Satao – a legend

Erykko:

I really had to repost this.

Originally posted on Mark Deeble:

Satao - legend just title

When I last wrote about Satao, I felt that I couldn’t use his name. I could refer to him only as a ‘magnificent tusker’ or an ‘iconic Tsavo bull’. I feared that naming him would risk revealing where he lived. Now that I can use it, I wish that that I couldn’t.

On the 30th May, poachers finally caught up with Satao. An arrow smeared with Acokanthera poison hit him in his left flank and penetrated his body cavity. It travelled right through to his vital organs. To begin with, he might have run, to get deeper inside the park, where he felt safe. Running would have made the poison work faster. He didn’t get very far. Eventually he stood still in open ground, not a mile from the park boundary – with the potent cardio-toxin coursing through him. Without any cover to hide his tusks, he’d have felt exposed…

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A weekend to Mombasa, the city of bangs

The good government, for the past not-so-few days has managed to whip up the countrymen and women as well as bigots who have a foot on the fence; into a domestic tourism frenzy.  There is nothing wrong with this and it has all good intentions plastered on the side some crawling in to the microscopic level that is vanity central. Twitter. It all sounds colourful and bound to instigate some sense of pride and patriotism to anyone who for some moment ignores the underlying issues. I don’t.

A certain friend of mine is in huge trouble for watching one too many ‘twende tujivinjari’ commercials and taking them literally. Wonderful animation while we are on the subject and a wrong choice of score if anything from the original song is to go by. Scenes of bestiality with that fat hippo aren’t cute.

He is a proud owner of this Volkswagen GT which is powerful but has a tendency of guzzling too much fuel and breaking down from time to time. He decided to swap it for a jeep to walk the talk of magical Kenya albeit for a few days. A choice which can be admired by a patriot of your calibre. Before then he had paid several uncountable visits to the only place outside of Nairobi which is like most places in Nairobi. Ole-polos, the nyama choma heaven which Nairobians usually mistake for a wildlife park. Rightfully so, that amount of Nyam chom can only be available in a wildlife park for anybody who hasn’t been to any. Many Nairobians haven’t. The KWS ad was a wake up call. His ignorance slumber of his own country had been disturbed. He was not going to take this lying down.  He decided to test the waters from the deep end and promptly signed up for bungee jumping somewhere past Thika. As if driving there with the guidance of Irish whiskey isn’t a danger enough. Rumour is that if you are caught you will be stripped naked, placed in a freezer and your bank accounts raided to pay for the fine of stupidity and blatant ignorance.  He soldiered on.

The bungee jumping was uneventful, as it has been for the thousands of others which happened all over the earth prior to that one. It had a feeling of anticlimax. He got dizzy and disoriented. I was disappointed that the elastic bungee rope did not give in to the forces that be, gravity and wishes. Snapped in half and let him hurtle downwards like a speeding bullet. I gave up my chance and went back to my drink. Karma isn’t trustworthy and could just decide to get back to me by having such an inspired thought.  He had tasted the thrill and was not about to back down. The whole of Kenya had just opened up before him. He looked like a newborn baby who has discovered the only thing standing between him and fulfilment is a flimsy cloth.

Lets backtrack a bit, the major reason why our wrong government is calling upon the poor citizens to start saving for holidays is that Uncle Sam and the ilk withdrew en-masse from the Kenyan coast. Several spirited attacks from the thin, ugly, illiterate but surprisingly persistent militias from Somalia left us dazed. Tourists don’t want to stick in an area where different sorts of explosives go off randomly blowing up stuff to kingdom come. They left. Hotels closed. Kenyans were left broke and jobless. The government took this on stride, called U.K, U.S, France, Australia even N.A.TO bleeding cowards and told them that they had nothing on China who are set to become our premier tourism trade partners. The only slight problem is that the Chinese are not interested in watching wildlife. Which we have in plenty. They have more important uses like dietary supplements’, decorations and medicine. All their uses leave the animals dead. Still, it’s a risk our government has already taken. This worries many patriotic Kenyans, but not my friend. He decided he was just going to replace our departed tourists in a very odd way.

