Dust and Ants

During a coffee break this morning I stepped out onto the balcony for some sun and there I beheld two fascinating things: Thing One was the ominous sight of the Judean desert shrouded in a sort of pink-gray-taupe haze -- and this was no man-made phenomenon. Thing Two was a woman kneeling in the grass in front of the hostel, scooping ants into an ancient ram's horn with fierce concentration.

I was intrigued by this bizarre little tableau, so I took myself and my mug of instant coffee (beggars can't be choosers) and we went down to investigate. I asked the woman what in the name of Odin's beard she was doing, and she explained that the horn was new (and extremely expensive). It's the kind of horn people sound during prayer in this ancient land, as they've done for millennia (let's sit and contemplate that for a moment).

Since the horn was very new, it had a terrible odor -- remnants of the animal's flesh and blood still clung to the insides of the instrument.  Which is gross, and yet at the same time kind of bad-ass. Instead of using a chemical to clean the (extremely expensive, she reiterated) horn, she decided to let nature do the work: she was introducing the ants to an excellent and abundant food source by ushering them inside the alien object that had so mysteriously landed amidst their bustling metropolis. She told me "They are busy gathering their food for winter now and I want them to feed on this horn, it is very good for them! Also it will take away the odor for us." Which is gross, and yet at the same time entirely bad-ass. I tried to tell this woman she was my new hero, but instead she turned away to gaze at the hills, and explained for me Thing One: "There is a dust storm coming," she said.  "I could already this morning feel it in my eyes."

To which I unhesitatingly blurted out: "There's a dust storm coming here? Right now? Wow, how exotic!"She just laughed -- partly out of amusement, partly out of the wisdom that knows I'll be singing a different tune when it takes 5 shampoo cycles before I get all that sand out of my hair.

She went inside (presumably to avoid the impending storm) but I lingered for a while.  I knelt down in the grass with my coffee cup and tried to divert unsuspecting worker ants toward the bountiful riches of the alien object.  I tried unsuccessfully for several minutes to transport the more competent-looking ants directly into the mouth of the horn using a palm twig.  Finally, one precocious ant decided to cling ferociously to the airborne twig long enough to be introduced to the mysterious cave.  He paused to look at me for a moment, and in that glance I'd like to think I perceived sincere, ant-ish gratitude for rescuing him from a life of monotonous toil and granting him the opportunity to win favor with his people by leading them forth to untold treasure.  And in another tick, he turned and scrambled down into the depths.

I noticed then that without any help from me a single, itty bitty ant had managed to find my coffee and apparently was enjoying the taste more than I.  The air was becoming grittier by the moment, so I took one last swig of the stuff (which was, I confess, only improved by the ant-protein supplement) and headed indoors to wait out the storm.

I had more fun in those five minutes playing in the dirt with the ants than I'd had all morning. Playfully choosing for this one a life of valor and heroism, and for that one a swift and inglorious death-by-Nescafé... it made me recall the sentiments of one of Carl Sagan's fictional scientists: "It was vaguely burdensome, being responsible by your innocent actions for the fates of unknown worlds."