Dr. Jose Chameleon

I mentioned in the previous post a certain dog by the name of Zorro. And I must apologize for stating such rude things about his mental capacity as I did without any sort of background. You see, he has recently proven himself a little short of brain cells in a certain incident involving a potentially deadly reptilian horror. Let me back up.

In the beginning (of this story), there existed a snake about as big around as my pinky finger and as long perhaps as, say, a yardstick. Now this snake was knotted in a great tangled mess about eight feet up in a tree which had previously been the habitat of a certain chameleon. Yet, for the sake of the hungering belly of the reptilian monstrosity, the chameleon had consented in the most contradictory sense, to be swallowed whole as a late afternoon snack. The venomous viper, however, didn’t quite know what he was getting himself into and seemed to bite off more than he could chew. Quite literally, in fact. In other words, for about ten minutes he was completely immobilized by a chameleon five times as big around as he hanging half out of his mouth. My brothers, mother, Cosmas, Akol and I stood about the base of said tree for said amount of time while we waited for said snake to swallow said chameleon just enough to completely impede him from any free movement, without even the option of spitting the chameleon back out again to save his life. (You see, we have much experience with snakes vomiting their prey down on us from up in trees. One snake vomited four baby birds just before his death all of which Zorro consumed soon after. But that is another story)

When the snake had swallowed all but the tail of the poor heroic chameleon, Cosmas and Akol had us wazungu, who have as everyone knows absolutely no aim whatsoever, gather up quite a pile of stones and bricks with which to pelt the snake. We did so and I would like to attribute a good portion of the success of the execution to our stone-gathering efforts. But it was after the thing had been expertly knocked to the ground that our dear Mexican hero, Zorro, decided to step in. He waltzed right up to the thing, sniffed, poked with a grubby paw, and refused to flinch as the viper flung itself up into an offensive position and darted its head back and forth, fangs bared and tongue whistling. It looked exactly like a hooded cobra does before it strikes, only pathetically lacking in the head gear department. If only his pathetic appearance was worse than his bite. I fear to report that had it not been for the following actions performed by Cosmas, our dear dog would be no more. But it seems the dog feared the pain of stoning more than death by a mamba, and so he was convinced to hop out of the way just in time. We then completed the task of beating the snake’s head till the poison ran from his fangs and sank into the earth, never to slow the heart of another beast.

As a result of this fearful ordeal, our dear Zorro has rejected any caution he may have learned from it, and to this day has gained absolutely no wisdom as concerns potentially deadly serpentine horrors. And in case you were wondering, the title of this blog post has absolutely nothing to do with the story, besides the obvious fact that they both contain the word chameleon. Dr. Jose Chameleon is in fact the name of a musician who has, as far as I know, no reptilian connections.

A tragically comical comedic tragedy

I have discovered that it is completely impossible to sleep in past seven here. There is always something happening even early in the morning, be it howling dogs, prayer meetings or people coming to work early because their watch is broken and then deciding to sweep the porch outside my window whistling really loud. This morning was one of these mornings when I was awoken earlier than I wanted to be (but then I don’t think I’m ever that eager to wake up). I’m pretty sure this morning was just about the only time in my entire life I have ever literally leapt out of bed. Now, I wouldn’t exactly call myself a brilliant person, this being a direct result of the ownership of a certain brain that takes a good lot more road trips then the average sane person. BUT sometimes I can actually logically deduce things with surprising accuracy even within the confines of a few groggy half-asleep seconds. And it was on one of these rare occasions that I awoke this morning to the sound of feet pat-a-pat-patting quick as anything past my window. I simply put two and two together and translated the resulting four into a completely logical conclusion. The only people running around outside that early in the morning are the guards and the only reason they would be running was if they were chasing something. So I jumped out of bed, ran to the window and pressed my pillow-imprinted face against the cold glass. I saw three blanketed forms silhouetted in the darkness. There was a shout and a fourth came rushing through the gate that connects our compound and the Wright’s. Zorro, the youngest and by far the stupidest of our three dogs, came bolting out of the thorn bushes that line our compound, either chasing something or having a neck-to-neck race with himself. He then did several summersaults to the great amusement of the now five guards who followed quickly behind him, their bows cocked and loaded. I saw a flash of white, heard the surprised shouts of the guards and pathetic barking of Zorro, and then all seven dashed out of the range that the window had permitted my vision. By seven I now mean the seven parties involved: five jovial night watchmen, one very excited dog, and a slightly crumpled but none-the-less incredibly agile honey badger.

As I mentioned, the window prohibited me from watching any more of the tragic comedy…or is it a comedic tragedy? I can never tell. All of Shakespeare’s comedies ended with weddings and all of his tragedies ended with funerals so I’m not really sure how to judge each one. Well, I suppose this story did end with a funeral of sorts, but there definitely was no wedding in it…they skipped straight to the feast. I of course only heard of these things (though from a very reliable source). I really don’t understand why they didn’t invite me to feast on their triumphant spoils with them. I mean, come on…it’s a honey badger. Need I say more?

dear anna

Dear Anna Williams,

Once upon a time I wrote you a letter. Then I gave it to Dad to mail down in Mbale. Dad put the letter on the dashboard and set out. Much to his assumption, a greater part of the road was muddy and had already caused not a few trucks to get immovably stuck, so he decided to go around them. As you already know, the roads here are not like the roads in America. But not only are they made of dirt. When it rains, they become death traps of mud. And not only are they death traps of mud, they are mountainous death traps of mud. In other words, if you are not traveling in the exact center of the road (and sometimes not even then) then you are most likely tilting drastically sideways. So, if you are My Dad, and you are driving around several stuck lories in the road, and there is a letter on the dashboard, and the window is open, then unless the letter is stuck with glue, it will most likely not stay in the same spot. So Anna, if you get an envelope in the mail with the address written in my Dad’s handwriting and upon opening it you discover a flat piece of hardened mud that is remarkably rectangular, just know that it is not a strange souvenir from your crazy friend in Africa, but it is actually what used to be an envelope. Upon opening it, you will hopefully find a letter. Hopefully. It may not look like a letter. It may not look like anything. But trust me…it definitely was a letter at one point.

Your friend, Maria