A Lizard Tale

I felt very unhappy when I opened a rarely-used closet door and found it has been heavily used as a toilet for geckos. One of the perpetrators was still in the closet and narrowly escaped death. Disgusted, I cleaned up the months-old mess and told my son that he will receive 1 cedi (25 cents) for every gecko he kills.

Only a day later, I heard Tyler in the compound calling, "Mom! Come see this lizard!" The tone of his voice hastened my steps. This was not going to be a gecko, and suddenly I felt thankful that the critters in my closets are only four inch reptiles.

Huddled angrily by the side of the porch was a monitor lizard. Though small for his kind, he was over two feet long from nose to tail. His forked, snake-like tongue flicked in and out whenever our dog ventured too close. Its forked tongue did not flick at me; I wisely kept my distance.

Our dog, bless her, is not known for her bravery. She wanted to get a solid bite of lizard meat, but leaped backwards every time the lizard switched its long tail. Obviously things would have been at a stalemate with just the dog and me hovering nervously around an exhausted monitor lizard. It was fortunate, then, that John was home and man enough to pitch the critter into the bush area across the road. A neighbor will be happy to find it, for Ghanaians eat monitor lizards. I ate them, too, when I was served roasted lizard legs in a village, claws and leathery skin still intact. But this time, I was glad I was under no obligation to cook it for lunch.

Friends had other ideas: "I decided to look up how much one of those monitor lizard pets would sell for here in the States - from $35 up to over $1000! You might have a business."

And then again, maybe not.