Saturday night the sister missionaries were here. They had said their good nights and had just closed our front door when we heard screams and the door flew open again. We couldn't imagine what all the excitement was about and the sisters didn't seem to be able to speak. We went to the door and in the corner of our car port was this:
A big, black, glossy, living, moving scorpion.
Sometimes you see them fried or skewered in the market, right next to the fried grubs and crickets and other bugs. We had never seen one in our house before.
We took a picture (first one above) and then Ray got a heavy shoe, and it became a squashed, dead, non-ambulatory scorpion.
We don't know if it tastes like chicken.
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