Maggots

GROSS. I have become adjusted to all sorts of gross and unhygienic living standards during my time in BGO, but yesterday was off the chart.
First let me just digress and say that I am a big fan of the FlyLady. Karen handed me her book on Kitchen Sinks sometime last year and since then I have been dedicated to a more systematic baby step approach to maintaining order and aesthetic peace in our home. Bugs and lizards still abound, but the clutter is slowly decreasing and at least I have a game plan for tackling the hurricane that my four children can bring to our living space on a daily basis.
So there I am, yesterday doing my fifteen minutes of cleaning in Zone 1 (the entry way) which for us includes about four feet of space as you come in the front door. Which also happens to be the landing space for all kinds of things that should be elsewhere… assorted shoes, bike helmets, school books, a random bag of dog food, and two as of yet unpacked trunks from our last supply trip to Kampala. I have out my duster to swipe away the never ending pesky cobwebs that seem to multiple as soon as my attention is elsewhere and am trying to decide whether it is time for a “27 fling boogie” (where you toss or give away 27 items you no longer need or use). Hmmmm, with four children we have a growing abundance of shoes we have outgrown and could be given away to neighbors whose kids would be delighted. As I mentally sort through which shoes are definitely not needed anymore, I notice a small white wiggly thing out of the corner of my eye. A little larger than an ant, this segmented, worm-like thing is crawling out from under a faded red mary jane shoe that Nate loves but which is too small. That looks a bit like a maggot, I think. But surely not. As I suspiciously lift up item after item and find more of the white wiggling worms, I feel panic start to set in. Clearly these are maggots, and clearly not just one or two but dozens are all over my floor. My whole body starts to do this gross out shaky dance. Fortunately, my children are still completely fascinated by all sorts of random National Geographic/ Marvelous Creatures experiences so they swarm to my rescue with brooms and dustpans. Louisa brings a small plastic container and begins picking them up one by one, until she has an entire wiggling mass. “This is like SCIENCE class!” she yells with delight. “Look how they have different segments, almost no head part and…” Sigh. “BUGGIE” screams the twins as they stomp around on the cement floor giggling together. Joe, sensing my “on the edgeness,” sweeps vigorously out the open door, muttering to himself. Finally he looks at me and says in hushed tones, “You think we are about to find something really nasty and dead?” After another gross out dance, he and I start searching for the source. 20 minutes later, the last of the maggots are outside, the floor is cleaned, disinfected, sprayed with Doom, everything put away and we still haven’t found where the maggots are coming from. I am still feeling creepy, like I need to scour my whole body with hot water and industrial soap. Kevin comes home at about this point to four children all eager to relay their version of the latest bug infestation. He gets that thoughtful look that I love so, glances up at the ceiling and says “I think the dead thing is up there.” A hush falls over the room. I repress the need for a third round of dancing as we all stare up at the thin plywood that separates us from the attic and all manner of creepy crawly often loud scurrying things. EWWWWW. To test his theory, Kev walks into the kitchen and comes back with a shiny blue basin and places it directly under the light bulb socket. I think of leaky roofs and rainstorms. After a good five minutes we hear, “plop.” Three little maggots have dropped from the tiny space between the plastic light bulb fixture and the ceiling. At this point, I give yet another sigh, realize the implications of living in BGO, hug my wonderful, helpful children and head out the door to the airstrip to welcome the arrival of our summer interns.