Down the road from King’s Garden Children’s Home lived a python. Her name was Iria. A group of us went to visit one day, because pet pythons are not any more common in the Philippines than they are in Seattle. Rona, one of the House Parents, knew the family and offered to take me with some of the older children. We walked down the road about ten minutes, and then turned left into a dirt driveway. There was a small house about 200 feet back from the road, built with cinder block and metal sheeting, with a wood lean-to shed sheltering the washing area. A television was flickering inside.
The house was set in the middle of trees and brush. The oversized leaves and lush greenery gave a Jurassic feeling to landscape, as though it would be a very welcoming place for strange and unusual creatures. Or dinosaurs.
About eight family members gathered around a large bamboo table set in the front. Another girl was swinging on a hammock strung between two trees, next to a handmade wooden table and some chairs off to the side. The whole homestead had a Swiss Family Robinson feel to it.
Scattered throughout the trees were cages with various animals – mice, birds, chickens. A gorgeous rooster boldly walked his territory, between the untethered pigs eating
vegetation and the rabbits sleeping in a pen. In the middle of the yard was a large cage. Inside was Iria, the python. She wasn’t moving. Her body was folded and twisted around the cage as she undoubtedly contemplated life, existential meaning, and dinner.
The older kids pulled back the roof of the cage and started pulling
Rona talked with the mother and then motioned to me. “You can pet it, if you want.” If I want. Did I want to pet a snake? I hate snakes. On the other hand, when would I pet a snake again? Probably never, which was a lovely thought, but I did hate to miss out on new experiences. “Ah, oooh, erm…ok!”
I squeezed in between two small children, who were already petting the snake like it wasn’t a cold-blooded killer undoubtedly plotting their height against her unhinged jaw and mentally planning a nice herbal infused sauce for dipping little fingers and toes. Monster.
I reached out my hand gingerly. The skin was smooth and scaly and cold and not sticky, but felt like it should be. I shrieked and laughed and jumped. “One more time!” came
the sadistic encouragement from my group. I wondered if it would feel slightly more familiar the second time around, but nope, nope, nope. Just as gross. But I petted a snake and shan’t ever have to do it again.Rona had been talking with the mother and came back towards the group. She slowly took a few steps away from the bamboo table. “Python is considered exotic food here. They’re planning to eat it soon.”
“Really?!”
She took another step back.
“Also, it hasn’t eaten in a month.”
“Really???”
We both eyeballed the situation. The family kids were smaller, more snack like, and closer. The snake didn’t seem to be moving, but I know when I’m hangry it makes me quite unpredictable. Was the snake hangry? I didn’t think we were the right people to find out.
“Should we go?”
“We should go.”
“Let’s go.”
We thanked our hosts from a distance with a nice wave and a smile, and quickly exited, double checking we had all our charges from King’s Garden.
A few days later, Rona told me the family had eaten the snake. Goodbye poor Iria!
“Snake, snake, snake!!” I was walking downstairs for breakfast on a Sunday morning when the kids surrounded me, excitedly jumping up and down and pulling my hands towards the dining room. “Snake!”
“Is there a snake here???” Oh dear. “Where?” They kids were pointing towards a stack of chairs. I tried to see if something was moving, from safely across the room.
“Come, come! Here!” Oh dear. Joe was a nine-year old pure boy, who loved snakes and snails and metaphorical puppy dog tails. He grabbed my hand and took me outside. I mentally prepared myself. Of the two of us, I was clearly the adult and should be able to handle a snake situation. I had no idea how to handle a snake situation.
Joe grabbed a stick and began digging around in a wheelbarrow. “Snake here!”
“Well don’t make it mad!”
“No, no, snake here!”
“Let’s just leave it, wherever it is, how about that?”
“Dead, snake dead! Here!”
I still wasn’t sure the entire story, but the words “dead” and “snake” together were a very heartening combination.
We went back inside and the staff told me that a python had found its way into the dining room that morning, woven between the stacks of chairs. It was small, maybe
three feet or so. It wasn’t poisonous, although many snakes there are. But, it couldn’t stay. Regy, our groundskeeper, knew exactly what to do. He took a stick and whacked it on the head to stun it, and then took the snake outside to kill it with a knife. Blessings on Regy!
The staff were gathered around the kitchen table, discussing the excitement of the snake. They didn’t like snakes, of any kind.
“It was a baby snake.” Another one added, “Where there’s a baby snake, you know there’s another around – the mother!” We all nervously laughed. And started looking in the corners of the room.
“Maybe it’s the baby of the snake down the road?” Someone asked. “The python that was eaten?”
Michelle, our cook, laughed, “Oh that’s why it came here! It was an orphan!”
“We’ll put up a sign next time, no orphan snakes, only children.” They laughed again before scattering to return to the daily tasks at hand.
And so the snakes on the road of King’s Garden were no more. For now.
The end.