Tiba: you strike a woman, you strike a rock

I’m awoken early but a rapping at the door. It is early and sleep pokes at my eyes as I squint through my glasses. At the door I find the woman of the house, who is standing doggedly in the doorway, unaffected by the driving rain outside. She says I must take her to this boy’s house so she can search his room for the stolen items. Apparently one of the women in the village had mentioned she thought it could be her son who was the thief. She wanted to know, now. I stare incredulously, but catch myself doing so and soften my face. This woman cooks and cleans for twenty hours a day it seems and I’ve never seen her be anything but docile and gracious. I can tell she means business.

I smile and reluctantly nod, but I feel a bit uncomfortable with this whole thing. I take my time getting ready. I still have the plastic tub and electric tea kettle in my room so I take it to the living area, where there is electricity to warm the water in the kettle, to make myself a bath. My mind whirs about the whole situation. I must have taken quite some time. By the time I go to her house on the homestead, I am told she left. “She what!?” I ask. By now, outside is a torrential downpour and the dirt roads look like filling streams of dirty water. I know that I am the only person with a car, so she must have walked. I offer my phone and ask that somebody call her to tell her that I am on my way to get her now.

I find her a mile or so down the road. I sheepishly apologize for my delay and wait to hear her response. She tells me that the police had already picked the boy up by the time she got there. She is unaware if any stolen items were recovered. Although, I did get my hopes up a bit that perhaps by some small chance she would find my laptop I am also a bit glad she didn’t catch the culprit. I would pity the person who crosses her.