I really don’t like the phrase “This Is Africa”. TIA is something usually said by a westerner that always comes off sounding like a big brother and an excuse to not be patient or understanding of something that another culture just doesn’t think is as important as you do. That being said, maybe I am that westerner.
It was Saturday morning and I was headed to meet someone at “8 hours” to look at a sick cow. I try not to work on weekends to balance family life but often it just doesn’t work out that way. Isaac was with me and we were going to be back by lunchtime for sure I had told Alicia, “Probably just a couple hours, these guys are going to slaughter this cow and want me to do the necropsy (autopsy in animals).” Kelvin, the owner had told me we better get there early to meet the butcher who was meeting us there.
I arrived on time at 8 hours and waited for Kelvin. Isaac and I got some diesel from a local stand and watched the man pour it into the Landcruiser through a funnel made from a hose, plastic bottle and sock from the 20 liter jug. Kelvin calls and he is late but not bad, he arrives about 8:30. No problem.
We follow Kelvin to his house in the bush about a 20 minute drive in the opposite direction from where the cows are by the river. When we get to his home he explains the men are coming from Sesheke to butcher and are “just near”. After the usual greetings of the family and seeing the homestead we are asked if we like “village chicken” and I reply, “Yes, but we won’t be here that long so don’t go to the trouble of making anything.” A few minutes later Kelvin’s father comes in and gives us a live rooster to take home. I am assured he will be fine in the truck while we treat cows and so Isaac and I tie his legs together and place him in the back of the truck. I open all the windows and probably look like a PETA member to the Africans as I concern myself with dinner’s welfare.
We go back in and sit in the house. Isaac and I notice some skinny puppies and are bored so we go to the truck and get some wormer and dish it out. This earns us a huge bag of groundnuts (similar to peanuts). We put this next to the chicken who has now pooped in the back of the truck.
Breakfast is served about 10 hours. We eat bread and hot tea with Kelvin and his relatives who are in from Namibia visiting. Good conversation is had by all as I learn about their family history, etc, etc. Breakfast is over and the guys are “coming…almost here”. Conversation dies down. It is cool still but warming up and Isaac starts to play games on my phone. I fall asleep. I wake up and 30 minutes has passed and the relatives are snoring in the chairs around me. I tell Isaac to watch the battery on the phone but it shouldn’t be too much of a problem since we should be going soon. He has beat 20 levels of Candy Crush by now.
“Ok, let’s go Meesta Pol,” Kelvin says, “we will meet them at the river.” It is noon and I have just finished talking to a woman who has come for treatment of seizures from Kelvin’s father who is a traditional healer. Later today they will burn some herbs and put the ashes into wounds they will make on her body with a razor blade. She is very excited about the potential and I tried to prepare her for disappointment but I’m not a doctor. “Great, how far away are the cows?” “Very near, very near.”
Isaac, Kelvin, myself and two other men climb into the truck, the chicken has pooped again back there but seems ok, and head off into the bush. At least an hour later, after some driving in a beautiful flood plain by the Zambezi we arrive in a small fishing village of mud huts just on the water. Colorful birds flit around as we step out of the truck. “This is ridiculous…” I mutter to Isaac as I see no cows in sight. Still we are in good spirits. “Good thing we ate some bread because we have not brought any food and just 1 liter of water for the two of us.”
“Mom packed us that Fanta you got from those farmers yesterday.” Isaac replied. Awesome.
We walk to the waters edge as Kelvin points out the village, the river, everything. No cows. They are on the island, coming “just there” and Kelvin points to a tree line that is at least a mile away and across the river. We are in the sun, it’s hot and I ask Isaac if he wants to go back to the truck for that Fanta. He says he’s fine and my excuse is gone.
We sit in the shade of a sand dune and it is almost cold with the breeze. Isaac and I talk about how it really is a great day in spite of everything and we really are enjoying ourselves. After a good hour of father-son talk time Kelvin says they are near for the 4th time and we actually see movement across the river. The sick cow is being drug on a sled pulled by two oxen. As they reach the water 2 teenage boys head off from our side in boats no bigger than a canoe. “Watch this, Isaac, I think a story is about to happen.”
Rather uneventfully though the men unload the cow and place her in the water between the 2 small boats and float her across to the super steep bank on the other side. I went to get the truck to haul her up the bank but by the time I got there pure man (many men) power had pulled the down cow up the 20 or so feet (vertical mostly) to my amazement.
2 PM, now to wait for the men to slaughter, they are still coming. Yes, they had sold the sick cow and it is legal to do as long as she is slaughtered before she dies. I am there because they have lost 8 cows in 2 weeks like this and it is helpful to see the inside to make a diagnosis and save the rest. Not my recommendation to eat the cow, but how it was going down that day. Sorry to some reading, but that’s the story.
3 PM, 4 PM. The Fanta is gone, Isaac has started and almost finished a book and I have had another nap in the back of the truck using the groundnuts as a pillow and having to chase the rooster only once when he jumped out of the truck. The guys from Sesheke never came and so Kelvin has called some other guys from Mwandi who will be here any minute. True to their word they pull in as the sun is starting to set and begin to take care of the cow. I make a tentative diagnosis of Hemorrhagic Septicemia when we do the necropsy and advise vaccinating the herd and some other things as the sun is going down. That part took about 15 minutes. As Kelvin discusses the price of beef in Silozi I say we need to get back before dark and he agrees.
On the ride back Kelvin says, “I have delayed you Meesta Pol.”
Sorta, it’s now 6 pm. “No problem, it was fun.” and I mostly meant it. It was hard to not be seriously frustrated at moments but the only bad thing was unmet expectations and we had no other plans for Saturday, but that was the point. As I told Alicia later we could have left except all day everything was going to happen very soon. (I had texted her to keep her up to date). Home at 7 after stopping in Mwandi to give the rooster to homeless man we knew. I didn’t want to )and Ethan and Rachel would never let me) kill the bird.
Kelvin was super excited to get a diagnosis and obtained the needed medicines and made plans for us to go the next day to the island and vaccinate the herd. I made an excuse not to go.
PS-All the cows got treated fine without me and all is well!
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| Cow Ambulance |
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| Relaxing on the shore |
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| Isaac taking it all in stride |