He took a road trip to Garissa. Why Garissa? You may ask. I don’t know either. Garissa as far as Kenyans are concerned is that frontier town holed up in part of Kenya which should be owned by Somalia. This view is also held by some high ranking government officials who are allergic to knowledge. He packed up and set off dragging his sweet Nairobi girlfriend with him. Nairobi girls are a special breed. They are averse to hardships, whether natural or artificial like this one. That is root of his troubles. She had acquired exclusive knowledge from her friends and ‘The Nation’ to some extend that the lonely road stretching from somewhere past Juja up to Garissa is full of bandits. The vomit of the society who will spill your guts while you painfully watch and if you are not dead already feed them to you. All that for some few bottles of water. Apart from these psychopaths there was Al-Hijra and Al-Shabaab who are the authority on this no-man’s land. They are more lenient in that they will set invisible landmines to blow your car to smithereens. Alternatively, they can practice marksmanship with the top of your head. You will not even notice you are about to die before you already are. Her knowledge dictated that the only safe way to drive there is to use Uhuru’s RCV Survivor. Since this was not available, they should have dropped that idea long time ago.

Uhuru's RCV Survivor which is a symbol of the generous amount of security our good government is providing to it's poor citizens.

Uhuru’s RCV Survivor which is a symbol of the generous amount of security our good government is providing to it’s poor citizens.

He chose to ignore the highly informed views and hurtled off to coast via Garissa on a Jeep. There have been a few surprises along the road more so for the girlfriend who hasn’t met any sick bandits yet. Still her heart floats close to the mouth and she has been having persistent stomach rumbles.  They encountered another breed of bandits in the name of Kenyan Police, luck was on their side as they both look like they originate from the innermost part of Bwindi Impenetrable forest and en-route to kenya immersed on coal mines for a good measure. There was no doubt that they were Kenyans of non-somali/arabic origin. Not in any way fit for Kasarani Concentration Camp. Their jeep was ransacked though and they parted with a few thousand shillings. That particular standard procedure has happened several times in the course of their journey.

Garissa was extremely hot. In his own words ”I think I have been a little misled by the magical kenya P.R assault, this heat is depressing and I think I am growing an extra layer of above my epidermis to act as a heat shield. I was under the impression that the whole of Kenya is a magical narnia which improves my sex life as the bonus. This heat is killing me.” He spend several hours on this hazy, dreamy town where you get the feeling of touching the heat physically and they sped off towards Malindi with gloomy faces.

The all-weather road in between has not been kind to them as well as the heat and humidity which seems to multiply by the minute. He is stuck somewhere in Garsen dreaming of the sandy beaches in Malindi. Did I say the girlfriend took a bus back to Nairobi at Garissa?

Bush Tales

It’s past midnight at the farthest end of Maasai Mara. Right next to the Serengeti. I have several shots of Smirnoff inside my system so it feels pretty awesome writing this. The funny thing is that I did dream of writing the same depressing/motivating sentences a few weeks back in the sweltering Nairobi heat. It’s cold here. Freaking cold considering I am lodged up in a tent. The vodka in the system wishes that a scrawny underfed lion would brush past the tent and say hi. No fangs. Just hi. Well, the coward homo sapien in me is scared and tipsy wishing Kalawa Jazmee  compilation playing on my laptop does not bring a bull buffalo to the tent. Curious on who is stupid enough to disturb it’s night of after mating beauty sleep.

Let me tell you a short story about buffaloes. These herbivores have the rage of an enraged Leopard. Top this up with a horny and clueless rhino. You have the recipe for a disaster. Buffaloes can maul you in a second. No, they don’t care that you are erect on two feet and holding a gun. They come full speed aiming for your frail body. A good natured, respectful bull will not stop stomping until the grass is gone as well as that deep red colour associated with blood. Your dermatologist would be disappointed. All those years of caring for your damn skin and the good old buffalo won’t stop for how good and blemish less it looks. The bush is just fantastic.

