"Each week I had to go to the the center of the village to buy food for Kilshi," he says. "So everyone knew I was paying money to feed this dog - it was a quirk they associated with Americans." he says. This made Kilshi and Quintin a curious couple and a topic of local gossip. It also made Kilshi off limits. Kilshi slept at the foot of Quintin's bed and quickly gleaned which villagers were friends and which were strangers. He only barked when someone Quintin didn't know approached his hut. "It was uncanny how he knew when to be friendly and when to be protective," Quintin recalls.
Quintin Mecke joined the Peace Corps in Niger he never imagined that he would also end up playing parent to a stray pup
Adopting pets in far-away places
When Quintin Mecke joined the Peace Corps, he did it to fulfill his dream of living abroad and altruistically avoiding the nine-to-five grind. He never imagined that he would also end up playing parent to a stray pup.
Quintin was assigned to a small village in Niger Africa and was unexpectedly bequeathed Kilshi the dog (an intentionally humorous name that literally means "beef jerky" in Hausa) by his Peace Corps predecessor.
Kilshi was not a pretty pet. His fur was white and matted. Hi skull was "lumpy." He had a lazy eye and a distinctive limp. "He was sweet but ugly," says Quintin. "Kilshi was the kind of dog you could love a lot but wouldn't want to wake up with in your bed."
Pamela Constable with Ahu and some of the Pakistanis who helped her find her missing pet.
Feeding and caring for a pet in a place where most people could barely provide for themselves was considered an anomaly (if not downright ludicrous). Most living things were fair game. Goats, cows and chickens provided a source of food. But keeping a pet solely as a companion only amounted to an unnecessary liability.
One night, several months after Quintin had arrived in Niger, the villagers cooked a big meaty meal (a big deal and extreme rarity) and invited him to join them. Only after finishing his gamy stew did he inquire what he had just eaten. "Remember that dog you saw up on the hill the other day?" they asked him. He did remember, he says. And he didn't ask for seconds.
"Each week I had to go to the the center of the village to buy food for Kilshi," he says. "So everyone knew I was paying money to feed this dog - it was a quirk they associated with Americans." he says. This made Kilshi and Quintin a curious couple and a topic of local gossip. It also made Kilshi off limits.
Kilshi slept at the foot of Quintin's bed and quickly gleaned which villagers were friends and which were strangers. He only barked when someone Quintin didn't know approached his hut. "It was uncanny how he knew when to be friendly and when to be protective," Quintin recalls.
At the end of his two-year assignment, no new volunteer arrived to take Quintin's place. He asked a child in the village to look after Kilshi and the child agreed. But Quintin had no way to secure food for his pet. "I basically left Kilshi to his own devices," he admits. "He lived a good life - a great life for a stray in Africa. I hope he continued on as someone's pet. But he could have just as easily ended up in a stew."
