Of Rats And Thieves!
Two days ago, Mich asked me to feel his shaky tooth. He said when it fell out, he would place it on top of the fridge so the rat would find it (a school theory no doubt). Then as though he had an aha! moment he said – “mummy, we shouldn’t kill rats because they will not be able to bring our gifts”. So, that is the new campaign in our household.
Once, my grandma in Serere told me about a huge rat that crept into huts and snuck off with utensils. Over time, cups, plates and ladles were noted missing. The rat would dig holes in the ground where it would hoard its loot. I don’t know how the things were traced but I imagine in folk tales, the rat would be caught and asked to lead the villagers to the hot spot. Mich has no clue what he is asking for.
And now to the real stuff that is making me boil. You see, in Africa, when a man is caught in adultery, tress passing or in some kind of wrongful activity, we get upset, we raise our voices but it’s soon forgotten. When a man is caught stealing, he is beaten to a pulp and set on fire. People walking passed passionately add their two blows without a clue of what the thief stole. Stealing ticks people off. The anger, rage and feeling of violation that they experience with thieves in their lives provoke them to pitch in. One thief caught is an ambassador for all the others who slipped away.
A thief invades personal space. He is an abuser. He doesn’t ask for permission, he snatches, takes what is not his. A thief kills and destroys, invades privacy, crushes our spirits and leaves suspicious, enraged, disgusted people all around.
Everything we own has a story; you recall how it came into your possession. It may have been a gift, something you saved up for - denying yourself of certain pleasures to purchase it, or maybe it’s a sentimental piece, valuable because of who gave it to you or who it reminds you of.
Out of desperation I have wished for a chance to negotiate with “my thieves”; to tell them - take the money but leave my ID, take the bag but leave my school notes, my contacts, my passport. That is the manner with which a thief brings me to my knees. I understand the fury that erupts when a painter’s half finished piece is stolen, a writer’s third draft manuscript is gone, a pupil’s pencil disappears, a business man is conned of his capital, and the 500 shilling coin is missing. It sucks!
Once, my grandma in Serere told me about a huge rat that crept into huts and snuck off with utensils. Over time, cups, plates and ladles were noted missing. The rat would dig holes in the ground where it would hoard its loot. I don’t know how the things were traced but I imagine in folk tales, the rat would be caught and asked to lead the villagers to the hot spot. Mich has no clue what he is asking for.
And now to the real stuff that is making me boil. You see, in Africa, when a man is caught in adultery, tress passing or in some kind of wrongful activity, we get upset, we raise our voices but it’s soon forgotten. When a man is caught stealing, he is beaten to a pulp and set on fire. People walking passed passionately add their two blows without a clue of what the thief stole. Stealing ticks people off. The anger, rage and feeling of violation that they experience with thieves in their lives provoke them to pitch in. One thief caught is an ambassador for all the others who slipped away.
A thief invades personal space. He is an abuser. He doesn’t ask for permission, he snatches, takes what is not his. A thief kills and destroys, invades privacy, crushes our spirits and leaves suspicious, enraged, disgusted people all around.
Everything we own has a story; you recall how it came into your possession. It may have been a gift, something you saved up for - denying yourself of certain pleasures to purchase it, or maybe it’s a sentimental piece, valuable because of who gave it to you or who it reminds you of.
Out of desperation I have wished for a chance to negotiate with “my thieves”; to tell them - take the money but leave my ID, take the bag but leave my school notes, my contacts, my passport. That is the manner with which a thief brings me to my knees. I understand the fury that erupts when a painter’s half finished piece is stolen, a writer’s third draft manuscript is gone, a pupil’s pencil disappears, a business man is conned of his capital, and the 500 shilling coin is missing. It sucks!
I have encountered 4 types of thieves.
Hobby snitcher – They see something nice and think it would be great to add to their collection - it’s gone!
Desperate snitcher - “Man! I am hungry. Kato’s chicken will have to do, I will pray for forgiveness afterwards”.
Killer – “Your money or your life”
Kleptomaniac – He will pick anything that is not nailed down. He gets a rush from taking stuff.
Since I got back, a phone and a camera have gone missing arrrggg!!!
a phone and a camera...oh no.....
ReplyDeleteEverytime i go home am given the same speech..Hold you hand bag close....
hows k'la?
UG - Kampala is same old as you can see. Thanks for checking, how are you?
ReplyDeleteThat pic has given me chills...you are right sometimes i feel like negotiating with the thieves who take valuables..like please just take everything and leave that so and so, it does suck
ReplyDelete