The sound of Anarchy

Rehema reports that looters have begun to strip one of the old farm houses on a hill opposite where I live of the corrugated iron sheets on the roof.

I enquire whether security, such as it is, has been alerted.

Yes, she says, ‘all the askaris went running, but the looters don’t care, they just kept ripping the mbati off’.

At the same time somebody else – somebody who is still resident on the farm and ought to know better – is cutting down trees for his ‘maid’. I listened, heartbroken, to the agitated roar of a chainsaw yesterday as the beautiful hardwood was felled. The skeleton farm staff that remains is up in arms. I’d like to think this is because they’ve all adopted an eco-friendly approach to their environment but I fear their outrage has more to do with the fact they will not benefit commercially from the sale of timber as the maid is clearly going to do. And who can blame them when they haven’t been paid. Beautiful trees are all very well, but your family’s got to eat.

Nobody is in charge anymore, the place is sinking into a state of anarchy and the opportunists recognise that.

I wonder whether – when I leave this place – our home will go the same way? Whether this barn that we have spent six years lovingly restoring will be ripped apart, whether the acacias and the figs and the mango trees I have collecting as seedlings and planted will be chopped down too.

I suspect that’s just what will happen.

Keep looking forward, said Anthony. I’m trying. I’m really trying. But it’s hard when you can hear the destruction.


One Response to “The sound of Anarchy”

  1. Roberta Says:

    My goodness. This breaks my heart.

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