The boys are our age—six, maybe seven, barefoot and wearing shorts. Their brown arms wave sticks at a green snake, a venomous viper coiled on a branch above them. My sister’s white hand tugs at mine, but I won’t move.
The snake’s mouth gapes, the inside raw meat. It sways S shapes, hissing, reaching ever closer. Stones arc across a blue sky. Suddenly the green head snaps back. It falls to the ground, between us and the boys. They cheer and poke its inert body, then take their triumphant laughter with them, walking towards the mud huts in the distance.