Boys and Puppies

A couple of months ago I was cycling through Rumphi, passed a friends house, noticed one of his dogs puppies loitering outside and decided to pop by and check on them. The litter of five had set up shop in an old, and sealed, outhouse shit-pit. Not very hygienic, but their Ugandan owner, like many things, had a very different sentimental and cultural attachment towards them than me. I picked up the first, a fluffy feisty black mutt, and noticed a large zit like sore on its belly. Being a bit of a sicko and out of pure curiosity I decided to give it a little squeeze. I nearly vomited when a wriggling white maggot popped out easily onto the dusty yard floor. I pushed a few more out of his body and inspected the other pups for more, extracting maybe another 15 from bellies, tails, eyes, heads. Apparently this affliction is quite common and can arise in humans, occurring when Putsi flies lay their eggs in any available living flesh. I was traumatised by the experience and for a week or so relayed the story to anyone who would listen, going into great detail about how I felt and what it was like. I was affected so much, that for a day or so, I could hardly think of anything else, perpetually relaying the image in my head.

Yesterday I was walking back from work and was attracted by a commotion in the grounds of the Ilala Bay Lodge, a defunct hotel nestled between the lakeshore and Nkhata Bay town. I was told what had happened, and again out of a sick curiosity, followed the crowd to its object. By the beach of the hotel a dilapidated jetty juts awkwardly into the lake, everyday young lads jape about using the platform as a jumping stage. As I mingled closer with the expectant and edging crowd I saw a few guys carrying the limp body of a 13-year-old drowned boy, in blue shorts, and laying it on the ground. His face was covered, and once the immediate row of onlookers got their fill, they filed back and made way for the next row to cop an eyeful of his carcass. A few metres away the obligatory wailing relative had shown up, being tenderly, yet ineffectively consoled by his mates. I remember noticing how small the boys’ nipples were. Strange. With a shrug of my shoulder I wandered off in search of a shower and some food. I didn’t think about it once until chatting with a mate about our respective days a couple of hours later.

A day later, I still feel rather sober and un-emotional about it all. What is bothering me is just that. What have I become if witnessing the aftermath of a child drowning leaves little impression on me? How come squeezing a few maggots out of a dumb animal affects me more? Have I really become so de-sensitised to death? And an un-tainted childs’ death at that? I have just spent the last 20 minutes lying naked on my bed, under a green mosquito net this time, contemplating the previous six lines. That awful and incessant Shakira tune from a nearby bar punctuating the lulling tones of the surrounding crickets and assorted insects. I have just squashed a travelling ant that was navigating my keyboard. Itching my bites. Clearly, as shown by my diversionary attempts to write about anything other that that dead kid, I am no closer to an answer. Maybe it is because I never saw his face.

I have written about this before, but death is everywhere. A few weeks back I saw a screaming mama going to pick her dead son up, killed by a bar to his head in a senseless pub brawl. A day later a mates’ mate was run down whilst stumbling drunkenly home. I’ve got a couple [that I know] of Malawian acquaintances with the effectively slow death sentence of HIV/AIDS. A friends’ colleague, Alice, disappeared from work to go and die near her family in Mzuzu. Apparently one of the three major posters in ‘Teacher Development Centre’ staff rooms gives the protocol of how to manage the logistics of a teachers’ death. Can you imagine that? The issue of teachers dying on their students is so common that a poster goes up addressing it. It’s like some committee deciding that Special Needs assessment, school library set-up, and oh yeah, teacher kicking the bucket, are the three most relevant topics to publicise.

Odd … I don’t really know where to go from here. Think I’m going to power the laptop down and power down myself. Work tomorrow.