Dealing with death

 My guts were churning, my face blank and I felt every bit of blood pumping through my body. The coffee was set to brew and the Sunday morning pancakes remained unmade.

It’s was early morning here at my home “ocean view” after a wild and windy start.

There is a small distance between me and my neighbours, people I don't  know by name but we kindly acknowledge each other and I give my food scraps to the pigs and bananas to the inquiring kids who shyly come to my opened door. Like all Kiribati families they live mostly a subsistence life with possibly one of the large extended family in some very lowly paid job. Fish caught daily and rice make the staple diet. Dogs along with pigs and chooks are the only animals on this atoll and their main purpose is for a source of protein.

It’s almost seven months since moving to this ocean side living. Arriving in a new small country albeit as friendly as this one it’s nice to make local friends, including the four legged ones. When I arrived amongst the neighbours roaming dogs were two pups of no identifiable breed, just that Kiribati look; short-haired, medium sized, lean and a xylophone of ribs. One of these pups was particularly skinny and the other slightly aloof. Soon the skinniest of the pups was named “Deefa” (D for Dog) and the other kept an eye out from a safe distance. With a few scraps thrown out it was only a few weeks until the skinny one took over in size and took to running with the pack. Second pup moved in.

 Bath mat chewing !

Second pup came to be know as “4 legs”, initially he was shy, timid of me and any visiting I-Matang (foreigner) but showed a very gentle nature. 

The Kiribati people are very physical and rough in most things they do, to humans or animals. Laughter is often accompanied with a endearing slap, and physical contact is a means of communication, albeit not always it in a happy and cheerful way. It’s not unusual to see kids being whacked or their hair pulled, to see them swinging pups and kittens around or men kicking a dog out of the way. Like their masters many of these animals survive on little, whatever left overs are left over and eat coconuts like many privileged dogs tuck into a bone.

My bag of western determined necessities always includes a plastic bag, a must have if you don’t want to get on a bus carrying your fish by the tail and for gathering any left over foods for “4 legs”. The presidential Botaki (traditional feast) are a treat for more than rice and fish, pig scraps and chicken bones along with breadfruit are eagerly gathered and on special occasions shellfish remains are available.

After some months when going out food was getting less and one couldn’t rely on the President hosting international dignitaries I made the decision to purchase a bag of dog food. It is only the westerners that would feed this to the dogs or be able to afford such an item, it costs 6 times the price of rice !

Such a decision to feed a dog whose life is unknown, spending money on such luxury and what happens when you leave played heavy on my mind. These dogs will come and go, their lives here may or may not out live most westerns stays of a year or two. I knew taking on any such living being would expose my own needs and attachments, I also know it’s tough living here and such an animal offers company and lightness.

I took to a randomness of feeding “4 legs”. Scraps don’t cost anything and I get to use all of the fish I purchase but I wouldn’t feed him everyday. He took to this new life and with a couple of doses of worming tablets kindy sent from a friend be bounced around happily walking in one door out the next like he owned the place. His preferred spots inside include stretching out against the wall under the table keeping his belly cool, chewing the bath mat and sitting on my yoga mat, often when I was still using it. Pet therapy seemed to turn into comparing downward dogs !

 Home comfort

It’s hard to know how long an animals life is here, pigs are prized and valued, they are kept for celebrations and significant events, unfortunately this  Sunday was it for “4 legs”. 
He had spent the night asleep under my table until heading out about 7.30am. The last I saw of him was a bit over an hour later with a gash wound in his neck, blood down his front and being carried off by 2 men and a child, one carrying the knife.

He made it to about 9 months old. 

Om Mani Pade Hum.

Death is in your face and at your doorstep, I have 2 graves just 10 feet from my door and I pass several others before I get to the road just 60 meters away. Funerals and burials of the local people take place far too often, just 2 weeks before this event the 38 year old women I had been mentoring passed away. I will write about the 12 hour funeral and burial and honour her at a later date, at the moment it’s too raw. I am accepting the many questions I know cannot be answered but struggle at a loss that was preventable.

 She along with my 4 legged friend have touched my life.

Stones make out the outline of these and many burial sites, this is just out from my back door.

 A neighbours patch, I pass these everyday.

Some take their passion with them.

Up next : Like living here, it’s unknown