Lost Cow, Baby Goats
Yesterday, Vincent Maugis and I leave TICH at the same time. Vincent works with UNESCO, a division of the UN, developing an on-line system to capture research data from organizations all over the world. He's in Kisumu for TICH's Annual Scientific Conference and to work with our IT/Research team to gather specs for his system.
After we pass through the gate, a brown cow comes trotting down the dirt road toward us. Vincent visited TICH last November, so he's not alarmed to see cows. It's common to pass cows on the road as they seek grass to munch, along with their goat and sheep companions. Not sure I'll every get used to walking beside a lopping beast, or navigating down the center of the herd as we head in opposite directions. I've learned they don't spook like horses, so it's rare they'll ever swing their horns our way, no matter how close we get. But it is unusual to see cows running down a Kisumu street.
This trotting cow worries me. He heads one way, then another. He spies a young tree and brushes against it, sending the tree toward the ground. As Vincent and I walk on, the cow nibbles a little grass but soon turns and heads our way. Vincent walks straight, then around a corner to St. Anna's Guest House where he's staying. I turn left. Nearing three school girls, I notice they bunch together off the road. I turn around to see the brown cow trotting our way, head down, swaying. We all move off the road and watch him run by, smell him, hear his breath exhaling, puffing. Then watch him cross the street and turn back toward us. But he's confused and he turns again, making a full circle in the middle of the road, before straightening out and heading away from us. He's lured to the side of the road by a high pile of cut branches, cut so recently the leaves are still green. He grabs a mouthful and is off again.
He bellows a rather mournful sound. A lonely sound. When he gets to the intersection of the dirt roads, he trots left, then right, turning toward Ring Road and Nyalenda. He stops by a hedge of bougainvilleas and munches for half a second before bellowing again and crossing the road, bouncing/trotting fast, head moving from side to side as though he's looking for someone.
I'm headed away from Nyalenda and look back to see the running cow turn right on Ring Road and vanish from sight. I worry about him and hope he finds his crew soon.
Today, walking toward TICH's student hostel (where they serve lunch in the outdoor cafeteria), two baby goats, glossy black, come running along the road, the very road the cow had been circling and circling in. They run briskly, one behind the other, as if they're rushing to catch up with the little boy who just passed me. He pays them no attention, however, and I think how children in the US would delight in seeing baby goats running free.
The babies hurry along, cry out, then stop at the same pile of cut branches the cow nibbled yesterday. These branches were their destination, without question. Around the corner, from Nyalenda, comes a mama goat, brown, black and white. Getting too close to a Mama's baby is more dangerous than dodging a running cow, so I ease to the other side of the road. She seems to be pregnant and her utters are full and swinging. Her gait suggests the swinging mammary glands are painful. But her mission is to catch up with her babies. As she passes me, she bleats, deeply, and the babies cry out, high pitched. Mama answers again and then she's there, by their side, watching them navigate the pile of dying and drying leaves on cut tree branches.
After we pass through the gate, a brown cow comes trotting down the dirt road toward us. Vincent visited TICH last November, so he's not alarmed to see cows. It's common to pass cows on the road as they seek grass to munch, along with their goat and sheep companions. Not sure I'll every get used to walking beside a lopping beast, or navigating down the center of the herd as we head in opposite directions. I've learned they don't spook like horses, so it's rare they'll ever swing their horns our way, no matter how close we get. But it is unusual to see cows running down a Kisumu street.
This trotting cow worries me. He heads one way, then another. He spies a young tree and brushes against it, sending the tree toward the ground. As Vincent and I walk on, the cow nibbles a little grass but soon turns and heads our way. Vincent walks straight, then around a corner to St. Anna's Guest House where he's staying. I turn left. Nearing three school girls, I notice they bunch together off the road. I turn around to see the brown cow trotting our way, head down, swaying. We all move off the road and watch him run by, smell him, hear his breath exhaling, puffing. Then watch him cross the street and turn back toward us. But he's confused and he turns again, making a full circle in the middle of the road, before straightening out and heading away from us. He's lured to the side of the road by a high pile of cut branches, cut so recently the leaves are still green. He grabs a mouthful and is off again.
He bellows a rather mournful sound. A lonely sound. When he gets to the intersection of the dirt roads, he trots left, then right, turning toward Ring Road and Nyalenda. He stops by a hedge of bougainvilleas and munches for half a second before bellowing again and crossing the road, bouncing/trotting fast, head moving from side to side as though he's looking for someone.
I'm headed away from Nyalenda and look back to see the running cow turn right on Ring Road and vanish from sight. I worry about him and hope he finds his crew soon.
Today, walking toward TICH's student hostel (where they serve lunch in the outdoor cafeteria), two baby goats, glossy black, come running along the road, the very road the cow had been circling and circling in. They run briskly, one behind the other, as if they're rushing to catch up with the little boy who just passed me. He pays them no attention, however, and I think how children in the US would delight in seeing baby goats running free.
The babies hurry along, cry out, then stop at the same pile of cut branches the cow nibbled yesterday. These branches were their destination, without question. Around the corner, from Nyalenda, comes a mama goat, brown, black and white. Getting too close to a Mama's baby is more dangerous than dodging a running cow, so I ease to the other side of the road. She seems to be pregnant and her utters are full and swinging. Her gait suggests the swinging mammary glands are painful. But her mission is to catch up with her babies. As she passes me, she bleats, deeply, and the babies cry out, high pitched. Mama answers again and then she's there, by their side, watching them navigate the pile of dying and drying leaves on cut tree branches.
posted by Cindi at 12:16 PM
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