The Lovebirds (3)

 Iwang saw children running around in a yard kicking a round piece of plastic (or was it leather?), saw a woman in another yard holding a pot with pieces of paper in both hands and striding from a a small shack into a big building and then, he tilted forward and saw in another compound a man lying supine on a mat crossing his legs, one hand holding a gadget to his ear and the other fanning himself with a piece of cardboard. Then, Iwang's eyes roved a bit far and he saw humans banging pieces of wood with their hammers as they covered them with wide sheets of shiny metal.

Though Iwang had an inking what it was but he curiously asked his friend: 'What are they doing with stones and wood and making so much noise with their hands?'

'Just what we heard a lovebird told the other lovebirds. They're building a home just like the others,' Isang replied and showed the litter of human homes to his friend.

Iwang shook his head. 'They destroy our accommodation but build theirs. That's not fair!' Iwang cried in anguish.

For a better view of the human hamlet, Isang pointed to a tall metal structure. They lifted quite high and swung their wings towards it. They didn't want their colourful plumage to attract unnecessary attention to them. High up in the middle section where objects like drums ringed it, they sat on a metal bar. It was the communication mast of one of the service providers of which the lovebirds from here counted four which were evenly spaced and punctuated the mass of several thousands of mostly shiny zinc roofs. They had seen too a few black and red tops. The brown ones were those rust had eaten into and majority of these were sheds and stalls. Here and there, there was smoke spiralling up. The birds decided to count all the sensible trees around these concrete structures.

An entire street of hundreds of houses had just one pawpaw with a few rotten fruits pecked by sparrows and other smaller birds which rushed in and out or else they were struck down by missiles or caught by the talons of famished predators like hawks and kites. Another street had two stunted orange and mango trees. In fact, what filled everywhere were metal frames of trucks which would park in a vast space as goods were being loaded in or out, cars and motorcycles rushing through streets with potholes and raising dust, their exhaust pipes emitting fumes into the air. The few painted houses were being discoloured by the dust and smoke. Discarded items, from wraps of biscuits to plastic bottles, were in heaps in open and remote corners of the hamlet. The banks of two muddied streams running through the the enclave were dotted with heaps of rubbish. The spectacle here was bleak for the lovebirds.

At the fringe of the habitation, Isang and Iwang saw fumes billowing into the sky and they had ventured to see what was going on. They had flown close to it, their eyes straining to see the materials being burnt below. A light wind had carried the smoke suddenly to their faces. The smell was putrid coming from burnt tyres and almost snuffed the breath out of the two friends. They swung their wings zestfully, even though they had felt sapped by their futile flight, to escape the threat to their lives.

'I'm done, man,' Iwang said. 'Let's go back to the jungle before the stench here chokes us to death!'

Of course, Iwang agreed. With what they had seen so far, human habitation was drab and putrid. The jungle was resplendent and scenting like women during festivals. Variety was its composition. They could fly for long hours and miles and yet knew it not. The leafage shaded their heads, they fed lavishly on its fruits and seeds and the diverse colours of animals and plants were a feast to the eyes while their souls wallowed in its endless symphony. A flight of few hours into the human desert here sapped them of energy. It filled them with trepidation.

'If this transformation goes on, I'm afraid,' Iwang said, 'there won't be any leaf in the jungle left over our heads. And I can't imagine myself feeding on palm nuts or cocoa beans every day of my life.'

'Cocoa beans? Didn't the escaped lovebird tell us how a human expended one bullet to recover one cocoa seed a squirrel took? A human habitation is a dangerous place for insects, birds and animals. If they don't use guns, they would use pesticide - in short, any dangerous weapon - to stop us from helping ourselves with their produce. I'm afraid, if the transformation goes on unchecked, we would all lose our lives and there won't be any progeny to catapult into the future,' Isang said.

'Hear that! Pesticide. We take what we see to survive on because what originally belonged to us had been seized by them and they tagged us something else. We and them, who really are the pests?' Iwang said.

'Ask them,' Isang replied.

After a long moment of contemplation, Iwang said: 'Can you imagine not seeing the big snail , after crawling on the floor of the jungle all night, climb a mammoth tree at dawn to cling to a leaf on a branch throughout the day; the tortoise strut around in search of mushrooms; no pack of wild pigs marching in a long line to the bog; no droves of monkeys whamming through the trees; no buffaloes chewing cuds, resting under the shade by the bank of the stream; the scaly anteater rolling tight to protect itself from a predator; and the monitor lizard shooting its forked tongue as it prowls around? What a change that would be!'

'What a change!' Isang concurred.

The two parrots were racing back to base in an arc to their straight flight to human enclave. They were hoping they could stumble on a cool joint in a remote spot where the chainsaws and motorized vehicles hadn't yet reached. There they could take their partners out. The day was half gone and they were hoping the other half could be more fruitful. Otherwise, they were doomed.

THE END