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| Hawa and some of her sibs, coming through the compound to get water |
I
was chopping onions furiously, turning my head ever so slightly to the right as
to not catch a draft of the stinging fumes, when I heard Hawa’s familiar
voice. “Jonifa? Ita kweis…” Knowing that my ever-curious
(ever-loitering) thirteen-year-old neighbor didn’t merely want to know how I
was doing, I put down the knife, brushed my wet hands on my skirt, and went out
to see what she needed. Expecting
her to ask for some old clothes or a jerry can, I only half-listened to her,
waiting for the moment when I could tell her (like I do every week) that the
team only gives out items on Friday.
However, amidst her jumbled Arabic, one word stood out more clearly
above the rest— “debiiba” – snake. My ears perked up. After listening some more, I got the gist that a big snake was
in her house and she needed someone to come and kill it. “I am scared,” she kept repeating. I was beginning to fear that it was
only Hawa and her toddler siblings there at the compound. I called Rooney over, who was doing
some handiwork for John that afternoon.
We picked up a hoe and weed slasher and set out at a brisk pace to get
this snake before it slithered its way back into the bush.
Upon
walking into the compound, I noticed that the majority of the family was there,
including some young men. Under my
breath I asked Rooney, “And why are the men not trying to kill it?...” We walked with the guys over to the
snake’s location, ready to offer our services as experienced, brave,
snake-killing machines. Our guides
stopped about fifteen feet from the entrance of the tukul, not daring to go an
inch closer. Rooney and I both moved closer, squinting into the dark hut to see the snake. As my eyes adjusted to see it, I gave a
guttural shriek and turned away covering my mouth, like some damsel in an old
horror film. The thing was
huge. It was like python-huge,
like something I’ve only seen in books or on television. I don’t tend to be very scared of
snakes; however, this was something I did not want to see coiled up inside my neighbor’s bedroom—it was just too
unnatural. Of course, I am in
Africa, so it kind of comes with the territory.
I
quickly decided that the tools we had were not nearly long enough to reach this
thing from a safe distance, so I ran back to get the 20-foot hoe, which has been
used in the past by “Snake Killah” Melissa to behead snakes. In typical African fashion, I returned
to the neighbor’s home with three extra people in tow. (The Bishop’s teenage sons had just
killed their own snake twenty minutes prior and were eager to make another
kill.) As we trekked back to Hawa’s
compound, Joseph exclaimed, “Watch out, Jack!” Looking ahead, where I expected to see another snake, I saw
Duniya, the neighbors’ little dog, trotting up to Jack. “You are scared of the tiny dog?!” I asked incredulously. “That dog is crazy,” stated Jack. Duniya is NOT crazy—merely curious and
playful at times. I couldn’t
believe that, here we were, about to kill a venomous snake, and the guys were
more concerned with a puppy.
However, minutes later, when the boys got a look at the chunky, spotted
snake, they too shuddered and shrank back in fear. It looked like it was going to have to be a whole group
effort.
The
boys and I surrounded the tukul with our weapons of choice, ranging from bamboo
poles to bricks to bows and arrows. (I personally prefer the normal sized
garden hoe. It is long enough to
keep your distance, while having enough heavy metal on the end to slam down and
decapitate the creature of choice.)
Joseph, Bishop’s middle child and thinker of the group, stated, “We need
to create a plan.” He was
right. Rushing at the thing with
all of our weapons would only cause confusion and injury on our part. We had little margin for error, given
that the snake was a Puff Adder, the most poisonous of all the snakes in S.
Sudan. I made sure to reiterate
that tidbit of information every time a boy got overzealous and wanted to get a
closer look at the situation. We
didn’t need to look any closer—the situation was clear. A puff adder was lounging on the
windowsill of my neighbors’ tukul. Although deadly, Puff Adders are quite
slow. I advised the boys that
whatever they chose to do would be a helpful step in slowing the snake down to
a lumbering speed. Then we could
worry about making the deadly blow.
I
stood at the back end of the hut, in case the snake decided to retreat out
through the windowsill and into the bush.
We all held our breath as Hawa’s older brother brought out his trusty
monkey-slaying bow and arrow and took aim. The first shot missed and hit the thatched roof. The second shot was spot on. The snake dropped down, fully inside
the tukul, and we all rushed around to the front to see it. It was curled up in the back corner,
under the bed. Tough-guy-Rooney
then took the reigns of the operation and began stabbing away at the thing,
using the safe but sure 20-ft hoe.
It was quite a process. The
snake would torque its body around to best absorb the blows with its muscular
end. Rooney could not break the
skin on the thing. Eventually, he
got some good bludgeons in and dragged the near-dead snake out into the open
for a proper beheading. I stepped
up to be the one, but still couldn’t break through its neck, even when putting
all of my body weight into the hoe.
Eventually, Joseph jumped up, got some air and momentum, and slammed
down into the Puff Adder, taking its head clean off. VICTORY! Man
beats Nature yet again! Iya,
Hawa’s mom, was overjoyed.
Everyone gawked over the carcass of the puff adder (which had a
surprisingly short body, given how thick it was). Joseph and Jack took the head back to their home for
bragging rights and for the opportunity to torment Ferida, while she was trying
to cook dinner.
When I ask Sudanese children what they fear the most, they
all say “debiiba.” I guess that’s
not so different from the kids in the United States. However, when American children think of a scary snake, it
is often one from their nightmares, from the story in the picture book or on a
television show. It’s that elusive
monster that someday just may crawl out of the closet and slither into your
bed. For the children here, it is
a reality, but they don’t let it stop them from living their lives from day to
day. A snake is just another
living thing that God has put in South Sudan. So they accept it. And respect it. And thank God for everyday that He wakes them up to see the
sunrise and traverse across the green land to get their morning water… although
they may now be watching more carefully as they walk through the tall
grass.
The Lord will keep you from all harm--
He will watch over your life.
-Psalm 121:7
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