Dead lizards and other stories of African wildlife

I came home yesterday to a strange smell coming from my back storage area. Some cautious investigating led me to discover a lizard that appeared to have met his untimely death just after I left five days ago for Christmas vacation.

“Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” I muttered to myself as I scraped the deceased off the concrete floor. The skin had faded to a gray color. The body was bloated with maggots; around it, a small puddle had formed on the concrete.

I have yet to see any what you probably consider traditional wildlife of Africa. There are not lions that wander my village at night. I do not share a local watering hole with elephants and warthogs.

My encounters with animals here are much more mundane, but I would say much more disgusting:

Cockroaches the size of small puppies inhabit my latrine at night.

My cat has caught a mouse three times in my house. Once he also caught a lizard and left some bits for me to pick up later. Once he left the lizard whole and not quite dead, so while carrying it back outside, I was concerned it would suddenly stop playing dead and I would have a lizard loose in the house.

I’ve carried bats out of my shower four times. Three were alive. One was dead, which my postmate’s dog proceeded to eat immediately after I flicked the body off the plastic dustpan.

They say what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger.

It also triggers your gag reflex. Especially when it winds up dead in places you weren’t expecting.