the bird *4*

every morning i wake up to the sound of birds crashing into my living room window. the first week i was here i had no idea what the noise was. i thought my roommates were doing some physical labor, like throwing cement blocks around, outside. i passed it off as another annoying thing i would have to get used to.

one morning i couldn't take it any longer. it was 5 a.m. and i didn't understand why my roommates had to start work so early. couldn't they wait a bit, at least till 6? i put on my slippers and walked down the hallway to the front door. i opened it and looked out only to find a big bird, about the size of a hawk or a raven, crashing its head continuously against the reflection.

it saw me, got scared and flew away.

it was back in less than 5 minutes, bashing itself against the window, pooping all over the porch.

something about this situation really grosses me out. birds crashing into windows is unsettling. i've never felt good when i have been on a long car ride and a bird comes straight at the windsheild, hits it, then bounces off to the side of the road. senseless, i think. and running over squirrels is just as bad.

i went back to bed, trying to think of a remedy to this problem.

later in the day i walked outside and saw Sakola making a scarecrow. i took close note of my surroundings and noticed the clothes he had hung on the porch a few days earlier. i thought he was just drying his laundry, but now understood it was to deter the birds. it obviously didn't work, so he was crafting together a body and head made of some materials from the farm. he stuffed the head and propped it up against the window, then took a rag and wiped up all the bird shit.

"that is nice" i said in twi, pointing to his creation. i had to keep it simple due to lack of vocabulary.

"the birds" he said in english.

"yes the birds" i said back, in english. "they are troublesome."

he laughed and went inside. i followed him.

the next day we were sitting and eating dinner together when all of a sudden

CRASH! "kaw kaw" CRASH! "kaw kaw"

Sakola grabbed his slingshot and a few heavy rocks and ran outside. I watched it all from the living room, looking through the window.

the bird flew away unscathed, but i was impressed by his slingshot skills. he fired hard and quick, he i could tell, was an expert slingshotter.

the next morning i woke up early, tore flourescent colored notecards in half and taped them to the windows outside. i was feeling particulary clever, resourceful in my own city way. i had tape and index cards, and i knew how to use them. Sakola came out and looked at my work. i tried to see what he was thinking but he offered nothing. it didn't matter, i was proud.

the birds didn't come for a long time. my method worked! i could sleep later than 5 a.m. and even nap uninterrupted in the mid afternoon. life in the house turned quiet and peaceful. me and my roommates sat and ate together, without having to hear kamikazee missions thwarted halfway. and i felt better for the birds, less headaches at least.

one day, i left for work and returned late in the afternoon. my house is big, i've mentioned before, and the courtyard out front is even bigger. i've been trying to organize a small soccer game in it for quite some time. in the middle of the courtyard is a huge wooden pole, somewhat like a flagpole with out the flag.

instead of a country flag flapping in the wind, i realized when i came home, we now have a dead bird with its head ripped off, dangling upside down.

its repulsive, and i have Sakola to thank.

he looked at it with greater satisfaction than i had with my note cards. i told him it was gross but he couldn't care less. its wings are bent at a strange angle, making it look like it still has some life left and is trying to dislodge itself from the pole. its a horrible way to be greeted.

"why?" i asked. but the answer was obvious, there was bird poop all over the porch. he lowered his head and his eyebrows at me and flung his arm out towards the living room window.

"i know" i said. and i wondered, how he got the head off. did he rip it, or chop it, or slice it with one quick slash of his machete. the same machete he was now holding, picking his fingernails with? the same fingernails that share bowls of rice with me and the same tool that is used to peel my oranges?

i decided it'd be best not to know. but its hard to forget when every morning and every night i leave and return to the carcass of a huge bird, pierced at the top of a pole.