Dungbeetles and Dragonflies

The sun rises at 6am. The morning dew sticks to the freshly grown foliage, shivering gently in the wind. Multitudes of dung beetles emerge from their hideaways and the dragonflies dip and weave to each gust and zephyr.

Yesterday evening came with dark clouds and the night brought heavy rainfall. The morning air smells crisp and cool, and the ground reveals a dark, fertile clay. Every bare patch of land displays budding sprouts-- the germination of freshly sown fields. Days of labor, hand plowed fields or cow-drawn plows, begin to bear results.

Mounds of fresh cow dung, renewed once again in pungent odor by the rains, lay on the roads. The dung beetles cluster and climb upon these mounds of treasure, shaping pieces into balls and rolling them with their hind legs off the road. The dragonflies flit capriciously, dancing, weaving and making love mid-air in the cool morning. Their translucent wings glimmer for moments with a spectrum of color, and they once again speed away, in search of a more playful breeze.

As the sun awakens and casts it's piercing heat upon the village, the dirt road bustles with life-- herds of cattle wander aimlessly to graze, motorbike taxis carrying people to and fro, and cohorts of matching school children, walking and giggling and fighting together on their way to school. As many go about their day, none stop to notice the adamant dung beetles, furiously balling and rolling their dung from the roads. No school child stops to point at the frolicsome dragonflies, fluttering about.

In America, December brings with it falling leaves and winter chills. Christmas music blares on every radio station, and shops bustle with business. But it is springtime in Kenya; the time for white perfume flowers to bloom and shed from the trees, the time for weddings and animal slaughterings. Time for people to start falling in love.

The dragonflies are whimsical. They shift and move purposefully, then in moments they stop to hover as if struck by an epiphany. They are much more clever than their dung-beetle counterparts; never have they fallen victim to a child's playful swat or the squash of a windshield. The dragonflies are magical.

The dung beetles are foolish. They are drawn toward the fresh dung like Their blundering strides look like those of a man who happens upon a mountain of gold, who ambles slowly toward it in sheer delight. Many of these dung beetles fall victim to the bottom of road tires, heavy cow hooves, or rubber shoe soles. They will die for their dung.

The springtime renews my sense of hope and vigor. I marvel at the stupidity of the dung beetles, but at the same time I admire them for their determination; they so clearly know their goal and set out to attaining it at all costs. And all the while I grow jealous of the dragonflies, that the mates are so in tune to each other they can make love in mid-air, without missing a beat. I draw in a deep, refreshing breath and think how beautiful it must be to be so in tune with the one you love.