Letters from Africa - Letter #24
Dear Family and Friends,
Can you stand another letter about our farm animals? I’ll try to keep it brief.
You may recall that one of our cows had a calf a month or so ago –I assisted with a flashlight – remember? Well, our other cow, I call her Bessie, was brought home from the fields last Tuesday because she was about to give birth. I don’t know how many of you have seen this but it’s pretty amazing.
The calf’s feet and head came out first then it’s body. Most of this happened while Bessie was calmly munching on a pile of grass but just before actually dropping the calf she walked around in a circle. She then licked the little one clean and the baby was on its feet within less than an hour looking under its mother for some milk. This all went just fine but the afterbirth didn’t come out. It didn’t come out Tuesday or Wednesday in spite of a rash of bazaar cultural potions being administered to poor Bessie. Matjeeka was really worried so on Thursday I traveled to the closest town that has a vet. We had a long talk. He told me that the problem could be solved with a pill. Well, not a pill exactly, a suppository. He gave me the soap cake sized suppository, a plastic glove that went from my hand to my armpit and very exact instruction on what to do. I said, “Please tell me you’re kidding.” He wasn’t.
Now wouldn’t you think one of these professional herd boys would offer to do the deed? Not on your life. They looked at me like I was crazy. No way were they going to stick their arm you-know-where. They did, however, put ropes around Bessie’s legs and bring her to the ground. She was not at all impressed with this latest remedy and struggled so much that it took me several tries to get my arm in deep enough. I’ll admit that this was mostly because I was so nervous and at first pulled out when she struggled. When I finally got my hand in to the right place to leave the pill she made a huge heave and I got knocked onto my back into a pile of very fresh dung.
The doctor said it could take some hours for the pill to work so we kept a vigil on Bessie throughout the night. By morning only some of the placenta had come out so we had to go to step two which was a repeat of the first procedure with the difference that this time I pulled the thing out.
You know, when I get home I want to live a very quiet life. I want my animal husbandry to not extend beyond taking Peepers for his morning walks.
But that’s not for another ten months. In the meantime, Lance is still lame but doing better. I’m giving him good medicine (phenylbutazone), massaging his legs twice a day with something called Deep Ice and keeping him quietly in the corral. We have nine new puppies and more chickens than I care to think about. I spend my evenings sipping tea and reading about poultry production, water harvesting methods and any trash novel I can get my hands on.
The countryside gets more beautiful each day as summer approaches. We’ve had two storms so soon the villagers will start plowing fields for planting.
I’m trying to get a big herb garden started by our newly formed youth committee but so far I’m doing all the work, which is a Peace Corps no-no.
We are supposed to be transferring skills here. When I focus on the sustainability of some of my projects I get depressed.
It is Saturday so, of course, I’m going to a funeral. It seems impossible that so many people are dying – it’s almost always AIDS. Traditionally, funerals are on Saturdays but lately there have been so many that they’ve been on other weekdays as well. In the past two weeks I’ve been to five. I no longer go for the complete service – it takes 4 – 5 hours. I either show up the night before the actual burial to pay my respects and leave a gift of money or I go to the home of the deceased the day of the funeral just before the village carries the casket to the burial grounds and walk with the mourners to and from the burial site. Funerals are very pragmatic here.
The villagers dig the grave, lower the body and then the men take turns filling it in as the women chant and pray. Afterwards there is always food all prepared by friends and family of the deceased. Frequently on the day after the funeral people will come to the bereaves house and help out in any way possible. Last Sunday I visited a woman who had just lost her only son.
I felt so badly for her. The number of deaths here does not in any way lessen the intensity of the pain. Losing a child causes the same agonizing grief here as it does in our culture. Many women were there. Some were gathering up all the clothes and blankets in the house and taking them to the river to wash. Some were mixing cow dung with sand and water to re-mud the floor of her house. They had taken everything outside. The mother was on a mattress outside under a blanket in heavy grief. I helped with the floor – there were many tears mixed with the mud that day.
I’ll try to think of something cheerier to write about next time. In the meantime be safe, be well and be grateful that you live in the good old USA.
Love,
Peggi
