There Are 80 000 Kinds Of Insects In South Africa & We Have Discovered Some Of The Strangest in The Bushland

Tokkie is not only expert at swinging the lasso-pole. She employs the scoop-net of the swimming pool very efficiently to ward off bats. An ugly representative of the order chiroptera, which was practising dives and glides in broad daylight in our lounge, was initially bombarded – without success – with rolled up socks. I just could not score a hit. Tokkie, however, was something else. One swing of the swimming pool scoop sealed his fate. Relief, all round. No resting in our hair or Dracula fangs in the neck. The blood-thirsty vampire was vanquished.

An all-out attack by fruit bats on the bananas of the bush-babies earned my unwilling admiration. Those divebombing missiles and their ability to hit their target unerringly, was something to see. The arm-swinging Van Deventers, trying to scare them off, were always just off target. Then Tokkie took the scoop-net. Now remember, bats have excellent hearing. So every time the scoop swish-swished past, they evaded it with speed and grace. But just for a while. Tokkie had not lost her touch. She trapped one among our bushbabies’ bananas. My friend Manie Steyn immediately used his walking stick. Manie’s better-half, Sannie, later on described the episode as the “fall of the fledermaus”. The friends of the hapless bat decided that retreat was the better part of valour. With one final swoop they chose the darkness. The victim of the scoop-net was flung over the wall. During the night something carried it off.

One January, in the heart of summer, the marula tree next to our house started shedding its leaves. This is the tree that, at that stage, had to provide shade for my car. I followed its deterioration with dismay. By the second or third morning, I discovered on the ground, and on my car, not only a carpet of marula leaves, but also thousands of dead worms. I studied the tree carefully. The entire trunk and every possible branch was covered by a shiny sheet of satin – a gigantic weaving task. No wonder these little worms were raining from the sky. They had literally worked themselves to death.

Later on, we realised that virtually every marula tree as far as the eye could see, was clothed in a silver silk stocking – also across the river in the Kruger Park. Fortunately, only one season’s crop was destroyed. The trees recovered. My shade was restored.

Not all worms work themselves to death

Some commit hara-kiri. They meet a violent death under the wheels of cars. The real name of the hara kiri-worms is assemble-worms. The worms assemble and move in long rows, head to tail. That’s why Bushveld folk also call them arse-nose-worms. The Van Deventers call them suicide worms or trainworms – for reasons that will become obvious.

These unsightly worms first “cake” together, mostly in raisin-trees. Then, suddenly, each one wants to be somewhere else. The “train” starts start moving. If you “disconnect” one, the next one simply stretches ahead to fill the empty space. When you replace the removed worm, the others make room for it to take up its old place in the row. If you remove the “leader”, they become totally confused. The new leader stretches itelf as far as possible and gropes hopelessly to find the “road”. The whole “train” then comes to a stop.

Sabieparkers learn to drive slowly, with eyes wide open. For everything, from dung beetles pushing record-size balls of dung, to a praying mantis sitting motionless, waiting for prey, to softly-treading chameleons with their long tongues, we would normally stop. Who would be so cruel as to hurt two tiny tortoises that have slowly progressed to the middle of the road in order to mate? Or a confused hare in the glare of the lights of a car?

When these metres-long worm trains cross the road, the poor motorist is powerless. There is no way even the most cautious can avoid crushing them under the heavy wheels. It becomes a massacre. But the “arse-nosers” must possess some kind of potent life essence. They simply re-group, form new links, and carry on to who knows where.

Insects are the bane of one’s life at Sabiepark

Mosquitoes only need one hot summer night to leave you full of welts and pimples, and with itching arms, legs and face. Ants invade the pantry. New Year cicadas with their shrill, monotonous din make you feel depressed. House flies and blue bottles, fleas, and especially bush ticks, are not but popular at all. Beware the ticks – don’t just walk into the veld. This is good advice. Ask Tokkie. She was once covered with ticks, literally from head to toe, after an ill-advised journey of discovery on our erf.

Bugs which certainly don’t contribute towards better relations between man and insects (there are some 80 000 kinds in South Africa), are stinkbugs. These minute rogues – only one centimetre in length – often wage their chemical warfare in summer, even into one’s salad or glass of wine at the campfire. After rain, they multiply at a terrific rate. Biting into one of these “crackling-fresh” non-culinary objects is anything but pleasant.

Stinkbugs belong to a species of insect which has the ability of producing a nasty odour from a gland between its legs. They are attracted by light, and at night they use the moon and stars for orientation. When they encounter artificial light, they continually change their position to retain their orientation. They live under leaves and on the sap of roots. The largest of them are regarded as a delicacy in parts of Zimbabwe. However, the average South African has different tastes. Or not?

All insects are not nuisances. There is a wonderland of lifestyles and habits to learn about. The bushland is in many respects a classroom of nature, with many secrets. Have you ever had a fright when a seed at a picnic spot suddenly started hop-hop-hopping? It is tamboti seed. But it does not jump on its own, an insect jumps inside it. Have you seen two mantes acting strangely? Did you know that the female first had to bite off the male’s head before they could mate? Ouch! Watch in fascination a pair of fireflies at night. A field warden explained that the female can change her “flashing-code” at will to entice the male to come closer – only then to devour the poor chap.

Hop-hopping seeds are strange, but have you ever heard of a branch that can walk around? I must admit: we were dumbstruck when we discovered such a wandering branch on our stoep. We looked closely, but saw nothing pulling it along; the branch seemed to move on its own. It was a longish main branch with smaller side branches – the kind one would pick up in the veld to produce toothpicks. At one stage it stopped. I tried to pick it up, but then it really walked. Later on the mysterious thing disappeared.

That evening we consulted the book on insects by Holm and De Villiers. “Turn to stick insects,” our son Johan recommended Truly, such an insect really exists. Wandering branches is their other name. It is a plant-eating insect which remains motionless most of the day. When it loses a “branch”, a new one grows in its place. The stick insect can also change colour to blend in with its environment, to evade birds and lizards, or to make not-so-clever fools like us feel like fools.