Soldier, engineer, gardener: my week as a termite

We am a city. We have no concept of singularity. We have been living the city life for 120 million years; all other city-dwelling species are rank beginners, rough round the edges and rotten in the middle. Others species talk about the common cause; we live it. We are a common cause.

Monday

How would things work in other citified systems? Those soldiers, they think they’re God’s gift. We have to wait on them antenna and foot. Workers do a fine job but one draws the line at socialising with them. Alates think they’re so sexy, with their stupid wings. And the king and queen: talk about entitlement! But we aren’t like that. We are the soldiers, we are the workers, we are winged ones, we are the king, we are the queen, we are all castes and every caste.

Tuesday

The city we live in rises 10ft above the savannah. It was built in a time no one termite remembers, but we the colony carry a concept of its ancientness deep inside ourselves. Today it was attacked by ants. Don’t confuse us with ants. We saw them off, solders willingly piling into the gap. Our own deaths mean nothing if the colony lives on.

Wednesday

We are gardeners. We grow fungus deep in the heart of our city. We create cultivation beds of chewed up plant matter, and here in the eternal dark the midnight mushrumps thrive. That’s what we live on: the workers feed the soldiers because the soldiers are so well armed at the sharp end they can’t feed themselves.

Thursday

And we are engineers. Our city is a masterpiece of temperature control: ventilation shafts, air ducts, tunnels that we open and block and open again to keep the colony for ever at the perfect temperature.

Friday

We don’t just control our immediate environment: we control the ecosystem. We impart quality into the soil; we manage the hydrology, decomposition and the cycling of nutrients. The savannah would be a poorer place without us. A healthy environment is good for us and good for everything else that lives. Other species would do well to remember that. Or maybe they need to learn it.

Saturday

The rains are here at last – glory be. And even deep in the inner city, we noticed last night’s thunderous, tumultuous drenching. That means it’s time for sex. Every caste is privileged in its own different way, and only the winged ones have sex. In the clear, bright morning that followed the glorious downpour, out they flowed: winged termites – alates – off into the new day, the new life. In came the predators, as they always do – even martial eagles will cease being so majestic for a treat like us – but we are so many they can’t eat us all. Some will find not only safety but a partner from another city: they will at once shed their wings, retreat underground and start a new colony. A superorganism-in-waiting, a new city: our child.

Termite CV

Lifespan Indefinite

Eating habits Fungi

Hobbies The general good

Sexual preferences The wings of love

As told to Simon Barnes

Photograph by Stuart C Clarke/Alamy