another post dated story. i'll get more information about mid-service training soon.
I was in Idrissa’s office when it started. I was there inviting him as my counterpart to Mid-Service Training. Walking back to the front of the office, where the benches are and most people spend most of their time, I hear the sounds of unfamiliar voices. To be more precise, I hear voices that are unfamiliar for the location.
I round the corner and see a mass of people standing underneath the large tree out front. I can only pick out random words and can make no sense of what I do understand. I can read the faces and body language of the group only enough to know that something is wrong.
Deciding that I didn’t want to stand around any longer not knowing what is truly going on I return to the shaded benches in the entrance way of the office. It’s too hot to stand around anyway. I watch for a while longer. More people show up. School is out for the year and more and more school-aged kids appear, making up the majority of the crowd.
Only a few, besides those originally posted under the tree, wear concerned looks. One of the concerned is a shop owner on the main road through the village. The other volunteers in the area and I do most of our non market day bush shopping at his shop. Lachlan keeps the shop’s tea inventory dangerously close to non-existent and we all buy a little something to try and break our larger bills. He hates departing with his coins but likes his repeat customers.
The crowd begins shifting and spreading out, though no one is leaving. I ask one of my coworkers what is going on. He tells me in Hausa that there was a thief. Then, another tells me in French as if the other man hadn’t spoken. After that a third says in awkward English, “We have chief”. So I replied to all three, “Oh, thief, voleur, barawo”. I couldn’t believe it. I’d always thought that I could leave my house unlocked. I lock it, but I always felt that it wasn’t necessary.
The shop owner is chatting with the office guard. The guard’s job is more guardian in the traditional Hausa role than a security officer. He makes the tea every day, sweeps the conference room, and is always around to run an errand for someone else. Now his task is to call the mayor. No answer.
The crowd shifts about and I catch my first glimpse of the young thief, a boy on the front side of his teen years. His head down, heavy with the great responsibility of carrying this shame, and his arms tied behind his back. The crowd stares and ignores him. Staring ensures that he feels his shame and ignoring him leaves him thinking that they thought he would always be a thief.
“Le numéro est indisponible” or whatever the recording says when someone’s phone is off or without service. Someone else tried to reach Mr. le Maire again this time using speaker phone.
The shop owner is visibly irritated that he can’t go about his day because no one is there to decide what to do with the boy. I guess it is hard enough not to take matters into your own hands when you find someone breaking into your home. Some one else attempts a phone call.
Headed east into town the shop owner, with thief by his side, walk. The crowd parades behind them. I ask a few questions to those who remained in the shade. Apparently I’m not asking the right questions. “That way” pointing east was not the answer I was looking for when I asked where they were taking him.
That’s ok because moments later they return to the large bedi tree in front of the office. Now, the boy is leaning his shoulder hard into the tree, staring at his feet as if they contain the last bit of dignity left in his body and if he looks away, even for a moment, he will lose that. He’s afraid. He’s trying to hide it, but I doubt that there is a single person here who can’t see through it.
With their toy cars made of millet stalk, old tomato paste cans, and old bits of flip-flops the younger boys continue to filter in. Some one else shows their effort by the use of speaker phone.
The shop owner has come to sit with us in the shade on the benches in the entrance to the office. A few young girls have shown up to try and sell food. As best as I can tell we are all waiting on the mayor. Another unsuccessful speaker phone attempt.
Another twenty minutes pass and the crowd has thinned out except for the shop owner, thief, office workers, a handful of children and myself. The boy, still leaning against the tree looked up and we made contact. It was only for a moment, but I’m certain I saw his last shred of dignity blow away in the hot breeze.
An hour passes and although I noticed no comings or goings, the crowd is back thrice as strong. Everyone is mocking the boy by ignoring him or making light chatter about the situation. How embarrassing? Now I’m beginning to feel uncomfortable about all this. I wish the mayor would show up so that we can get some resolution to all of this.
It all seemed fun like a vigilante act at first. Tie ‘em up, then call the sheriff. Parading a thief up and down the street seems as good a socializing act as any. If you don’t want to be paraded up and down the street, don’t steal. That rule sounds easy enough to follow. But, that didn’t make it any easier to watch.
Rainy season usually marks the beginning of the hunger season. Outside of the rising global food costs, hunger season is an annual occurrence here as the last year’s millet supplies dwindle making it difficult for people to find food. Many of my villagers have stopped eating three meals a day and have even stopped eating twice a day resorting to one daily meal. I’ve heard in other villages that people are eating only once every 2-3 days. This one meal is usually just a millet dish with some kind of sauce and doesn’t exactly cover the bases on the food pyramid.
I don’t know what this young boy was accused of taking, but regardless of what it was it is hard to justify theft in a society where everyone is being pressed by hunger season. It’s equally hard to get upset when someone steals food because they are starving.
It’s also hard to argue with the community’s decision to allow the boy to be tied up and paraded around town. Why would you risk all of that humiliation and shame, unless you really needed something?
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Jacmel
16 years ago
