This story refers to a true event that happened on the coast of Kenya, obviously fictionalised. I consider it topical in order to explain two truths about Kenya and many other African countries: the first is that part of the population, especially in the rural and near-forest areas, has been so starved that they even eat monkeys if necessary. The second is that this has been happening for years and if no Kenyans have so far contracted Mpox smallpox, there is a reason: the Kenyan monkey strains are not carriers of this virus. Therefore, as in any other country in the world, it can come from other countries, except Uganda, which are not neighbouring countries.

THE STORY OF MAMA KADZO AND THE MONKEY

Mrs Kadzo Ziro has seen a lot in her life.
Having passed the age of fifty, she can rightly be called ‘mama mzee’, a wise and experienced woman who has raised an entire village, just a few kilometres from Kilifi.
This, however, is a strange time, which Mama Kadzo struggles to understand: her grandchildren come to the village with their mobile phones, but the hospitals can no longer find affordable medicine, her son Kalume has bought a motorbike but has no flour for polenta to give to his children.
Difficult times, which sometimes it is better not to understand.
So Mama Kadzo crosses the big provincial road, as she does every day, to go and make spinach in the field, which is in the interior. She does not have time to reach the opposite side of the roadway when out of the corner of her eye she sees a matatu coming.
It is at that moment that he hears the bang.
At first he trembles, not wanting to turn around.
She is afraid that it is a child, a grandchild who has followed her. Then she thinks of her three little goats.
None of this. On the ground, in a small pool of blood, is a baboon. Right in the middle of the road.
On the other side is his family in despair.
There are about ten of them, but more are arriving.
I wonder if they are suffering as a mother, a father would suffer, thinks Mama Kadzo. Who knows.
But it is a thought that only touches her, because immediately an idea comes from the pit of her stomach, from the half-empty pot of the night before, from the spinach-ever-afters, from the broken promises of the politicians who had come last year to campaign right next door to her village and had left in big, dark-windowed jeeps.
With a sprint worthy of a gazelle, Mama Kadzo defies the road, picks up the still-warm animal and tucks it under her arm, backing towards the hut.
No spinach today. Today is a holiday. Mungu Akubariki. Always be praised.
But the baboons don't think so. There is nothing to celebrate at all. In fact, if we could, we would give him a grand funeral. Or at the very least, if there's nothing better around, we'd eat it ourselves.
No, that's not fair!
The specimens have now grown to about 30 and surround Mama Kadzo.
Give up our brother, they seem to be saying.
Too late, Mama Kadzo seems to say, grinding her few remaining teeth. I have already imagined the gravy.
The monkey goes with onions, not garlic. And as a side dish, beans would be good, if there were any.
It's mine, I found it! Do you have a document to prove it's yours?
But the baboons don't hear us. They emit high-pitched screams, their eyes are mean.
Some are already on the palm tree and throw large coconuts at the woman, others have picked up stones from the roadside and throw them at her.
The woman then returns to the asphalt. The baboons are afraid of cars, me too for that matter. For a moment, however, they keep their distance. So mama Kadzo gets agitated and manages to stop a pick-up truck that comes along.
A well-dressed man from Chumani drives it.
He speaks the Giriama dialect, fortunately.
He puts some of them to flight by doing two manoeuvres with the car, then keeps the engine running and gets out with the jack.
He almost feels like he's in a Ktn movie. He's glad he put the satellite dish in the house, even though he only eats meat once a week now. But, no, the monkey really doesn't. Anyway, when a woman asks for help, you always have to run.
Bring it on if you dare.
The baboons flee and mama Kadzo, casting a furtive glance of thanks as if to say ‘if you come this way tonight, you can have a monkey stew’, disappears into the bush and reaches her hut.
Today is a feast day.
Blessed be the man.