I REMEMBER SIMBA...

I remember when our neighbor, Mr. Makhuyu proudly brought Simba’s lifeless body in a sack ready to collect his bounty from my father. A bounty that had been issued almost a year before this sad, sad day. There was an air of loss coupled with a sense of relief that hung uncomfortably in our compound that day. I come from a traditional African home. We do not mourn the death of animals and especially not those ones that had practically terrorized the whole village and made my father pay two hospital bills on their account. Simba was not always the terrorist dog and in my opinion, it only harassed those who were in places they should not have been and during hours they were supposed to be home. After a brief inspection to confirm that the lifeless dog in the sack was Simba, a shallow grave was dug and Simba roughly bundled inside. Mr. Makhuyu was paid his dues- a tidy sum of Ksh. 500-this was too much in relation to the work done. Life went on as usual. The villagers once again felt safe with Simba gone. I acknowledge the irony in that statement but that was how it was in my small village.

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My family moved to the small sleepy village of Ejinja when I was just ten years old. It was about ten kilometers from the town center and it had no electricity at the time. My parents would later explain to us that the move had been extremely necessary owing to the outrageous rent mother’s landlord had suddenly subjected them to. I say mothers landlord because my mother is a secondary school teacher and at the time we were privileged to live in a three bed roomed housed in the school compound. My father who was also a secondary school teacher at the time was posted in a different town and would only visit us every fortnight. Life was good in the town. We had electricity. The entire school compound was fenced and had a big gate which was constantly manned by two watchmen. We could walk freely at night without worrying about our safety. My father often arrived a couple of hours after sunset whenever he came to visit us without worrying whether he was safe or not. All we had to worry about was our homework and not being left by the school van in the morning.

My mother called my two siblings and I for a small meeting to prepare us for the move. She made us feel like we had a say on the move by tolerating all of the demands we stipulated in order for us to agree to the move. One of the most memorable points of discussion that I hold to this day was my mother’s promise to buy us all types of toys once we moved to the house. This was justified by the fact that we would be staying in our own house and therefore she would have more money to spend on our toys. The thing with me is that I hold to promises very seriously and even though it has been more than two decades since the move, a part of me still holds my mother at fault for not fulfilling her promise.

First of all, we did not have electricity. We had to do most of our chores before the sun set or else we would have to either grapple in the dark looking for what we needed or alternatively use the faint light from the dimly lit lanterns to do essential chores like cooking and washing utensils.( My mother insisted that we wash all the utensils before we went to bed). Here in the village, for the first time in our lives, we had to take care of our own security. We had to be in the house and stay in the house after a certain time. We could not walk around after sunset because it was risky especially for a girl like me. This was strange but we had to live with it.

One of the biggest changes was my father coming to live with us. This was also a move geared towards ensuring our safety. Having a man in the house was tantamount to being safe. This is an unwritten code in the village. People thought twice about bothering a home that had a present man.

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One of the most exciting things about our move happened when my father came home one late evening with a brown and snow white furry little puppy. He was so cute. My mother allowed us to keep him in the house for the night before he would be moved to his kernel a few meters away from the house. She would allow us to have him in the house every evening to feed him milk. This routine quickly faded as responsibilities increased and the cute furry friend began to develop into a dog. He would now stay in his kernel through the day and be released at night to carry out the duties for which he had brought there. He was a security dog. My father allowed us to name him. My brother who was more knowledgeable than all of in matters dog named him Simba.

Simba is Swahili for lion and in connotes a fierce animal. In my village, the definition of a fierce dog was one that barked loudly and fearlessly whenever an intruder entered the compound.  This was Simba. From a very early age, he quickly earned the reputation of being fierce. The older he got, the more serious he took his “fierce” role. When he was old enough, like a human teenager, he began to set his own rules rebelling against the one set by my father.

First, Simba refused to sleep in his kernel. I think he found it too small and uncomfortable. In retrospect, my father should have at least built him a patio for him to bask on during the day. Simba always preferred to sleep outside his kernel. Secondly, Simba decided to begin his night time duties at 6.30 pm. Word quickly spread around the village that our compound was out of bounds from 6.30 pm to 6.30 am. We did not mind this schedule because people in the village can be a bit overbearing as far as visits were concerned. The line between privacy and friendly neighborliness are often blurred in the village set up.

Simba was an ambitious dog, one who took his job very seriously.  Soon, the confines of our compound became too small. Simba began to patrol the whole village. Many villagers reported to have met him when they stepped out of their houses within the working hours of Simba. He would fiercely bark at them, forcing them to quickly retreat to their houses. Since Simba had  even moved out of our home, there was little we could do to help the matter. Simba was still the protector of our home. We would hear him bark at night. Also, my parents who would sometimes return home after dark were still welcomed with a happy bark and an enthusiastic jump by Simba. We just did not know where he spent his days.

Like all protagonists in a movie, Simba had a weak point and in this case, it would end up costing his life. He began biting villagers .He would attack so stealthily and just when the victim thought they were cool, he would quickly pounce on them.  He would then innocently walk away. I have to mention that most dogs in the village are not immunized against anything. There are no vets assigned to dogs. Dogs were primarily kept in the home to beef up security. They ate ugali, soup and leftover bones. Occasionally, dogs would enjoy more bones if its owners attended some kind of ceremony; usually a funeral or a wedding. A dog was not meant to add unnecessary expenses on the family. The point I am making is that Simba was not immunized and so these bites he was inflicting on people were potentially fatal. My parents had to bear the cost of treatment for its victims. They also had to deal with the constant fear that any of the victims would develop a potentially fatal complication like a rabies infection. This was a precarious position to be in. It was a no brainer; Simba had to be put down. A bounty was put out.

Little did we know how difficult it was going to be to kill Simba. He was able to evade the many traps even experienced village dog killers set. Amazingly, Simba still reported to work albeit a bit later. He adjusted his working hours to later in the night and called it a night in the wee hours of the morning. This was understandable because his life was on the line. He was a wanted “man”. The villagers tried giving him poisoned meat on the premise that he was a stray dog. He was sure to be hungry. Simba did not touch the kilo of fresh meat that had been set as a trap for him.

On the bright side, by account of the bounty, my father had relinquished ownership of Simba and would not be held accountable for any harm caused by the dog. This was the village way. Nobody questioned this position. Meanwhile, Simba still scared whoever he could and expertly avoided the hands of the bounty hunters for close to a year.

He must have let his guard down because after a successful year of running from village dog hunters, Simba was cornered in a rice field. He was captured and brutally murdered. The cause of death was blunt force trauma. He had been struck on the head by a strong bounty hunter who was obviously happy to kill. His name - Makhuyu. That was the end for the Simba.  

Need I say that my father has never found a dog so faithful and most importantly as fierce as Simba.