Burgled! A Chicken’s Karmic Revenge Or...Fight or Flight II: Adrenaline, My B.F.F.

Gentle Reader, I must apologize for never leading you on a tour of my humble abode in Salima. Tucked away among the teachers’ houses at the secondary school, I am parked very much in the center of town, in close proximity to a community football pitch, a quick walk to the markets, just off the tarmac, and a short stone’s throw away from my nearest neighbors. Lest when I say town your mind conjures urban images of parking lots and sidewalks and convenience stores, I should note that my house is surrounded by fields of maize and the most common visitors to cross the threshold of my fence are goats and chickens. Last night at 3 a.m., however, I discovered a visitor of another sort lurking within my sanctuary: a man.

It started when I awoke to the sound of rustling and scraping within the house. Since I live with approximately 34 lizards, 3000 spiders, and who knows how many roaches, such sounds are not unusual, though this was slightly louder than normal. Presuming a rat, I stumbled out of my bedroom to check if I had left food out. Crossing the living room, I flipped on the light switch near the front door. It was while standing there that I could see, behind the door to the half-open spare room, a man’s arm.

Suddenly I heard a low, seemingly drugged, guttural voice screaming: “Get out of my house! GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!” And then a few seconds later, I realized it was my own voice shouting, and I had crossed into the room, grabbed the man by his shoulders and was unlocking the door to shove him out. He was limp as liquid and moved dumbfounded as I screamed and screamed and screamed. I locked the door and kept on yelling… at him, the roaches, anybody else who might be hiding in the yard… it didn’t matter.

Then I called Hector. Hector is the Peace Corps security officer and a wonderful human being, who told me sensible things like: call your closest neighbor, drink some water, and you are okay now. He then called the police.

A whole troupe of neighbors, including my headmaster, came over and surveyed the scene, which included: one rattled Peace Corps Volunteer, three open windows, zero items of property missing, and on my front stoop a belt embossed with silver images of Mickey Mouse. (This afternoon a teacher told me he suspected this belt was a critical part of the intruder’s witchcraft, which was enlightening since I had imagined he merely forgot it there when he removed it to slide in through the window.) Of course I should mention all of my windows have burglar bars and it is not uncommon to leave some of them cracked during hot season. As it turns out, unfortunately, no one had noticed the burglar bars to the kitchen window were wide enough to fit the body of a man.

The school watchman was brought to stake a post at my house and, though I certainly didn’t sleep for the rest of the night, it was a comfort knowing he was there. My Dad chatted with me on the phone for a while, and calmed me down until I was able to convince myself that, despite my agitation, I was physically safe.

The day dawned, and I began to clean and purge. Only thinking back on it later, I realize my morning’s efforts began by sweeping outside under the kitchen window (where the intruder entered) and immediately next by attacking the space behind the spare room door where I found him. That room, mainly used for yoga, is also the home of my bicycle and an ever-growing pile of difficult to throwaway items that I had been storing, in vain, for the day when the recycling truck would show up to haul away used light bulbs, Priority Mail boxes, empty cartons of Jungle Oats, and yogurt containers. Separating the few things I thought I might actually use, I took the rest to the trash pit and set them ablaze in a bonfire of catharsis.

As for the culprit, I suspect I scared him as much as he scared me. He is still at large. I have spent no small amount of time puzzling about his intentions. Why was he in the mostly empty spare room, when he had passed my laptop, camera and wallet untouched? He was holding a white cloth in his left hand, which in my hysterics I assumed was covered in chloroform. Do criminals use chloroform in Malawi? Had he mistaken that room for mine, after tiptoeing past the open door of my own bedroom? What kind of criminal wears a white t-shirt and a Mickey Mouse belt? I did not recognize him. Since crime is more likely during the start and close of one’s service, why did he target me now, after so many months here? Last week he may have noticed me at the markets, some of which I rarely frequent, buying large quantities of food for the below-mentioned Permaculture Training, and maybe he thought I was loaded with cash. Or maybe he just liked my bike. Most of all, I wondered: Did I grossly miscalculate the karmic value of the chicken’s life I took last week? Was this my payment?

Anyhow, in the evening a day later, I have some new burglar bars, better hung curtains, and the comforting presence of the school’s watchman just outside the door. I have replaced the whistle next to my bed with a deafening personal alarm. This week I will get a reinforced door, hire a watchman just for my house and also hopefully have some lockable screens installed so that in the hot season I can breathe… safely.

Much gratitude to all of you folks for your love and concern. I was a bit shaken but am doing just fine.