A loud commotion drew our attention away from our lesson and outside the church. The sound of a twack and screaming people made me worry that there was a fight or perhaps a child getting caned. Soon the people inside the small room spread far and wide. Pastor Patrick yelled “crocodile” and I found myself standing atop my plastic chair, although certainly no crocodile would be found in Karamoja. Whatever caused all the fuss outside in that great big world was now inside our tiny church.
Cornered, the giant and very fast monitor lizard huddled under a wooden chair for safety while the old man who’d been tracking him beat down on his head with a long stick until he lay motionless. Proud of his kill, that spry man grabbed the lizard by the tail and took him outside while tiny droplets of blood dripped off the lizard’s long forked tongue. He gladly posed for a photo with the animal nearly his own size.
A new argument began between the lady whose house the lizard was originally found in and the man who finally killed that lizard. Who had the right to this plentiful supper?