As fast as its eight legs can scurry, the spider scuttles towards a dark corner just barely escaping the boy's wrath.
Suddenly, the seven year old swoops again. This time, the spider isn't so lucky.
Smack! He brings the force of his black dress shoe down on the ground, then again and again.
"I got it!" yells Tumisang proudly.
The arachnid now resembles a pancake.
"You can stop now," I say as I begin the ritual clean up. "I think it's dead."
Several times a week, Tumisang and I spot one of these creatures in the house. When stretched out, they each span roughly the circumference of a drinking glass. They are bigger than any I've ever seen naturally inhabiting North America or Europe.
I'm relieved that I don't suffer from arachnophobia or a fear of insects in general because there are so many species of critters here that I have never before seen or even heard of. Many of them are much larger than their cousins in the Northern Hemisphere.
Even in the city, a walk can take you past various-sized colonies that serve as the homes for various-sized termites or ants. Some are huge mounds that reach the height of my waist. Seemingly constructed of dirt, their unmistakably unique structures are punctured sporadically with holes-no doubt as the door to the outside for the army of thousands and possibly millions that live within.
At home, Tumisang is a most formidable warrior against the spiders and says, at times, he takes the offensive against ants and termites, too.
"I'll kill them and smash them out," he divulges. "I don't like them."
He tells me he's afraid they'll bite him when he's sleeping. To be fair, he admits he's never been bitten by any of them ever.
Smack! From another room, Tumisang is in fighting form again. It's time to go clean up.
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