the neighborhood hit list

Whoa. Looks like our cat Rock Star is causing serious shidas (problems) in the neighborhood. Should've seen this one coming: this morning, during lazy hours on my day off, I heard a distressed cheeping coming from the living room. Sure enough, Rocky had dragged an entire live chicken into the house and proceeded to eat it in the corner. It was disgusting. He left nothing but a scattering of feathers. And this definitely isn't the first time he's preyed on neighborhood fowl.

Fast forward about seven hours; I'm home alone. There was loud knocking on our gate and an angry-sounded woman speaking rapid Swahili was on the other side. Our dog Kili was barking. "Fungua mbwa kwanzaa!" (something like, "take care of the dog first!") I put Kili inside, opened the gate, and saw an irate mama standing there, holding, well, a dead chicken. I understood from her language and gestures that I was to come with her, so I hurried inside to grab my keys and rejoined her outside the gate.

As neighborhood children looked on with interest, she angrily told me that this morning ("leo asubuhi!") alone, MY cat ("paka yako!") had slain four ("nne!") of her chicken ("kuku!"). She frequently used the dead chicken in her hands for emphasis, showing me its limp neck and spreading its dead wings. Chickens here are quite scraggly, and no one has the money to pump them with feed like we do at home, so it was a pitiful sight.

Though she spoke too quickly for me to truly follow, I got her drift. I tsk-tsked, shook my head, and looked grim. "Mbaya sana, mama. Samahani sana, mama." (It's really bad ... please forgive me, Mother.) But that was definitely not enough. Her response was something along the lines of: You can samahani all you want, but I am PISSED!

She led me to her house, a one-room shanty-type house right next door to ours. A young woman sat nearby with a few kids, and soon the woman's son emerged, and people's speeches began to include the universal symbol for murder: the finger drawn across the throat. The dada (sister) introduced herself in English as Mary, and translated for me: "She wants you to pay for these chickens. And if you do not do something, he will kill that cat!"

In broken Swahili, I explained that I don't speak the language very well, but that my sisters Erica and Liza do. "Atarudi kesho asabuhi," I said -- "She'll return tomorrow morning."

These kuku are probably this mama's livelihood -- she may sell eggs to neighborhood vendors, and certainly must eat the eggs and meat -- and it makes sense to pay for them. But now I'm stuck in the house, with no idea about Rocky's whereabouts, just hoping he doesn't go next door for his FIFTH helping! Jamani!

... And now my electricity's out. This has been the most African hour of my week, hands-down.