Mob Rule

One thing I like about rural Africa is the execution of community justice. Take the example of a vast log that has been sitting by the side of the road in the village since my arrival. In the past couple of days the normal peace and quiet (that is unless there’s a funeral or the deafening loudspeaker is in full flow) has been replaced by the mechanized grind of a chainsaw cutting the thing up into planks. I went to investigate. Seems the original owner got wind of a plot to charge him with illegal logging and decided to cut loose the log and return later. As a plan, this is all well and good, until you realize that the log is waa waa timber 4ft in diameter and 40ft in length, and so not too easy to shift on the quiet. So the giant log has lay there for quite some time acting as, at 2million cedis or 200 quid, a rather expensive climbing frame for the local school. In step the elders, ordering the slicing and dicing and, due to my timely intervention, we hope to get our share for the construction of the community library. And the rightful but illegal owner of the wood? Well, he gets to remain anonymous, or at least as far as the fuzz is concerned, and even gets a few consolation planks to sell and cover his costs. The job is, as they say, a good ‘un.