Singing Lizards. Evadeen Brickwood

      “I’ll give them a call on Monday,” Tony promised.

      But then nothing came of it. On Monday, the English teacher still had not returned back from her village in the Okavango Delta. She had no phone.

      Tony was head of department. he couldn’t wait any longer and begged me to take over her classes. The last term of the year was vitally important and exams had to be prepared.

      “We urgently need a substitute,” he said.

      “What if this teacher has also disappeared?” I said. Who knew what could happen out there in the bush.

      “I doubt that. More likely that she had to go to a funeral or a wedding. Maybe she simply changed her mind and doesn’t want to work here anymore. Time works differently in Botswana, you know.”

      “I’ve noticed that. But what about the exams, doesn’t she care about the students?”

      Tony just shrugged his shoulders. “Who knows what she’s thinking. Nothing seems to compare to a good old funeral around here. Chances are she’ll be back before the exams.”

      “But Tony, I’ve never taught anybody anything - ever,” I groaned.

      “Doesn’t matter. You have a degree in linguistics. That counts as a qualification around here.”

      “I don’t know —”

      “Please help me out, please,” he begged.

      What was I supposed to do? I couldn’t let Tony down. Oh well, no matata.

      My visit to the Wincklers in Gaborone had to be put on hold for a while. Instead, classes needed to be prepared and I prayed that I wouldn’t make a complete fool of myself.

      A few nights before my debut lesson, I woke up scratching all over. I felt for my alarm clock. 1:34 am. Ouch! I jumped out of bed and switched the bedside lamp on.

      An army of red ants was trekking right down the center of the mattress and onto the floor. And they were all over me!

      I pulled my pajamas down and wiped my arms and legs in a panic. The nasty little fire ants were biting relentlessly.

      I bravely ripped the sheets and covers off, piled them into the bathtub and let water run over the linen. Ants hated water.

      Then I took a shower. Oh, what was wrong with the water? Why didn’t it run quicker? I watched the last of the red-brown critters disappear down the gurgling drain amid the soapy foam.

      My skin was still itchy, but at least I could put on another pajama. Where was the insect spray? The bright yellow bottle of ‘Instant Death’ was on top of the fridge, where Tony also kept the spirals that were burned at night to keep the mosquitoes at bay.

      I grabbed the spray and ran back into the room.

      Although I hated anything to do with poison - this was an emergency. I pushed the bed away from the wall and sure enough, the ants came crawling through a hole just above the skirting board.

      Tony’s sleepy face appeared in the door. The commotion had been enough to wake even a sound sleeper like him. Great, he could help me get rid of the ants!

      “What you doing?” he asked and yawned broadly.

      “Red ants!” I sounded hysterical. “In my bed, everywhere.”

      I could still feel the burning bites of the little devils all over me.

      Tony yawned. “Oh no, sorry ‘bout that. Spray’s on fridge.” He turned around and tottered back into his room to go back to sleep.

      “Thanks,” I said as he closed his door. “For nothing.”

      I copiously sprayed the skirting with ‘Instant Death’ and felt like dropping dead myself from the smell alone. I opened the window and moved into the guestroom.

      Luckily, it had been only fire ants and not a large hunting spider or worse, a scorpion or snake. My standards of what was normal were shifting by the day.

      During my near insect-free existence in Cambridge, I would have had a heart attack at the mere sight of a tiny spider on the bathroom wall.

      I soon forgot about the ants and snakes and scorpions and fell asleep.

      Only to wake up to another African morning with birdsong, the crowing of roosters and incessant donkey braying. This morning would turn into a scorching day, so I jumped out of bed to make the best of a few cool hours before midday.

      Before long, Tony’s word processor droned away, printing out worksheet after worksheet. There were still piles of documents to go through and the first day of term drew closer by the minute.