I walked swiftly down the path. Through the sunlight flickering off the rustling leaves of the guava trees I could see the kids slinking up. I felt the adrenaline surge. This was my time. The kids always stole our guavas. I knew how to stop them. All I had to do was catch one and beat him up like any good Nangjere man would do and the theft would stop. Unfortunately, for some reason beating up on small children has been something I‚ve never been able to do. Now, if it was the pigs that came scrounging for worms every morning. I could beat them up without a qualm. The only problem is they're too fast. You'd never think it to see them, but they're fast.
The kid in the tree saw me. Two things happened simultaneously: one, I kicked off my flip flops and began to lope towards the tree while, two, the boy almost fell out of the tree in his hurry to get down. His watchman took off and quickly veered left. I was hot on the tail of the second, the one who'd actually been in the tree.
A few days before I thought I'd found a solution. We watched from our screen window as a 12 or 13 year old took off one shoe, leaving the other shoe and both socks on, and climbed up the tree while his watchman stood casually by. Nathan went out the side door and ran up. Amazingly, for the first time ever, they didn't run. Everyone runs when Nasara comes anywhere close to where they are stealing guavas. They must've been new and didn't know the rules. So Nathan casually grabs his shoe. I follow close behind. I ask the boy how many guavas he's stolen. He looks confused. I explain that taking things that don't belong to you is called stealing. He nods and seems to understand. I notice two green guavas in his hand. I say, we'll keep your shoe here, you come back tomorrow to pay for the guavas and we'll give the shoe back.
He hangs around all afternoon with a small crowd of boys eager to see how the drama will unfold.
Nathan and I are on my side later that afternoon and see another boy up a tree. We pounce easily and take his hat. He follows us to the porch where we are soon surrounded by boys of all ages and a ritual dance of bargaining begins. He claims its not stealing. He claims it is only one guava and since when we caught him he dropped it to the ground he didn't really take it. I ask how much guavas go for. The boys say 10 francs (about 2 pennies). Finally, we bargain down to 5 francs and he pays for the two guavas of the other boy, they get their hat and shoe back respectively, and I explain how we don't like stealing so if they want our guavas all they have to do is ask for them.
This boy I'm chasing obviously hasn't been informed of that. He just knows someone is chasing him and he needs to get away. He's in too much of a hurry. I pace myself. I keep up with him easily with a measured stride. He cuts down a pit where mud bricks have been harvested and falls getting up in almost the same motion as I circle the rim. He ascends the other side with me know hotly on his heels. We enter an opening in a mud brick wall and circle around a hut into a courtyard. Â I can smell his fear. I know he's mine. He realizes he's in a dead end. He finds a narrow break behind a pile of reed mats. I cut him off. He stops behind the mats. Only the mats protects him from what he is sure is a severe beating. He begs for forgiveness then makes a break for it. I'm only a few feet behind. The pigs are his ruin.
You see, everywhere a small patch of water gathers, there the pigs will gather as well wallowing deep in with silly grins plastered on their snouts. When our outside faucet leaked last spring the melodious sounds of contentedly snorting pigs never ceased to freshen the airwaves as they kept it boggy. The pig's snuggling down keeps the wallow wet and slick even when all around has dried out.
Our friend met his wallow. With a look of surprise and terror he went down fast and hard skidding along the slime for a good 5 feet on his belly. I was on him in a second. I grabbed his wrist and pulled him up out of the bog. Come with me. He couldn't do anything but comply because of his fear even though I barely had his wrist with one hand. I had no idea what I was going to do with him but it had been good sport by the powers. He finally realized my weak grip and broke free only to trip and fall within 10 feet. By then the crowd has gathered and I explained again that while we don't like stealing we don't mind if they eat our guavas if they ask. I release him.
Between chasing them from our guava trees, playing basketball on our leaning tower of hoop and playing guitar and drums on the porch, we have gained quite a following among the local kids who never cease to tirelessly yell out "jay-mmm-suh, jay-mmm-suh, lalé, lapia, lalé" as they wave joyously anytime we pass or hang out. They are dirty, naked, barefoot, ragged, cheery, playful, mischievous, tireless, incorrigible and about the cutest to be found anywhere.
Since that day, one tiny little 6 year old boy never fails to come up every day and with a big grin ask in broken French, "Je mange les guyabes??" We of course say, "Oui, eat all you want"
James
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