Scissors!

I tell Pateh I will make him a car. I punch some holes in empty tin cans and bring out a pair of scissors to cut twine for tying the cans together. The scissors instantly become more exciting than the tin-can car. Pateh, proud that he could identify them: “These are ‘scissors,’ right Binta?” I show him how to use the scissors, which his small hands wield like gardening shears. After he’s cut the twine for me, he goes in search of other things to mutilate while I complete the car. He asks, “What kind of tree is this?” pointing to the scraggly remains of a guinea-fowl-destroyed seedling.
“I don’t know.”
“Can I cut it?”
“Okay.”

Halfway through snipping-off one-inch segments: “Binta!” he giggles, “Did you forget? This was the tree you planted!”
“Ee-yo! I didn’t forget! But, look, a guinea fowl ate all the leaves.”
“Yes, a guinea fowl ate all the leaves.”

 Pateh returns to pruning, which is only complete when a half-inch stub of stick remains. Now he needs to find something else to cut to pieces. He finds an unripe mango that’s fallen and cuts a gash through the middle of it. I decide it looks like a mouth and bring out my pile of used match sticks to turn it into a person. Mango Man gets a guinea fowl feather for his hair. I’m having more fun than Pateh now, and I make a friend for Mango Man, with a fuller head of hair. I seat the two mangoes in the car and they get driven over to the alkalo’s compound, where they’re soon abandoned—“Binta! Bring a book!” Left unattended, the mango men do not live long: two sheep approach and gobble the mango men, feathers and all. Pateh turns around with a gasp, throws a knife at the sheep, and runs to the rescue. I hadn’t thought Pateh had cared much about the mango men—there hadn’t been any smiles or hand-clapping at their creation—but he’s distraught at their destruction. Half of one mango man remains, slippery with saliva. Pateh tosses it away.
“Make me a new doll.”
I assure him that I will, tomorrow. Pateh stares at the abandoned mango man and stares at the knife. Then he picks up the knife and begins methodically slicing the mango to pieces. When he can slice no more, he starts hacking at the slices. This draws the attention of Ma Debbo, who tells him to stop playing with the knife, the knife is sharp. I assume she says this because she does not want him to dull the knife, only later thinking of the alternative possibility: that she worried he would cut himself. The former was the more likely reason, anyway.