Janjaweed Cats...
I sat at the airport in Nyala with a friend under a tree where it was the only place we could find shade to escape the heat of the afternoon sun. There were no other planes but mine leaving so the place was virtually empty. She pushed the dirt with her shoe and I stared off into the bright blue hotless sky that radiated heat. 'Catso died,' she said. I have perfected saying goodbye mostly from doing it so often. I think that goodbyes should be like amputations. Quick, efficient, slicing off the life you're leaving behind with one swift cut. No drawn out waving and crying at the bus, train, boat or airport. I had managed to get out of Nyala with only a few tears from staff and none of my own. 'How?' I asked. Catso was one of my first and most unusual friends in Nyala. An inquisitive, thin tabby cat that had adopted two friends of mine and become a fixture in their compound. Before I knew anyone in Nyala I used to go over to their house after work and sit under their t...