A Possible Case of Geckoslaughter

As I mentioned in a previous post, I love geckos. Big geckos, little geckos, even sort of in-between geckos -- I love them all. In fact, one of my favourite things about Tanzania is the fact that I get to see geckos practically every day. And unlike Agama Lizards, they do not masquerade as a new species waiting to be discovered and named by unsuspecting volunteers.

Not everyone shares my love of geckos. Lisa, one of the other volunteers falls into the "I don't like geckos" camp. In fact, she enthusiastically does not like them to the point where she had trouble sleeping one night because she had seen one of the little fellows on her bedroom wall. I tried to explain how beneficial the tiny reptiles were, but she was not persuaded. As she put it, "If it isn't human, dog, or cat, I don't like it." I was shocked at such an anti-geckite comment, but Tanzanians and Canadians are both pretty tolerant peoples, so a Canadian in Tanzania is doubly expected to be tolerant.

Yesterday, she came to me in an agitated state because a particularly big (by gecko standards) member of the species was in her room. I told her that his size was an indication of his prowess as a hunter of mosquitoes, but she was not convinced and she asked me to try to get him out of her room. Since I knew she harboured ill-will towards the species, I agreed to try to relocate him.

There was a slight problem, though -- the gecko was running between the top of Lisa's walls and her ceiling. The solution was to use the long-handled squeegee that we keep around for moving water to the drain after showers. Using it as a barrier to his path, I attempted to herd the little fellow along the ceiling towards the open door and the freedom of the hallway.

Having once heard about the holistic cowboys of southern Africa, I decided to try to move the my little rafiki (friend) in the least stressful manner possible and I started talking to him as I slowly maneuvered him from the bathroom to the bedroom towards the hall. Unfortunately, I forgot that he was a Tanzanian gecko and therefore a speaker of Kiswahili, not English. My attempts to reassure him that I meant him no harm obviously fell upon deaf ears for he got scared and started tearing across the ceiling, only to fall to the floor. He got up and scrambled beneath the table and into a collection of bags that Lisa was keeping out of the way. This was not good.

I briefly considered leaving him hidden where he was, reasoning that what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. In the end I decided that while that was probably the most ethical decision in terms of the gecko's psychological well-being it was decidedly not the same for my friend, and while I know for a fact that geckos do not bite humans, I was not sure the same applied to an angry volunteer.

I moved the table and was able to maneuver him along the floor and into the hallway, where he promptly stopped moving. This was not good either. Normally, when a person approaches a gecko, it runs away, a habit which makes it difficult to get good photographs. My little friend did not move, even when I tentatively touched his tail. This was definitely not good.

I picked him up and held him in my palm. (If you have ever wondered what geckos feel like, they rather resemble a living gummi bear.) He did not move at first, but I was able to see his chest expand and contract as he breathed. Eventually, he moved in an attempt to escape. I gently took him outside and put him on the ground, where he moved two feet and stopped. Once again, this was not good.

A few minutes and a touch of his tail later, he moved with refreshing speed -- for a grand total of a metre. At that point, he laid on the ground again. A few more minutes later and he made another one metre sprint, this time making it to the shade of the big plastic water tank. He was still breathing and flicking his tongue, but I was worried because he only moved when he felt totally in danger. I decided to let him recover in peace, without the shadow of a giantic mzungo looming over him.

I was just heading back in the house when I saw the crow land by the orange tree fifteen metres away. This was so not good. I felt bad enough about frightening and possibly causing the gecko to have a fatal fall that I sat on the verandah until the crow left. By then it was supper and I had to come in.

I could not find the little guy when I went back to check on him after supper. I hope that the reason I couldn't find him was because he had scurried away to safety, but I didn't like the way that crow kept looking my way earlier. In the absence of a body, I am going to cling to the theory that he survived, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I am guilty of geckoslaughter, if not geckocide.

I do know one thing for sure: I refuse to attempt to move any more geckos from volunteers' rooms. After all, the geckos were here before we were.