Yesterday driving here I got stuck in Sand River. Sand River is the imaginary or physical border between Mara and Serengeti. Whichever way you look at it. I was driving to my favorite camp as well as my workplace. Cottars 1920s Camp. It’s really exclusive. I won’t delve in to the details. I found the usually dry river flooded. A result of torrential rain I encountered between Mahi Mahiu and Narok. The thick smog did not allow me to see 3 meters ahead and I am 100 percent convinced that fate had to do more with how I got here than precision driving. Fate and coffee from the square. (Remind me to blog about the square and their meager servings of potato chips next time, I have a huge bone to pick with them)

There is a rustle of leaves outside. If I happened to be of a Buick derivation my long Vulcan-like ears would prick up. They don’t, just my heart racing up to my mouth. They have come for me. The elephants I cursed and recursed when they filled my path yesterday and trumpeted arrogantly to the annoyance of my spotlights and my ears. They have come for the revenge. (It’s amazing what good old vodka can do to your brain). The camp was abuzz today with the Masai warriors reporting that the Eles are chasing herders sheep away in various parts of the conservancy. For some reason I don’t know elephants don’t like sheep. I think it’s their ovine characteristics, brainless and trudging along to the unknown. They will chance upon a herd of elephants and keep moving rather than taking a u-turn. If you were several tons in weight and a brainless simpleton brushed at your gigantic feet you would resist the urge to trample them just long enough until your patience wanes. Then go all bulldozer over the feeble backs. Maasais don’t like this prospect. They must protect the sheep the only way they know. Their arrows are poisoned with a powerful concoction which can bring down a bull elephant easily. It’s not poaching. They have no interest in the ivory. Rangers were send to drive away the elephants to a safe distance. I hoped in to the jeep looking forward to the action.  As I said, elephants are not scared of bipedals, or any quadrupedal  for that matter. It takes a lot of effort to scare one off. One is finding a beehive and setting angry bees upon the herd. They will run like hell. This option is just as hard as walking up to them and nudging them while imitating Ludacris  ‘move bitch, get out the way…..’’ You get my drift. The second is shooting in the sky, which is what happened. It is a good thing that they are afraid of gun shots as this enables them to escape the murderers we all loath. Poachers looking to make a quick dime out of flourishing Sino-Kenya partnership. We moved the away from the Maasai herds and I have a feeling several of them earmarked me as the chap who sat there looking out of place. They understand that the rangers were doing their job, but who was I? They have come for me in order to necessitate interrogations. Once again, vodka.

I have to go pee. It’s the thought that comes to my brain. My bladder backs it up.

A brief description of my tent. This is no ordinary camping. I am lying in a four poster bed in a luxuriously furnished bedroom. The decor is of the old. I bet my long gone grandpa would really hate it because of the period it is derived from. I love it, and I bet you would. It throws you to all those history classes you attended in high school and campus. Bringing them to life and if you loved them like me you would not just like it here, you would love. Love it to the extent of wishing you lived here, rolled you bacon here, and sun downed watching the sun set over the hills in Loliondo. The large orange ball is mesmerizing but I digress.


 

The right side harbours the wash-rooms, fully integrated. The other side separated by a tent wall has a living room. Luxuriously equipped than the one you would find in a high end apartment. The doors/entrance? You zip it up. Sort of an old school STD commercial.

The rustle, the scuttle, really hoping that it does not grow in to a commotion.  Maybe they have sent an armature who is not sure if I am that clueless chap unless he finds a way to peek in. This is a small consolation. My heart, or rather the feeling of a lump steadily makes it’s way up my oesophagus. I am not about to throw up but I am sure about to give birth with my mouth. To a timid infant called fear.

Oh! The Joys Of Kenya @ 50

Have you heard that they are looking for 150 limousines to ferry V.I.Ps during our beloved country golden jubilee? Did you see that 50 bob gold coin our dear supreme leader launched to show how rich we are after just fifty years of independence? Have you seen flags and other shukas paraded all over the city proclaiming the fifty years?  I have heard some guys on Twittverse have been paid 100 grand to tweet about their love, their pride, their heritage, their commitment to a Kenya which is just fifty years young. Why not 50 grand?

 

A rumor goes that the M.Ps are getting 10 M bonuses, once again, why not 50 M? After all they have worked hard to earn it. 50 years of screwing up a country of nearly 50 M people is not a small task. I myself and my whole clan couldn’t do it in a millennium. I know what is on your mind, no, we are not lazy.  They have sank their teeth and wieners in to the good old Kenya without making any considerable mistakes. It’s true every once in a while one of them decides to steer away from the masses and do something else. Let’s say some developments, civil rights activism, fight corruption and some other acts of selfishness which are frowned upon by the members of the August house.  He or she is quickly silenced by the high priest or else he is jeered upon by his comrades until he drops the embarrassing behavior.

