Scattered feathers in my garden bothered me.
They had
not been around when I went to bed the night before; which was late. Three
o’clock. Puzzling. Through the kitchen
window I noticed fresh blood; still clear like when you accidentally spill any
red liquid. Wine. Ink. Juice. I opened the door to explore. Perhaps there
might be a wounded creature. Staggering. Many smaller, fresh feathers, white
and grey, laid by the door step. Soft
like cotton wool. A wing with a slightly
broken bone laid by the corner, close to the wooden wall separating my
neighbour’s house. It was troubling. I was curious. How did the
pigeon get killed? Foxes? But how would
a fox kill a pigeon? Surely the bird could have flown off. No. This was a bigger bird. Big birds of prey: pelicans and seagulls that
attack pigeons across London.
It brought childhood memories, growing on the slopes
of Mount Kilimanjaro; witnessing hawks and falcons diving in to catch terrified
chicken. My mother used to dislike falcons. Mwewe.
Chickens would shriek and warn each other.
Warning, worrying and terror is the life of birds.
On this
very same day as I sat, sipping tea, I observed a man with a determined
expression on TV speaking to journalists in French. I had not seen him since
2007. His son had been found dead in a Paris hotel. Allegedly, asphyxiated to death. Death. King
of all horrible deeds.
Brahim
Deby, 27 year old son of Chad’s President Idriss Deby Itno (pictured above) was allegedly
murdered by a fire extinguisher. I recall watching the news on the French
channel seven years ago. Now President
Idriss Deby was on the news again, nonetheless, with a different message. Chad
is rarely on the news.
“We shall show that Africa is capable...” President
Idriss was saying. Fresh hope for what is going on in Northern Nigeria. No
other leader has recently spoken with such confidence since Boko Haram began
murdering citizens in September 2010.
