‘Being brought,’ it turned out, was a conservative description of the process. She was being dragged and appeared ready to bolt at the first opportunity, which she did. The woman was half gazelle; my greyhound of childhood days couldn’t have caught her as she leapt off down the trail. For everyone involved, it looked like a clear case of guilt. But the trial was still going to be held. I asked Amani if it was being carried on for our benefit but he explained it was legitimate for the husband to sit in for the wife.

      Old Man disappeared into his hut and came out with a wicked looking machete, a can of ‘medicine’ or magical objects, a pot of mystery liquid and a pot of water. He promptly shoved the machete’s blade into the fire. Next, he dumped his can of magic objects on the ground. Included were two rolls of Sassywood leaves and several small stones of various colors and shapes.

      “Uh-oh,” I thought to myself. “Are we about to witness something here with the Sassywood leaves that we would just as soon not see?”

      But Old Man had a use for them other than ingestion. He asked the husband to sit down on the ground opposite him and place one roll of the leaves under his right foot. He placed the other roll under his. Both men wore shorts and had bare feet. It appeared we were to witness a trial by osmosis.

      Next he arranged his magic objects and proceeded to mumble over them like a priest preparing for Communion. Once the appropriate spirits had been called, it was time for mystery liquid. A generous amount was rubbed on each Sassywood leg. We were ready for the truth.

      “If the knife is cold, the woman is lying,” Old Man declared dramatically as he pulled the glowing machete from the fire.

      Old Man took the “knife” and rubbed it down his leg. It sounded like a hot grill cozying up to a T-bone steak. But Old Man grinned. The knife was cold.

      The husband was next. His leg appeared much less optimistic about the process. It was, in fact, preparing to follow his wife’s legs lickety-split down the hill. A firm glare from Old Man made the leg behave. The machete sizzled its way down the shinbone and a look of surprise filled the husband’s eyes. The knife was cold; the woman was lying.

      We had to be absolutely sure, however, so Old Man shoved the machete back in the fire. This time he rubbed water up and down his and the husband’s legs instead of mystery fluid. He then rearranged his magic rocks and commenced mumbling over them again. After about fifteen minutes he was ready for the final phase of the trial. He yanked the machete from the fire a second time.

      “If the knife is hot, the woman is lying,” he instructed as he reversed the directions.

      “Ow!” he yelled and jumped back as the machete barely touched his leg! The knife was definitely, absolutely, beyond the shadow of a doubt, hot.

      This time Old Man couldn’t even get near the husband’s leg since the husband had jumped up from his sitting position and was strategically located ten feet away. The jury had returned its verdict; his wife was lying and he would drop the charges. He didn’t need his leg torched to prove the point.

      All of these elements of tribal culture were fascinating to me. There were aspects of what the Kpelle believed such as the spirit in the cottonwood tree that I could almost believe myself. I like the pantheistic concept of spirits existing in plants, animals and places as well as people. It implies an element of sacredness, interconnectivity and respect for the world around us that was lost ever so long ago when we decided that humankind was the hottest stuff in creation.

      There also was a lot I didn’t believe in but could recognize had value. The Lightning Man, Sassywood Man and the Bush Devil played important roles in maintaining order within the tribal society. They served as policeman, judge and priest.

      Think of the power of the Lighting Man as a deterrent to crime. It’s almost biblical. Given our scientific knowledge of how lightning works, it’s easy to be amused by the concept of lightning striking bad guys. But is our system all that different? After all, we believe lawyers stand for justice. I know, I know… cheap shot, but if you stop and think about it, our society requires almost as much faith to operate as the Kpelle’s.

      The use of Juju to make people become sick or die was something else, both dark and dangerous. Left unchecked these practices can and did lead to dire consequences. Some of the more macabre aspects of the violence that has haunted Liberia may be traced to similar abuse of the ‘dark arts.’

      Posted in Peace Corps | Tagged adventure, Gbarnga Liberia, Liberia, Lightning Man, Peace Corps, Peace Corps Liberia, Peace Corps Volunteer, Sassywood Man
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