Lice Combs

“May this [ivory] tusk root out the lice of the hair and the beard.”

These are the words of the first written Canaanite sentence ever found. Southern archaeology students unearthed an incredible piece of history at Tel Lachish in 2016 with Dr. Hasel: an ivory lice comb with this plea inscribed. This discovery is just being published, ironically corresponding with the only time in my life that I’ll use a lice comb daily, be it on my head or a little girl’s.

“Piojos haunted the heads of people in 1700 BC,” I mused, having just completed brushing out Nirza’s little biting friends. “I guess I never thought about that.”

How many parts of the lives of Bible characters do we not even think to think about? Like how they dealt with lice! Equally, how many parts of the lives of other people do we not even stop to wonder about? How many normal aspects of life in other places are not even on our radar? Like knowing you’ll never completely lice-free!

Lice: Full Disclosures

Full disclosure: I didn’t even know what lice looked like before I left the States. In fact, in my mind they seemed like they should be little, white, mini-maggot-type creatures. Surprise! They’re grayish-black insects that crawl and feed on human blood (I choose to ignore that last fact).

Full disclosure: the thought of lice before coming to Bolivia kinda grossed me out (maybe because I envisioned maggots), and it’s the reason I cut my hair short before leaving. When I arrived, Las Lilas seriously questioned my motives for having short hair. “I’m afraid of lice,” I told them. “Um, you just have to brush them out,” they told me incredulously. “It’s not that hard. Don’t cut your hair again.” Thanks, chicas.

Full disclosure: I am now unfazed by combing lice, and may even find it oddly satisfying to pop them under my thumbnail. We squish them into a paper or t-shirt spread out on the table for this tri-weekly ritual. I remember the hilarity of Las Lilas the first time I combed my hair: I put a sticky note on the table, which they laughed at, thinking it was entirely too small. In fact, it was just big enough for my first three lice, and I continue to use sticky notes.

Full disclosure: what does still remain unappetizing is the thought of nits — lice eggs that are incredibly resilient and resistant to combing. “I didn’t realize there was a difference between a lice comb and a nit comb,” Emilianne said. There is. And my girls know it, too, because they constantly ask to borrow my comb (a nit comb), “porque estos no sirven” (“because these [lice combs without the little grippy grooves] don’t work”).

Full disclosure: one of the few things I’m not ok with sharing with Las Lilas is my nit comb. Actually, it’s the first thing I ever refused them and said no to (after Soledad used it once and filled it up with what took me forever to clean out). I feel a bit guilty knowing how they could benefit from it, but I justify it by saying I’m the only person in this house who is grossed out by nits anyway.

Full disclosure: I recognize the way that I may have disgusted some people who are reading this from the comfort of their lice-free worlds. Sorry!

Nobody Panic

Nobody panic: I don’t find lice every time I comb my hair (though I’m not as lucky as Elizabeth, who has yet to find any). It’s just an occasional reminder that I snuggle with kids and wear my hair down.

Nobody panic: I have a plentitude of tea tree oil. It’s just part of life to have it mixed into my shampoo and curl cream and even spray it into my hair when it’s down.

Nobody panic: while lice are parasites that bite, I have yet to experience what it feels like to be munched on. Lisvania was the first person I’ve heard mention being bit, and that was only this past week.

Nobody panic: I don’t think or talk about lice to this great extent on a regular basis. I’m not yet driven to insanity.

Nobody panic: I’m not gonna extend this lice-themed blog much longer.

Thank Goodness

Thank goodness: self-consciousness isn’t a problem amongst the kids in my house. “¿Puedo sacar piojos?” isn’t asked in shame. They will even announce when they have a lot or command everyone to look at an especially big one.

Thank goodness: I have lost my fear of putting my head close to the kids’ heads (that didn’t last more than a week). Being willing to be close to them and touch them without hesitation is a language that speaks louder than words.

Thank goodness: I have a God who is more willing to pick the sin out of my life than I am to pick lice out of my girls’ hair. The way that I’m desensitized to lice is vastly different from His genuine desire to rid us of the parasites that are biting us and sucking the lifeblood from our spirituality. He is fully aware of the damage little things do and found that it was worth dying to redeem us from. Las Lilas taught me that it’s almost impossible to get all your own lice out, but it’s incredibly effective when someone else does it for you. Likewise, all we have to ask God is, “¿Usted puede sacar mis piojos?” (“Can You remove my lice?”)

Thank goodness: lice combs have been around for at least 4,000 years! May these metal combs root out the lice from the hair of everyone in Familia Feliz.

Love from the lice (and the lice-laden),

Katie-Jane

🤍