Swarms

Like liquid gold, they moved across the land, sometimes caught in light, and sometimes in shadow. They threw shapes on the ground, and in their enormity, they seemed something other, nature moving of her own accord. They were yellow, and bright, and perfectly harmless. There were only 50 million of them.

Yesterday, we went to see the locust swarms. A natural phenomenon that occurs every few decades or so, the locust swarms are caused by a combination of rains, overcrowding, and timing. In half a square mile there can be between 40-80 million locusts. In a single day, they will eat the weight of their own bodies. A single swarm can consume the food of 35,000 people in a 24 hour period. In minutes, they are able to destroy entire livelihoods. The last time they swarmed like this here was in 1956. Yesterday, we drove to see them. I have never experienced anything like it before and I do not think I will again. It was extraordinary.

We saw them first in clouds against the mountains. We had spent nearly an hour driving and though we looked and looked our eyes were not accustomed to the sight. We could not see until urged that the massive arching half mile of shadow were grasshoppers turned golden. At first we were timid, driving close with windows shut and doors firmly locked. But then, when we saw that they were harmless, we jumped from the vehicle and ran through them, watching them scatter like pigeons in a park.

They look like fairies from afar, truly, in the great mass and color. In their gregarious state, when they swarm, their hormones turn them a bright amber. They hung so heavily in trees that the landscape looked like fall. Everything had turned to gold.

We ran from the hill down into the valley, scattering them as they went. As many people as could fit in cars had come from the research centre, and all of us, everything single one, ran about with unaccustomed wonder. None of us, not the askari, nor the locals, nor the older researchers had ever seen anything like this before. And to see it on film is nothing like experiencing it or walking amongst the swarms.

Locusts sing when distressed, this is what I learned. Were I to run through them like children at geese they would rise and fly with a low multi toned hum. And we did, we all did, giggling and sprinting and skipping and screaming with joy when they accidentally flew into our hair. In their gregarious state (the state which triggers swarming) they are utterly docile. Flooded with serotonin as they are, you can pick them up, pull them from trees, even capture them from the air. At some point, the researchers began to collect them, sticking them in their pockets when no other options presented themselves. One researcher tucked eight into a rolled up hat and then stuck them into the glove compartment of a random car. Our car. As soon as we started to drive they came out through the air conditioning vent like some modern version of a biblical plague.

Just before driving away, we looked up into the swarm. Above our heads sea birds, hundreds of miles from the coast, had come by the dozens to feast above the savannah floor.