I think you have heard that some people have died in Moyale due to tribal clashes.  27 of them and counting. In case you are wondering, yes, this happens often. But what does the good old menopause Kenya do about it? Nothing , it’s not a big deal. The fourth estate is excellent in it’s devotion to licking the ass of the high priest and his cronies. Fifty years on. All of them have the money to sent reporters to S.A for Tata Madiba’s send off but none to make their way to Moyale. Well, the high priest recently decided the licking was not up to the current globally recommended standards. Borrowing a leaf from Mugabe, Kim Jong Il, Ayatolla etc (He sure does have many role models). They decided to add another thread to the screw. It will now include curtailed press freedom amongst other things. The forth estate was brought up to standards by a resounding ‘Ayeeee!!!’ in August house a few days ago. Newspapers were then termed as ‘makaratasi ya kufunga nyama’ . I am at loss why they still lick that ass instead of a fully blown media blackout. The perks of Kenya at 50.

 

The process of retrenching nay sacking 100,000 civil servants is already on the wheels while we celebrate. A good reason given for this is that we can’t afford the wage bill. We are simply too poor. Yes, we can afford to pay M.Ps and their smaller followers M.C.As gazzilions of Kenyan shillings but we are too poor to compensate the hardworking Kenyans. Teachers have been whining since time immemorial, their wage, working conditions and other negligible issues have always been in contest. The government is for the opinion that they are just fine and they should stop making noise over nothing. Teachers think otherwise but still, they have all the reasons to celebrate Kenya at 50.

Health workers will also be on strike while the celebrations go on. Of course this is a non-issue. No M.P can ever be caught dead using the public health system. To sum it up it’s no concern of theirs.   It has now become the norm, rather than the exception for you to lose your belongings or life to criminals every once in a while. This, as a proud country which is past mid-life crisis, we choose to ignore. A product of unemployment and flawed institutions. We trudge on, after all we are fifty. Police officers don masks and steal from you at gun point, they rent out their guns when they feel it’s too cold. But hey, we are fifty, a reason to celebrate.

 

We have an excellent education system, hell, the good old government is even upgrading to schools 2.0. Laptops for standard 1 kids and all. Graduates who cannot perform a single task litter the job places but who cares. The government is digital. We have a new constitution. A fact which makes us congratulate ourselves every day.  Plans are underway to screw it up and judiciary will just be a victim of circumstances. Guys who at the wrong place at the wrong time. Sorry Mutunga and co. Please show up to the celebrations in full regalia, we will have nothing less. Lest we forget, we have Thika Superhighway. The other potholes are negligible. This calls for a toast of champagne.

 

I must confess the euphoria has also sank in to my cranium. You can only hold on to being bombarded by the marketing efforts for too long. I have been dreaming of Madiba passing on the night before celebrations. I am not sure how our dear old Kamwana would have reacted then. It would have been a real bummer. I would still celebrate Madiba’s life, just like I am doing.

P.s I saw my good old senator ‘hanging out with’ Mandela thanks to poor photoshoping skills. Please, Mars take me away.

Sight of Nairobi Underbelly

Sometimes certain phrases or words seem to resonate more with the ‘others’ than you. You never associate your life with them. Terms like Nairoberry happen to other people who share this sometimes flourishing as well as depressing city. The act of visiting a police station to report a crime seems so detached it’s almost laughable. Then the cracks. You lose your phone every few months in unclear circumstances but you do not consider this a crime. After all everybody has lost a phone, either snatched in the C.B.D or a simple misplacement. It’s a way of life. You go ahead and buy another one, a cheap android until you save up for the next Lumia or Iphone. It’s funny that this cheap replacement is the one that never gets stolen and it’s always there to bail you out after the big one is gone. This happens and the huge spinning circle that is the city continues with the movement.

The cracks widen unexpectedly. At the beginning of last month my backpack which contained a tablet, a laptop and a few books was snatched at Ngara. The notorious, noisy, free for all location. It was all too sudden and bewildering that by the time I came to my senses and adrenaline snapped the chaps were already across the busy highway. I could not even give a chase. I stood there transfixed and watching as my property disappeared in a whiff. I gave myself excuses, as if I was covering for the thieving idiots. The gadgets were already past their sell by date and I was already thinking of replacing them anyway. It just came sooner than I expected. My work was already backed up on Mega, Googledrive, Dropbox and Skydrive. The books? I was sure they were literate chaps, would they read them? Probably not. The sequels of Hunger games, Catching Fire and MockingJay. They had cost me a fortune and they would probably end upon the street to trade for a measly 100/=. If they could only read them. Maybe they would get another outlook on life. They would understand why some districts where unhappy with the capitol, and why it covered up for all its sins. Why it held hunger games to silence the people. They would understand what is happening in Egypt. And maybe, just maybe, they would join us in the next ‘Occupy Parliament’ with the aim of making a change rather than thieving and looting.

