Guards

JANUARY 4 - It is 6:53 pm in Mozambique – I was plunged into darkness about 20 minutes ago. Not utter darkness, as I was reading Introduction to QuickBooks for Non-Profits and the screen glow gave me and the surrounding insects, a source of light.

I didn’t bother to get the flashlight, assuming the electricity would return soon enough.

As I continued reading, I could hear what sounded like voices near the front of the house.

I chocked them up to passerbys ambling down the street in front of the house – they would have to open the main gate to get into this property.

I started hearing a louder racket at the back of the house – almost, but not quite, like rain was pouring on the tin roof.  But not quite like that. I froze at my keyboard, listening, a little nervous.

The sounds continued – I reached for my nearby iPhone and turned on the Flashlight application. With that light, I made it to my kit bag in the bathroom, where I remembered leaving my glasses, and from there, over to the kitchen table where my Energizer Weather Ready flashlight/lantern was… ready.

I walked to the back window, which is in the kitchen, and carefully drew the curtain back, shining the flashlight, expecting to see nothing…

And saw - a man! He was standing there, wearing a blue jacket, and with a flashlight of his own. He was turned half away from me.

Now this is the point where I would normally fall to pieces, but I recalled being told that there was a guard who would watch over the house at night. Could this be the guard? Or some soon-to-be-intruder? Or just some guy who liked hanging out behind homes in Mozambique whenever the power failed.

I didn’t really know, but I thought I would once again enlist Occam’s Razor and go with the most likely scenario – that the older man was the guard. In the seconds it took me to come to that hopeful conclusion, I also called through the open screen, with feigned confidence, “I heard noises, and was checking to see what was going on. Thanks!” I have no idea if he understood me, as most people here speak Portuguese. [As I am typing this, the power went on, stayed on for about two minutes, went off for about two minutes and has just returned. I am getting the feeling that evenings in Tete, Mozambique, will be intermittently dark.]

The man, who looked to be in his early 60s, and may have a problem with one eye, kind of said something I didn’t catch, so I smiled, waved, and returned to type this blog article.

The whole security thing here, both in Mozambique and Malawi, is kind of puzzling – multiple and massive locks on doors, barbed-wire and glass topped walls, locked gates, and security guards everywhere. And don’t get me started about the police checks on the roads – you run into them everywhere.  Sometimes, it feels like we’re paying guards in order to provide them with an income so they don’t turn to crime – keeping people employed is an occupation itself. It’s why I am paying a man the equivalent of $12 a week to do, on a daily basis, my dishes, laundry, empty my garbage and wash the floors.

As I type, the electricity coming and going, the noise continues outside.

Hopefully the man in blue is the guard, and not someone who is busily burying the real guard’s body somewhere in the garden.