Most countries have been in this situaiton at some point: You feel threatened by a foreign invader. You have to make a snap judgement on how to react. Do you respond with force? Do you recede? Do you try to take on the enemy alone, or do you swallow your pride and call in for help?

My apartment-mate (who I will now call Jen) and I were faced with just this situation last night. We got home at 12:30 AM. Jen went to take a shower. I heard a scream. Camilla the cockroach had returned. We chased Camilla around the bathroom with the top of my peanut butter jar safe. We tried spraying her with bug spray. We finally chased her out of the bathroom. Jen went to try to shower again, while I chased Camilla around the living room.

Literally, 1 second after I successfully cupped Camilla, Jen screamed and ran out of the bathroom. She was inarticulate, but fortunately I understand fearofbug-speak. There was a spider.

Now there are not many spiders in Liberia, but the spiders that are here are mammoth. Bodies the thickness of highlighters and chunky legs that look like melted toothbrushes.

This spider was on the inside of the shower curtain. We were unable to discern its exact location. “Throw something at the curtain!” Jen suggested. Jen was in a towel, and thus had limited mobility. I had taken on the role of alpha-bug catcher, a role I am certainly not inclined to.

“Grab Joyce Carol Oats!” Jen said, referring to The Falls, an awful book I purchased in Nigeria. Earlier in the afternoon I had given it to Jen. In my mind it had no reading value, but thanks to Joyce Carol Oats’ long-winded writing style, the book was heavy, giving it potential spider-catching value. I threw the The Falls at the shower curtain, hoping it would knock off the spider. It didn’t.

Jen knew what we had to do: Call in for help. One security guard came speed-walking in with a wooden broom. Another security guard followed for back-up. I hid in my room, unable to watch. I heard a broom smacking the shower curtain, then smacking the shower floor. After being assured of the spider’s death, I made another snap decision: I grabbed my camera.

You can’t see the dead spider, but it’s on the broom. The security guard in the white shirt is holding The Falls. He gave it to me, looking a little confused as to why we kept books in our shower. I tried to explain, but gave up.