Tiny Corpses

I walked up to the large building called the Multipurpose Building in Micoud. Upstairs is the Village Library and downstairs is a large open room. A stage appears at the far end of the room. On either side are large windows with neither glass nor screens, only bars. This is common here. It’s not because it’s a bad area, it’s because it’s hot and that’s how they construct building for air flow.

There is a small folding table and six folding chairs. This is where we will sit for the next three hours. The new Board of Director’s of the Micoud Foundation is energetic and committed – and very smart. I’m struck by their level of sophistication.

I’m a few minutes late for the meeting. I’ve been in Castries which is an hour and a half from my village. It’s been a full day of training, but I don’t want to miss this opportunity to participate. So, I come to the meeting directly from the bus. They are pleased to see me and appreciate my participation knowing I’m not officially theirs for the next couple of months.

As I listen one woman claps her hands once…then the man claps...and another woman claps. They are not applauding; they are killing mosquitoes. The large man at the head of the table mumbles something under his breath. I look over at the woman next to me and she has a grin of satisfaction on her face. Looking down at the table I see eight tiny corpses. She has a collection of deceased mosquitoes. Crickets sing so loud that they almost drown out the barking dogs. Just as I’m asked a question, a goat peers into the building and begins making goat noises. I have to ask them to repeat the question . . . ah, it’s all in a day’s work.