Page 37 - Fables volume 1

How Ten Thousand Termites Escaped from Captivity

not aware that the money economy has brought those people any
lasting benefits.”
“Oh,” said Homer absently. “What’s so interesting about that?
Sounds like a typical unimaginative reactionary self-justification to
me.”
“Indeed it would sound that way to you, Chief. The elders are aware
that they risk destruction of their village by sticking to their
convictions. Many of the young men have left to find work in other
countries, and this prolonged rainy season will leave most of the
structures, including granaries, badly eroded. Then the people will be
too busy harvesting millet to spare time for repairing the mud
buildings. It could become a dangerous situation very quickly.”
“Why don’t they buy some sheets of metal for their roofs? That
works well enough.”
“It should be remembered that they have no money, Chief.”
“Well, what do they expect if they won’t get into the mainstream of
development? Say, it’s a long walk back around this field. Let’s cut
across it. My boots are already covered in muck.”
With these words Homer strode off the path on a beeline to his
vehicle. Amadou shrugged and followed suit. He wore spotless Italian
kidskin loafers, and picked his way with care. Homer was well ahead
of him, turning his head to shout something.
“You see, no problem. The direct approach. No reason not to go
this way—oops!”
Amadou arrived at the spot Homer Henry had fallen. The
American, covered in mud, was sitting up and staring at the object he
had tripped over. It was an earthen structure, about one meter tall,
with a mushroom-like cap.
“What,” spluttered Homer, “is that? Why did those stupid villagers
put something like that out here where pedestrians could run into it?”
Smiling no more than usual, Amadou replied, “It’s a termite mound.
This field is full of them. Sorry they’re so hard to spot, Chief.”
Homer, grumbling, got to his feet and surveyed the scene. “You
mean these things were built by insects?”
“That’s right. They live inside, just like foreign dignitaries do at the
Intercontinental Hotel in Jombougou.”
Homer Henry screwed up his face, in pain or thought.

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