Goodwell on ya, Mate!When I was 9 years old, a solitary lion prowled villages near my home. After it killed a few chickens, some goats and finally a cow, we were warned to walk to school in groups and stop playing outside. My sisters no longer went alone to the river to collect water or wash dishes; my mother waited for my father and older brothers, armed with machetes, axes and spears, to escort her into the bush to collect firewood.A week later, my mother gathered me with nine of my siblings to explain that her uncle had been attacked but escaped with nothing more than an injured leg. The lion sucked the life out of the village: No one socialized by fires at night; no one dared stroll over to a neighbor’s homestead.When the lion was finally killed, no one cared whether its murderer was a local person or a white trophy hunter, whether it was poached or killed legally. We danced and sang about the vanquishing of the fearsome beast and our escape from serious harm.
Thursday, August 6, 2015
Cecil the lion sleeps with the fishes tonight. Hip, hip, hooray!
Goodwell Nzou seems to think a monument to the Great White Hunter-dentist would be more appropriate than PETA's--People Eaten by Tasting Animals?--call for capital punishment. After all, he probably saved some Zimbabwean's life;