Just a broken leg

The other day I walked to soccer practice after school as usual. We're supposed to have practice everyday but sometimes no one shows up, or the field is in bad condition from too much rain, or everyone decides they'd rather play basketball instead that day, etc. so I never really know if there will be practice until I get there. On this particular day, as I approached the field, I heard one of the girls I play with yell "Abby!" from across the road. I looked over and she slid her hand across her neck. "No practice?" I yelled. She nodded her head. "Go home?" I yelled. She nodded her head.

I saw the coach standing over there, too, so I crossed the street. He was going to take home the 3 players who had showed up. "Get in the front," he said. So I did, assuming he was driving. But he got in  the back and this old, unkempt, skinny (a rarity in Samoa) guy got into the driver's seat instead. He placed is 40 oz. Vailima (the local beer) into the cup holder. I watched as it sloshed over the rim a little. Well this is good, I thought to myself as none of the other 3 passengers said anything. The old man did a 3 point turn to get out of the drive way without hitting anything which was a good sign I thought. In the middle of this he says to me, "Don't worry about the beer. I do it all the time. I'm used to it." "Oh," I replied. This did not put me at ease.

Successfully turned around, we began to slowly pull out of the driveway. There were, of course, the usual few dogs milling about. I assumed, as I'm sure the driver and the other passengers did as well, that they would get out of the way of the slow moving vehicle, because, after all, this is Samoa where it really is survival of the fittest for these mangy creatures. Without altering his course, the old man continued to head out of the driveway through the dogs, which is when I heard a very audible thump. Again, everyone remained silent and we continued on our way. I poked my head out the window and looked back toward the driveway, where one of the cuter (term used very loosely), smaller dogs was limping around. I cringed at the sound of it's whining and whimpering sound that only injured animals make. Still everyone remained silent. WHY AM I IN THIS CAR? I said to myself. The old man said to me, "Oooh did I really run over a doggy?" I couldn't discern his tone. Was it concerned or more celebratory, because, let me tell you, there would be plenty of instances on this island where one would celebrate the death of a gross, vicious dog. "Uhh...yeah," I said to him. "And actually I'd like to get out and walk now, if you wouldn't mind pulling over. Watch out for those chickens on the side there." This is what I SHOULD HAVE said. Hindsight is always 20/20.


We continued to drive in silence. Thank goodness it was only about a quarter of a mile to my house, we were not on the main road, we passed about 2 other cars, and we were going about 20 mph. As we approached my house the man asked me what my name was and I told him. He then said to me, "You can call me Uncle. Everyone knows me as Uncle. Everyone calls me Uncle." "Umm...ok," I said, thinking to myself, you will forever be known to me as Drunk Driving Dog Crushing Creeper. In any case, I made it back unharmed.


I asked the coach the next day, "Did your [Drunk Driving Dog Crushing Creeper] Uncle kill that dog yesterday?" "Oh no, just a broken leg I think," he replied. Well that sounds like a death sentence for a dog on this island.

So what is the point of this story? I don't know, just that something like this would never happen in the U.S., at least with such nonchalance. Things like this continue to shock me even though I've been here for 11 months.