I looked outside to see the door to the compound open, the tip of hima's tail wagging as she surveyed the outside world. Cute. Wait. Door open?

the guard?

i found him sleeping in one of the back rooms, wrapped in blankets and his jacket, despite the heat. I mimed that he should be at the front gate, he mimed that he had a headache (i think). Heartless, I'm heartless... I sent him back to his post. I tried to call for one of the other guards to come replace him but my amharic was not up to the task. I couldn't even get past the woman who answered the cell number I called.

The guard is now sitting outside under the tree playing his flute. Really sick, bored of guarding, faking sick, who knows? He is terrible at the job, but I know he needs the meagre salary and I can't bring myself to replace him. Besides, I admit, I'm nervous about making these men upset; they know all the vulnerabilities of the house, especially that our so-called guard dog Hima is a floppy-eared marshmallow.

These are the small complications that take up my head-space. Part of doing bad things, being part of a bad system, and justifying it all to myself day after day.

11:46 a.m. - 2010-10-21