Collecting termites

1.       

I beheld a jolly chap in the parkland; 
In the warm sunny morning air. 
With an old hat over his head, 
An old bucket at his side, 
An axe over his shoulder, 
And whistling a faintly familiar tune; 
He wandered about to and fro 
Collecting the dried cow dung. 
I smiled in recognition and remembrance 
As my heart rolled back the years 
To when I went collecting termites.

I also had an old bucket and a hoe 
But alas! no hat of my own 
As I marched into the scrubland, 
With great eagerness or reluctance 
Humming happy or melancholy tunes, 
As my mood might happen to be. 

A man returning to his house with a bucket of termites

2.       

After the early rains, I go in search

For crusts of clay on the ground
That shows where the woodworm lurks.

There, I plant a pot of broken-up dung

That will nourish and lure them

To build and multiply for a day or two.

And in the warm sunrise, I come

To harvest and gather with my bucket!      

The pot I refill with new bait

For the next day or two;

And the precious fatty white ants

Goes to nourish ravenous chicks at home,

Who would run to me enthusiastically

And cheep and chirp as they eat,

Scattering the remnants of dung

And earth with their feet and beaks

Making a delightful commotion!

In recent times, big metal cans are replacing earthenware vessels

3. 

Sometimes for a change of taste
Or when the pots are yielding poor
Then whilst the hungry locked up chicks

Wait anxiously in their run at home,

I must go in search; far and wide 
From the plains even to the woodlands
To find the termite castles of clay;
Built exquisitely in the undergrowth.
When at last I have found a good one,

I cut it at the base and carry it home
Whistling to myself all along the way
With a stern face and will
Because my own tummy is empty.

At home, I break up the castle into many pieces

Exposing the industrious builders inside;

And as the ecstatic chicks feast with relish,

I stand proud watching over them

Listening to their happy chicken talk

With a broad smile of satisfaction!

Women aren't left out, here, a woman breaks up the cow dung with her hoe

This poem describes a typical practice among rural Bulsa dwellers (as well as other people of northern Ghana). When the sun is out and the air is warm, people go to harvest termites to feed their chickens. The termites are usually reared in pots (or cans or even gourds). The container is usually filled with broken-up cow dung and then turned over a small spot on the ground where the termites are. The dung serves as bait. After a day (and sometimes two), a person comes to open up the container to find that the termites have come up from the ground into it to eat and build among the dung and to multiply. The contents (half eaten dung and termites together) are poured into a bigger container (usually an old bucket) and sent home for the chickens. This task is traditionally the role of men and boys but many women (especially widows) also rear their own chickens and feed them this way (see photo above)