The Tale of the Carrot Thief

I got back to village a couple days ago after my family's wonderful visit to Mali and an absolutely glorious vacation in Senegal with my family! (blog with stories coming soon) About five minutes after I get home, as I'm sweeping out the two inches of dust and sand that has accumulated on my floor in my two-week absence, Coumbare comes dashing into my compound. "Aissata!' she shouted, 'We have a carrot thief!

It took about everything I had to not burst out laughing - I mean really, a carrot thief? But she was quite serious. While I was gone, someone began to break into the garden at night. Curiously enough, this thief does not take all the carrots - he or she digs up a bunch, takes a few, and then leaves the rest on the ground. The carrots the thief steals are not fully ripe either. Even curiouser, this thief only takes carrots. Ignoring all the cabbage, lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and hibiscus, the thief goes straight for the carrots.

Seeing as Bugs Bunny isn't around, I asked Coumbare who she thought the thief should be. She shook her head and said ominously, 'It could be anyone!' I should explain a bit about the security system around our community garden: it's nonexistent. There is a lock on the garden gate that Coumbare is in charge of unlocking each morning and locking each night - which she does religiously. But anyone could easily jump the fence, or even roll under it in some parts. It is impossible for animals to get into though. Or rather, if they did it would be quite obvious, what with a section of the fence being pushed to the ground and hoof marks. So this thief must be a person. It's not even hungry season right now, so the thief couldn't be stealing because he/she is starving. People just harvested their crops, so food is abundant.

Coumbare is insistent that once word spreads around village about the thief, the stealing will stop. In Malian culture, calling someone a thief is the worst thing you can do. Stealing is the most shameful act in which one can be caught. Until it stops though, I'm going to continue advocating my theory that it was Professor Plum in the library with the lead pipe...or perhaps, to go Clue Mali-style, Amadou in the women's garden with a diallo (hoe). I'll keep you updated...