Later my thoughts struck me as somewhat stupid. I should have found a way of getting my gadgets back. Not find a way to buy replacements. But that is what happened.

Nearing the end of last month I bought a new laptop and decided to give tablets a wide berth. This was an expensive Alienware machine. This bore the surname of KittyHawk as all my laptops have but this one’s moniker was KittyHawkMonster. A fitting name for the knight. It did cost me a fortune and my resolve was to extremely secure it and work it like a donkey. I hightailed to Google and read on the most fool proof way to secure an Alienware, I promptly did that. I now basked in the glory of this black and colourful jewel. Little did I know that my joy was to be snapped into twigs very shortly.

The last Sunday of the month I woke up, had a hefty breakfast, and made my way to a friend’s place where we were having a meet up. I ended up spending the whole day there due to a little matter of World Of Warcraft. I got home to find that KittyHawkMonster had sprouted some wings during the daytime and flew away. Gaping at the spot where I left him shell shocked I shouted for the gateman to make his way to my apartment. I know I did utter some unlimited number of expletives which would give a nun a fatal heart attack as I sought to know who broke in to my house and made away with my new laptop which was yet to acquire insurance.

The next day I visited a police station in a bid to make sense of what was happening. This nightmare was now crawling in to my day to day life with devastating effects. There is only one little fact I failed to adhere to, and it made all the difference. I refuse to pay for police services when I do so every day with my tax. I did not cough up a bribe to oil their palms and get the investigation wheels moving despite the not too obvious calls of ‘ongea vizuri kijana tusuluishe hii mambo’. I left the station half dejected, half determined man. I knew nothing would be done despite my one to one talk with the O.C.P.D. I knew chances of setting my eyes again on KittyHawkMonster where next to zero. The only comforting fact was that whoever who had it now held a piece of very expensive, ugly or beautiful depending on who is looking at it junk. I had already secured it such that formatting it was completely impossible. They could do with selling the parts. I wished them luck in that.

As I wait for a technician to install spy cameras on my apartment I wonder if I have become too paranoid. I already have a new state of the art lock system. How can I live spying on myself and my guests? Now that I have seen the Nairobi underbelly it’s the price I have to pay.

Cultural Indictment: The New Star Trek

Originally posted on michaeldstark:

I’ve been a lifelong science fiction fan, especially so of the Star Trek franchise. As a kid, I was drawn to the stories and to the ability to use reason to guide humanity past difficulties and solve complex problems (though I could not put such words to it as a child). As an adult, I more clearly see the philosophy embedded within Star Trek, especially so in The Original Series and The Next Generation incarnations.

Theologian Stanley Grenz testified to the philosophy in Trek many years ago. The opening chapter of his book, A Primer on Postmodernism, examines the shift from modern philosophy to postmodern philosophy as seen in TOS and TNG. That chapter is required reading in my intro to philosophy courses that I teach and it is coupled with an readings from Descartes and different postmodern thinkers (Derrida, Foucault, Lyotard) through the lens of James K.A…

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Insects To The Rescue.

