The Story of Ginger

I still laugh at this story, but maybe you won't think it's as funny. Maybe "you had to be there." Anyway, here is the tale (tail? wakka wakka) of Ginger.

One early morning, 5am or earlier, I can't remember...the sun was coming up over Dwambazi and it was chilly. Clarissa and I were standing along the M5 highway waiting for a ride to Mzuzu. We asked everyone what time the bus to Mzuzu leaves Dwambazi and I literally got a different answer every time. So, we thought 5am would be a fair time so we sat by the side of the road hoping for the bus, but were willing to take whatever we could get. A man was gutting a goat on a hand-made wooden table, as the sun was peaking over the tops of the trees (I only point this out because Clarissa looked at me at that very moment and asked me if it has hit me that we were in Africa...I notoriously say no, it hasn't hit me that we are in Africa and that we live here now...but honestly, gutting a goat on the side of the road is pretty foreign...)

Now, being the only white person in my village, I stand out. Everyone greets me, everyone wants to be my friend. I'm all for it. But at 5am, while I'm waiting for a bus, it's not the best time to forge a friendship.

The stray dogs were huddling close. Not my cup of tea. I don't cuddle stray dogs. Maybe it was the alluring scent of my peanut butter sandwhiches. Maybe they just wanted to irritate me.

Anyway, after sitting for over an hour with absolutely no cars going by, we started to get angsty. A kid came up, asking to be my friend. I said, sure. He asked me if the stray dog was mine. I said, "yeah. Her name is Ginger." We talked for a while about Ginger, what a good dog she was, how she saved Timmy from the well. Finally a mini bus pulled up heading for Mzuzu, we hopped in and the kid yelled "Hey, lady! You forgot your dog! Ginger, get in the bus, get in the bus, Ginger!" The kid was pulling on Ginger by the scruff of her neck and she would have gladly gotten in the bus if I hadn't stuck my foot out to block her. I was not adopting any pets at this time. "No, no, Ginger knows her way home. See you later!" And I slammed the door shut.

Yeah, so I'm a liar. But hardly. Ginger must understand English because she is always at my house. I don't feed her, I don't even acknowledge her. She is just there. Somewhat nice to get all the benefits of protection without having to do much work. Whenever I take early morning rides to far off exotic Malawian destinations, like Nkhotakota or Lilongwe, she is always walking me to the bus stop and she waits until I get on the bus safely.

So here's to you, Ging...Thanks for looking out.