Flies!

Well, the flies have returned from wherever it is they vacation during the winter months. Before you question the timing of that statement, consider the general heartiness of animals native to Afghanistan. When they decide winter is over...it's over. Those who know me are aware of my softer side when it comes to animals. If the choices are to 'squash' or 'usher them towards the door, I always choose the latter. (That kindness does not extend to bloodsuckers. They die on the spot...no questions asked.) My policy of détente with insects has been a source of friction in my marriage for as long as I've been married. My wife views the insect nation as a scourge that must be eradicated. She's convinced that all bugs have but one goal: to crawl in her mouth while she sleeps. As I've conducted no studies related to her claim, I can't dispel her assertion a 'crazy'. To keep the peace I must occasionally acquiesce to her warmongering spirit and send a spider to oblivion. Though I always do so in protest.

When I arrived in Afghanistan, I decided the bugs here deserved no less of a chance at living a happy, productive two weeks than their American counterparts. On the first day of flies, which we'll refer to as F-day, a couple got into my CHU. No worries...I'll simply 'shoo' them towards the door and carry on with my work. It worked like a charm until I opened the door. Turns out the flies pulled the old 'Rope-a-Dope' on me. The two I tried to get out flew behind me and six more flew in. Okay...flies are disgusting, but as long as they didn't bother me I'd let them live. We lived in harmony for about two minutes before the fun began.

The squadron of flies began swarming me as if I owed them money. They would land on my head, neck, ear, hand; anywhere with skin. This gang wanted me to know they were crawling on me. My day soon became an episode of the 'Three Stooges'...with only one stooge, of course. It was a pathetic scene. I was hitting myself in the back of the head, slapping my ears, hitting my neck; pure abuse! The flies mockingly flew around my face, and while I can't be sure, I think I heard two laughing. The flies nearly succeeded in driving me out of the room until one crossed the line. The fly, who I'm sure planned this from the beginning landed on my left eyelid. Doing what comes natural, I tried to get the fly away from my eye...with my fist. Yes, I punched myself in the eye. But that wasn't enough for this jerk. He landed on my right eyelid, which caused me to punch myself in that eye. And with that, détente ended. I immediately adopted my wife's insect policy...obliteration.

I grabbed a magazine and started swatting those jerks out of the sky with the force of Barry Bonds on steroids. (Or maybe I should just say Barry Bonds...) Once on the ground, I stomped them like the dirt they were. Only they didn't stop moving with one stomp, or two. I had to stomp these invertebrates with a laughable shell of a body three times to kill them...all eight of them. The flies back home normally died in the fall, but these Afghan flies require additional violence to be dispatched.

From there, the flies have only gotten worse. Instead of attacking me head-on, they now use psychological operations to drive me crazy. They'll land my head, sprint across, then fly away. The result? I'm always checking my head for flies! Turns out the asses may come out on top after all (Mom: sorry about the potty word, but you'd call them that too if you were here.) I'm sure the fly saga will continue to drive me batty, and with the addition of gnats and malarial mosquitoes, things should get interesting quick.

-ckj