The U.N, through Food and Agriculture Organization (F.A.O), the body responsible for all the cholesterol full thick and juicy chicken buckets you take has duly advised the world to stop this. They want every earthling to start seriously considering having insects for breakfast, lunch, supper and your midnight snack. A 200-page report, released at a news conference at the U.N. agency's Rome headquarters, says 2 billion people worldwide already supplement their diets with insects, which are high in protein and minerals, and have environmental benefits. I can attest to that as being a highly irresponsible representation of facts. A Public Service Announcement (P.S.A) is already in the offing with Eric Omondi leisurely consuming a tray of cockroaches at a Diani beach. The punch line is that soon after he steps out in the beach and reveals his now bulging biceps and belly which looks like he is smuggling a python underneath. They are that healthy. I know several facts about insects. They have more feet than they could ever use. Some like flies and butterflies have very many disturbing eyes. Insects are also prone to making creepy noises, take crickets for example. No wonder they have an Indian sport named after them. Other insects will bite and sting you for no apparent reason.
Don’t get me wrong, I got more than enough respect for insects. Here I mean insects which have the ability of methodolically increasing the mass of my head and altering the shape in a manner of seconds. In order to arrive at this I have a case study. In the backwater village I grew in there were very few bee keepers. Men of valour and gallantry who had the village beauties at their beck and call. One went on to become the village headman before breaking his spine when he fell off a tree while battling a particularly determined honey-badger. Consequentially, honey was a valuable resource. Nearly equivalent to fool’s gold. I use the word ‘fools’ here carefully, fools are everywhere so the said gold might be the real deal. I, like any other hot blooded pre-teen kid had these delusions of grandeur of hoarding my own filled to the brim drum of pure honey. I devised a plan to raid some hives in the dark of night when it is pitch black and the only intruder I can encounter is a malnourished badger.
 The first step was a series of consultancy talks on the quickest way to harvest the most honey in the shortest time possible. I eavesdropped as the adults talked about honey and bees in general taking mental notes. I gathered nothing helpful from them apart from the knowledge that they revered bees with divine-like fear. Such a bunch of losers. After realising that adults would be of no help I went for the pure and unaltered wisdom of my age-mates. They had different suggestions so it was up to me to pick out the best. The best solution came to be a process which I shall articulate in a series of steps. For a lack of a more fitting name I shall call it the Super-Naked-Man manoeuvre.
 Step 1. Find a cloak which is dark in colour, here I chose my grey blanket.
 Step 2. Get a long pole. The length depends on the distance between you and the hive. The longer the better.
 Step 3. Gather all manner of highly flammable paraphernalia capable of producing intoxicating smoke. If the smoke can suffocate you at an open air ground the better.
 Step 4. Visit the beehive at one in the morning. Be devoid of any clothing expect your cloak. This provides you with a superman spirit and bees are afraid of midget-sized supermen.
 Step 5. Drop your cloak before you commence harvesting. You will pick it up on your way out.
 Step 6. Light a huge bonfire with your combustibles directly underneath the hive. This will achieve two purposes. First it will scare off the owner of the hives. Seeing a naked midget brightly lit on your property at the dead of the night is a highly disturbing sight. Secondly, the smoke produced will stun the bees. Some will recover from the shock and flee. The rest will fall unconscious at your feet. A few lucky ones which might want to sting you will not be able to. You are the super naked man. Bees are afraid of you.
 Step 7. Harvest the honey without any intrusion.
 Step 8. Pick up you cloak and your honey and go home proudly whistling the popular tune of the time. Go get a beautiful sleep. Tomorrow you will join the ranks of village heroes.
 It is suffice to say that step 6 was incomplete and step 7 and 8 did not happen when I undertook the delicate process. They were replaced by extremely painful stings which altered the shape of my body for more than a week. Were it not for the owner who I was depriving of his honey I would have been dead meat in a manner of minutes. Bees are vicious creatures that are very determined in protecting what they produce. They don’t take lightly of Super-Naked-Men. They sting them with conviction with the aim of killing them on the spot.
I classify hornets in a much worse category than bees. Scientifically it is the order Hymenopetra. This in layman terms means that hornets, including wasps, do not produce anything edible. Therefore they have no reason whatsoever to deface every Tom, Dick and Harry who comes near their nest. They have nothing to protect. This does not stop them though. They will inject powerful stings on different parts of your skin until at last you look like a walking hot-air balloon. I happen to have real life experience of this after chancing upon some small industrious wasps when I was young enough to go hill climbing. They also happen to be very fast having born equipped with impulse engines under their wings.
Do not get me started on ants and their queer ant hills. It is common knowledge that ants live a symbiotic relationship with dangerous and highly poisonous snakes like cobras and black mambas. In a memorandum of understanding (MoU) signed eons ago before the emergence of Homo Erectus by King Cobra and Queen ant, snakes will always protect ants from humans and in return ants will feed snakes their prisoners. Highly understandable. Visiting a anthill to gather ants is a huge risk. You never know when a constrictor hiding behind the bushes will slither up to you and crush you.
As you can see, insects are highly dangerous creatures not to be taken lightly. If FAO is serious about the suggestion it should form a special police unit responsible for hunting insects or they will wipe out mere mortals like you and me.