The Word Cloud

We employ three night watchmen to guard our home here, on a shift basis, two working together at any one time. They are not the most burly of men and we do not pretend to think that they will be able to fight off any armed robbers, should our home be targeted. But we chose them for their integrity and because they have families to provide for.

Getting the right sort of security guard has been a learning curve. At first, we went to the local security service and paid an extortionate amount of money to have a different watchman every night. The service guaranteed that a guard would always be available, although it was never possible to build up any sort of relationship with them due to the transience of their posting. We soon realised that these mobile guards often spent more time casing the homes they were supposed to be protecting, and invariably it is these security guards who are involved in any robberies.

We then decided to employ three of them directly, and picked the youngest, tallest, fittest, strongest young men that had worked for us through the service. We figured that by paying them ourselves, they would receive a better salary, be more committed to protecting our home, and we could cut our costs too. All went well, and we built up a friendly rapport with the guards, until two of them stole from us at a Christmas party we held for them and our other staff.

We realised that these young guys were not bothered about risking their job for a chance opportunity to steal. They had no families to provide for, and just wanted to get what they could.

Instead, we asked our day guard, who is incredibly hard working and honest, to personally recommend some friends who were in need of work, were honest and trustworthy, and who had young families to support.

The men he recommended were not big or strong, but they needed a steady income and were reliable. We now had a good team of three watchmen, who looked out for each other and us. Each of them has a whistle and a wooden baton, so that they can alert each other and us to any unwanted intruders. We then have a system in place where we call up a network of friends who will come to our assistance, if needed. Sadly, armed robberies are becoming more and more common in the city here, and we are one of the few expatriates who have not yet been targeted.

Three weeks ago, however, one of our guards asked for a few days leave to attend his brother’s funeral in the south of the country. We gladly obliged, and the other night guards covered for him. But a few days stretched into a week, and then two weeks, and no one was able to contact our guard. He had moved out of his house a while ago, and no one knew where he was now staying. He didn’t answer his mobile phone, and his wife and children were not around. He seemed to have just disappeared. This was so unusual, as the guards had a good system in place to let each other know about problems, illness etc. The only logical conclusion seemed to be that he was in hospital somewhere or dead. We had noticed that he had lost weight recently, and wondered about his health. In Malawi, the average life expectancy is 37, due to the high prevalence of HIV and Aids.

After two weeks, we took on another guard temporarily, until we heard from our missing watchman. Pay Day came and went, and still no news. I was sure that someone would have come to pick up his outstanding wages, but we heard nothing. Then, out of the blue, yesterday morning I received a phone call, from a friend of his. It seemed our guard had attended the funeral, and had then inherited the dead man’s chiefdom. He was now acting chief in a traditional authority deep in the heart of the hot south. When we relayed the news to our other staff, they simply nodded. Apparently, he had been talking about becoming a chief, but no one had taken him seriously, despite all the charms he had acquired recently, from the witch doctors to protect him.

One story he had told them was how there was a hut in his chiefdom where a snake lived. It had once belonged to a prophet who was now dead, and the snake was believed to be the prophet’s spirit. Young girls would be brought one at a time, to live in the hut, as a wife to the snake, until they were bitten and killed. I asked my cook, a Christian, if she would hand over her daughter to live with a deadly snake. To my surprise, she said that if her daughter had been chosen, then she would, as the girl would be protected.

Now, it appears that our night watchman is ruling this area, and no doubt will be responsible for picking those young girls. Having lived in this country for almost seven years, on and off, I still do not understand what makes its people tick.