Reality Shmeality

Chapter Sixteen

I had never seen so much dirt lining a shower before. I stepped out feeling like a new man, though my hands were on fire from the countless blisters and open wounds. I sat down at my new little workstation and pulled out some paper and pencils to sketch out new ideas. I sat there for a while tapping my foot while chewing on the pencil. I was drawing a blank. I was feeling unusually uninspired and couldn't think of anything other than Ana. I sent her an email to set up a time for a call and got back to work. I sketched out a dozen ideas before the throbbing in my hand forced me to call it quits.

The next couple of weeks were mirror images of that first day of digging. I was waking up early, taking the dalla out to Mvuleni, and breaking my back in the sun. The plots were starting to look a bit more hopeful and we were feeling somewhat proud of our progress. My blisters would scab over a tiny layer at night and tear back open the following day at the farm. It took a while to get used to it, but I finally developed some calluses that made me feel like everything was worth it. I had a pretty serious farmer's tan and I never really understood the expression redneck until then. I was becoming more and more resistant to the hard labor and was actually starting to feel more energetic and healthier than ever. Even Chris had lost quite a bit of weight in the short amount of time since we started the garden.

It was a momentous occasion when our hoes met in the middle of the final square and everything was tilled up. We jumped up and down in celebration and the guys from the construction crew gave us a standing ovation from the frame of the roof. I had no idea how to garden and just assumed that throwing seeds into the ground would be the next logical step but I was sadly mistaken.

"What we need to do now, or tomorrow rather, on account of the time and me being knackered, is go into town to find a mate who can set us up with cow manure. Lots and lots of cow shite is what we need." Chris explained that the dirt we had been hunched over with bloody palms for the past fifteen days was not the best for growing and we would need to mix in manure and water to make it a bit more hospitable for the seeds and future food.

As we made it back into town we noticed a commotion. A large group of locals gathered in a circle, and screams were coming from the middle. Chris could see that I was curious but wasn't following as I headed in that direction.

"Let's go see what's going on," I said, moving toward the group of locals.

"No thanks, mate. I already know what's going on. I'm good right here."

His answer concerned me a little but I was too curious to ignore the commotion. Thinking back, I wish I had stayed with Chris and avoided feeding my curiosity. I pushed my way toward the front of the crowd and saw a man surrounded by about a dozen other men. The others were taking turns beating him, using whatever it was they could get their hands on. At first they were punching and kicking. Next, others joined in and hit the man with a bicycle and another a wooden bench. To this day, I'm ashamed I stayed to watch. I was in a trance, completely unable to look away. After the man was hit with the bicycle he went down to the ground. As he struggled to stand up we locked eyes. I saw a desperation in his gaze I had never seen before and hope to never see again. At that moment, he silently begged me for help. He was covered in sweat and bleeding profusely. One eye was already swollen shut. He didn't even look sad but surprised that this was happening. The moment we locked eyes felt like an eternity. I even considered running into the commotion to make a scene, thinking that perhaps the presence of a mzungu screaming or protecting the man would disperse the crowd. But I didn't. I was too scared and paralyzed in place. I stayed among the crowd in silence, frozen in time. As the man stood up, another guy holding a machete grabbed his arm and started pulling him away from the sidewalk and down a small alleyway between the shops. The group of men that were involved in the commotion followed, multiple with machetes in hand.

The crowd slowly dispersed, and I stood there in silence. What did I just witness? Was that man going to be killed? What did he do to deserve such a savage beating? Chris came walking over and put his hand on my shoulder and with a solemn look on his face asked me if I was okay.

"Is that man going to be okay?" I asked, my voice trembling.

"No. Not likely, Flower. He was a thief and got caught. Mob justice is very real here. It sends a message to the rest of the town that stealing is unacceptable. That's why crime here is actually quite low."

I felt sick. I immediately regretted my decision to not at least try to help him. I knew it wouldn't have worked but knowing he locked eyes with me before being brutally killed with a machete made me feel something I had never felt before. Without warning, I started throwing up right there on the sidewalk. A sense of sorrow so powerful coursed through my body. What made all of it worse was the fact that a police officer was watching the entire commotion. He was there in the group of people in his spotless, perfectly pressed white uniform and didn't lift a finger to help that man. From what Chris had heard from those passing by was that he stole a loaf of bread. Bread! And because of that he was dead and no one did anything. Chris could see me desperately trying to come to some conclusion or justification for what I had just witnessed and pulled me in for a hug. I started to weep uncontrollably. I don't think I had ever cried like that before. The police officer who had been watching came over and said something in broken English that I will never forget.

"Good thief is dead thief, mzungu," he said as he walked away laughing.

I wanted to go after him. I wanted to rip his club from his holster and beat him over the head with it. Never had I felt so much rage or the desire to inflict so much pain on someone, not even the bullies in high school made me feel anything close to the fury that I felt in that moment. The complete disregard for a human being who was suffering, doing what he had to in order to eat or feed his family, made me furious. I obviously don't think people should just be able to steal what they please, but they shouldn't die for it. And they sure as hell shouldn't be left to die by the people who are paid to protect them. He had to have been desperate in order to take that risk. If everyone knows what will happen if you steal then only the truly desperate will do it. It isn't like he stole a car. It was a loaf of bread.

"Let me buy you that sandwich you like so much at Deli Chez. That'll cheer you up." Chris put his arm around me and we walked away. I didn't know what could possibly cheer me up. But I tried to stay strong and joined Chris for a quiet meal, both of us observing those passing by on the street below the balcony where we ate. At that moment, I regretted having ever traveled to Tanzania.

I got back to the hostel and still felt horrible. I was, however, greeted by the email that I was waiting for. Ana had responded. I had started to think that she forgot about me or just wanted a meaningless travel fling but there she was, sitting in my email waiting to say hello.

My dear Flower,

How are you? Sorry for delay in respond. I am joyous, thanks for asking. I am feeling your absence.

Things in Ireland are the same but now that I miss you I feel different. I want to finish my project soon so I can see you again. I am always thinking about this. Are you?

I wish to be in Tanzania with you. And you? Is everything good with your project? How is the hostel? Are you a garden man now?

I want to know all about experience in Africa. Is it like you waited for? I wonder, do you still want me to come there? If you wish I come. If not, if you are super busy maybe we meet in Brasil.

I am available tomorrow for a call. 19:00 would be best.

Beijos,

Ana

I immediately felt better. I must have read through the letter a dozen times. I could hear her accent in each of the words. I had to look up the word beijos to see that it meant kisses and even cracked a smile, something a few minutes before wouldn't have seemed possible. I couldn't wait for the following evening so I could talk to her again. As horrible as it sounds, I was thinking about her more than my family and friends back home. Part of me wanted to abandon the gardening project and catch the next flight to Dublin. Part of me wanted to surprise her with a ring and a pledge to take care of her for the rest of my life. Part of me thought that I was absolutely fucking insane for thinking these things about someone I barely knew. I didn't care. I was falling for her and falling hard.