A happy story followed by a not-so-happy story

I hope everyone had a very Merry Christmas this year. Mine was very 'different...'

On Christmas Eve, I had decided to spend the night atop Mena Hill, a decent size peak overlooking Makeni from the West. I did this with Kieran, who arrived only three weeks ago from London to work on a mental health project. I managed to find some pork early in the morning, and it was very fresh (read; still warm). This we took atop the mountain along with several beers, and sleeping bags. We dont have a tent and figured it wasn't needed anyway, its dry season! After a pretty exhausting climb, we watched the town as the light dwindled, then gathered some wood for our fire, which we lit with tinder and sparks (Ray Mears would be proud). We then cooked our pork, drank our beers and feel asleep under the stars.

So we awoke early on Christmas day as the light and heat of the sun intensified rapidly. I remember especially looking down over the whole town that has become my home, as the mist crept away. We made a pretty rapid descent, and headed to my place. One day's hike and one night's camping in Africa had left my sticky, filthy and tired. A cold bucket shower left me clean and woken up, then I was treated to a quite fantastic breakfast of hash browns and French toast courtesy of Natasha and Gearoid.

We then headed to the hospital. Natasha volunteers at the 'Therapeutic Feeding Centre,' which is where malnourished children are treated. It is pretty grim that kids are starving to death here. The land is fertile, food is not in short supply, yet here are many kids going without. I'll refrain from too much detail but some of them are in a very bad way. Natasha had arranged to work on Christmas day, to try to give the kids some kind of treat, and I decided, like many others, to join her.

I'd like to say that I was a great help but to be honest I was just carrying equipment that they needed and helping to eventually set up a big screen and projector so they could watch some Tom and Jerry cartoons. The kids seemed to appreciate the effort, I think many of them enjoyed watching all the white people carrying things more than the cartoons!

We then went to the doctor's house to prepare a Christmas Dinner. It seems that all the expats in Makeni showed up, there were eleven of us in total. My job was to prepare the chicken. Score! So I barbequed the Christmas poultry whilst others prepared Garlic Bread, plantains, salad, and curried rice. Gearoid made his awesome roast potatoes. It actually felt like Christmas once we all sat around the garden table to eat, with lights draped over trees.

Boxing Day meant an early rise; a 7am kick off for Megbente FC in a friendly. We beat the team from Freetown 5-0 and then wasted the day lying around reading books.

The next day was eventful. I was drawing water from the well when Gearoid told me to go and look outside of the wall. I saw a bunch of kids laughing and carrying on. Then I looked closer. I was absolutely horrified. There was a dog, with its hind legs tied together with rope. On the other side of the rope, a 12 year old boy was dragging the dog down the road. The other children were beating the dog, kicking him, throwing rocks at him and smashing a water barrel into his skull. I had a moment of hesitation (not my dog, not my culture...) but I decided I couldn't let this happen on my doorstep and do nothing.

I approached the kids and told them to stop. I asked them what was going on. They said that they were going to kill the dog. When I asked why, they just kept saying that he was a bad dog. I asked if he had bitten anyone. No. It seemed like two kids had started it and others had joined in. There were around 15 kids, some as young as 8. There seemed to be no justification but boredom. Adults passed us and didn't seem to care that a group of kids were beating a dog to death.

I told them I was taking the dog, and started to cut the rope on his leg. He tried to bite me, but thankfully, didn't break the skin. Gearoid helped me chase some of the kids away, then we put the dog on a towel and took him into our compound.

He was in a bad way. Unable to walk, bleeding from his nose and mouth, he had wet himself and was finding it hard to breathe. I was going to put him out of his misery. For whatever reason, I hesitated, and we sat with him, gave him some water, and decided to wait until morning.

We called the vet the next day, and spent a lot of money on injections and treatment. I held his mouth open whilst the vest injected some medicine down his throat. Never once after we saved him did the dog try to bite me. He vomited a few times in the day, and we realised that he was in trouble as he was not eating, and more importantly, not drinking. He was still bleeding from his nose.

Almost exactly 24 hours after we saved him, he died. We said very little to each other, and immediately buried him in our garden.

The whole incident was very upsetting. It made me feel helpless. I could not save the dog. I could not make the children realise why I intervened. I could not make them see that abusing an animal is a stepping stone towards abusing a person. There was an eleven year long civil war here and the building blocks of the conflict remain. I'll always remember them laughing, and beating the life out of an animal for no reason. Like child soldiers.