Yes! There are people in Africa who care! There are people in Africa who come to help! There are Africans who are committed to changing the path of history!
As the calls of “Moto! Moto!” (Chinyanja for ‘fire’) rang out, people
starting running from all directions towards the house. Running from
backyards, front yards and from inside houses, all with buckets of
water in their hands or on their heads. Some from near, some from far.
The amazing response procured unknown amounts of buckets of water from
friends, family and strangers, many of whom ran frantically this way
and that in search for more water. Ari and I collected and delivered
any and all water that we could from our household and yard to help
the cause, but after that supply was depleted we were left to stand
and watch as the flames grew higher and the roof disappeared into
smoke and flames.
People began to unload belongings out of the house while a few men
were standing on the burning roof frantically trying to both put it
out and also prevent it from spreading elsewhere. A table, chairs, a
bed, bags of rice and beans, shelves for a few electronics and a few
other belongings came out of the front door, all of which was
essentially everything they owned. The family’s fence was also broken
down to make access to all sides of the house easier and to prevent it
from catching fire also. But it’s dry season and it’s a grass and
bamboo roof, both of which are just as dry as the dusty earth these
days.
At times during the firefighting, it seemed like commotion and chaos,
but in reality it was an organized chaos that most everyone involved
had seen and experienced before in some way, shape or form, with the
only exception being young children who were reduced to the role of
onlookers. A dozen or so men at some point early on volunteered to
fight the fire close up. Every time that their buckets emptied onto
the roof, they turned around and the squinting of their eyes and small
stumbles this way and that way proved that the smoke was strong and
potent. When their eyes opened back up, you could see a faint look of
desperation, yet determination almost immediately took over and within
seconds, they had someone fill their bucket back up and they would run
back towards the house in another effort to douse the flames.
The worst part of it all was that the family had just rebuilt the roof
with a new bamboo frame covered by freshly cut dried grasses. For one
large bundle of grasses, it takes someone a day or so to collect and
bring home, depending on the location of where they got them.
Sometimes the grasses are collected from many kilometers away, in and
behind the hills and mountains that form the backdrop for the village.
Sometimes closer. Sometimes even further away. We don’t know how many
bundles of grasses it takes for a typical roof, but it’s easily more
than a half dozen. The dried bamboo comes from far north of here and
is sometimes sold near the Metangula market. Like so many other
necessities of life here, bamboo isn’t always easy to afford for many
families. This was to be their roof for the upcoming rainy season
which is supposed to begin in the upcoming weeks. Preparing roofs for
the rainy season isn’t the easiest of processes, and from start to
finish can be a quite a time consuming process. What took them weeks
and possibly months to purchase, collect and build was burned up and
destroyed in a matter of minutes.
The combination of flames and grasses in the dry season made it
inevitable that the roof was mostly destroyed. The silver lining in it
all, and yes there is one or two, is that they only lost their roof.
Nobody was killed or injured. None of their belongings destroyed. No
other roofs or fences caught on fire. With their house being build out
of mud bricks and mud mortar, nothing structurally was damaged or
effected in any way. If anything, some bricks are now more hardened
than before. Mama organized some people to help with the cleanup and
within three or four hours, there was no sign of a fire besides the
remaining charred bamboo frame of the roof. The fences had been put
back up, repaired and reinforced. The helpful people and onlookers had
long since gone home, many with empty buckets in their hands. And any
remaining grasses and bamboo that were deemed casualties of the fire
had been swept up and piled up across the path from their house. The
irony wasn’t lost on us that some day soon these same piles of charred
grasses and bamboos will disappear by means of fire.
The fire supposedly started as ash flew from their cooking fire and
onto the roof of their cooking hut. Their efforts to put out the fire
on the roof of the cooking hut were successful, but in the process the
roof of their house somehow caught on fire. The shouts of “Moto!
Moto!” soon followed and the response to them was astounding. No less
than remarkable. People quickly flocked to the fire with their water
buckets from anywhere and everywhere the minute they realized what was
going on. And when their buckets were quickly emptied, they ran home,
into other yards and to the wells to fill them back up again. At some
point in the initial commotion, the people at the well down the road
got word of the fire and all buckets that were filled from that point
on went directly towards the roof on fire. It didn’t matter who’s
house was on fire, it just mattered that someone’s house was on fire.
There is no fire department here. No fire engines. Heck, there’s not
even running water except for the three hours after sunrise.
Firefighters are found in everyone’s friends and families, helpful
neighbors and strangers and anybody who hears the shouts of “Moto!
Moto!”. They don’t wear heavy jackets, boots, helmets or uniforms.
They don’t have access to water tankers, ladders or hoses either. All
they need are buckets and dozens upon dozens of people able and
willing to fill them with water.
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