Stranger in the Orchard
Amadou sat in the shade of a tamarind tree, watching Uncle Ghana’s goats. Ponta, the biggest goat, stretched his nose into the thorny hedge that protected the orchard. Amadou hurled a rock near Ponta to chase him away.
“He can’t get through the hedge,” said Ousmane, Amadou’s little brother.
“I’m not taking any chances,” said Amadou.
“The men sure were mad last week, huh?” remarked Ousmane, his eyes widening at the memory. “I thought Uncle Ghana might hit that Pulaar man!”
“Uncle Ghana would never hit anyone,” said Amadou.
“What would he do, then?” asked Ousmane.
“Maybe he would demand cheese as trade,” mused Amadou. “All I know is, Ponta is not going to lead our goats into the orchard.” He threw another rock.
Anger was rare among the Serer people of Senegal, West Africa. In Amadou’s village, everyone knew everyone else, and they all worked together to grow gardens and tend the orchard. But when the men discovered the Pulaar’s goats in the village orchard for the second time, there had been a big discussion.
The Pulaar were herders who moved from place to place seeking grass and green leaves for their animals. They had camped not far from the village, and would stay through the rainy season. Amadou liked having them there. The Pulaar made wonderful cheese, and they had stories to tell of faraway places. But this goat problem was very disturbing. He had never seen such a ruckus in the village, and he was afraid that everyone would soon be so angry they would have nothing to do with their new neighbors.
“I’m going to the house,” said Ousmane.
“Bring me my millet, will you?” said Amadou.
“If there’s any left when I’m done,” said Ousmane, grinning. He dodged Amadou’s pebble, and scampered off through the palms.
Amadou leaned back against the tamarind tree, wondering if there would be fish with his millet. Suddenly he heard angry shouts from the orchard. He climbed up the tree to look over the hedge. The men were chasing goats!
He anxiously counted Ponta’s herd to make sure none had squeezed through the fence. All nine were there. Inside the fence, Uncle Ghana and Boubacar were waving branches and throwing rocks. Soon, twenty mischievous goats trotted through the gate, bleating plaintively.
From his vantage point in the tamarind tree, Amadou saw something else. Someone was crouched in the branches of a cashew tree, hiding from the men!
“Uncle Ghana!” called Amadou, sliding to the ground. But by the time he reached the orchard gate, Uncle Ghana and Boubacar had already disappeared down the path to the village.
What should he do? If he ran to get his uncle, whoever was in the orchard would get away. Amadou slid the loop of rope off the gate post and entered the orchard. He walked quietly to the cashew tree and peered up into the branches.
“I know you’re up there,” he said bravely, not knowing who was up there. “You’d better come down.”
The branches jiggled, the leaves rustled, and out popped a small Pulaar boy.
“Who are you?” demanded Amadou.
“Pape,” answered the boy, looking frightened.
“What are you doing in here?” asked Amadou sternly.
“I was trying to get my goats out, but the men came before I could do it, so I hid.” The boy’s head drooped, and his chin quivered.
“How did your goats get in here?” asked Amadou, a little more gently.
“I don’t know!” exclaimed Pape. “When I let them out this morning, they came running toward this place, and I couldn’t keep up. When I got here, they were already inside!”
“The gate was open?” asked Amadou, puzzled.
Pape nodded.
“It should have been closed.”
“It wasn’t, I promise,” said Pape.
“Hmmm,” said Amadou. “Once goats get a taste of tender green leaves, of course they will come running back for more.”
Pape nodded.
“The question is,” said Amadou, “why was the gate open?”
Pape shrugged miserably.
“Well,” said Amadou, feeling sorry for Pape, “let’s just watch the goats together and see what happens.”
The two boys left the orchard and sat under the tamarind tree. They watched for a long time, but the goats did not try to get into the orchard. Instead, the animals wandered into the bush, and the boys followed. When they came back into the clearing much later, Amadou turned toward the orchard and stared. The gate was wide open!
He pointed and whispered, “Look!”
“Let’s go see who’s in there!” exclaimed Pape.
“No,” whispered Amadou, “let’s hide and see who comes out.”
The boys crouched in the bush and watched. Branches rustled inside the orchard, and they heard the thump of feet as someone jumped out of a tree. Amadou’s heart pounded as he strained to see who it would be. Would it be a Serer farmer who had carelessly left the gate open? Or a Pulaar herder?
He could see a shadow moving on the other side of the hedge. When the intruder appeared at the gate, Amadou gasped. There, with an orange in each hand, stood the culprit.
“A monkey!” shouted Amadou.
The monkey looked at the boys and then scampered off into the bush, leaving the gate wide open.
“Come on, Pape,” said Amadou, grinning. “We will tell the men to put a more secure latch on the gate, and the Pulaar and Serer will be friends once more.”
