Lazy, heavy drips of rainwater from the corrugated iron roof had lulled me to sleep in the tiny, clean and somewhat chilly village on the outskirts of Kuching city. I awoke to avifauna all around which seemed to be competing in a “who can chirp the loudest” contest, but I loved every note they made. I lay in the basic bed, eyes closed, absorbing the sounds of nature as the household stirred. It’s good for the soul to listen to the peaceful sounds of the natural world.
But then – then, I wasn’t sure, was it? Really? Did I hear that right? Yes. I grew up in the wilderness of southern Africa and I know what a large caliber weapon sounds like. The bang of the single shot resonated between the densely vegetated hillsides, sped up the wide water-bottomed valley nearby and whipped around the long concave slope leading to the east of the comfortable little house. All avian song ceased instantly. I could hear nothing moving any longer. The gunshot had silenced the entire region it seemed to my ears.
Well, thanks to some person – probably ignorant of ecological matters and only interested in their ego – there was no reason for me to continue lying where I was. Minutes later, I was served raw oats mixed into Milo with lukewarm water: delicious! It reminded me of my childhood breakfasts. Then, well fed, I was escorted to the little family car and driven past a new hydro dam development before continuing to the main road north. My wonderful, smiling hosts left me under a rickety corrugated iron roadside shelter with plenty of good wishes. And that’s when the bad guys found me.