The Sunday News
On the Lighterside Mzana Mthimkhulu
WHEN the hen saw me approaching its enclosed area, fury seized it. It fluffed out its wings and feathers to make itself look bigger and menacing. Up and down, it dashed along the net wire fence demanding to come out. Like its mother, the chick outside the enclosed area ran up and down the fence. Reuniting with the rest of the family was its goal. I picked up the chick and the hen’s fury went into overdrive. With its claws and beak, it tried to bring down the fence. I opened the enclosure door and threw the chick in. It landed on its mother’s back. Quick as a pursuing cheetah, I closed the door before the hen bolted out.
In its fury, the hen did not realise the chick had rejoined its nine brothers and sisters. It continued its assault on the fence.
“Count your chicks,” I shouted. “The missing one is back.”
After a few seconds, the hen conceded it could not bring down the fence. It turned round to check on its chicks. One by one it nodded to each chick.
It now looked at me with affection.
“The truth is stranger than fiction!” I later exclaimed to Sarah, a friend of mine. “My hen can count. I witnessed it count its chicks and it got it right.”
“Not surprised,” Sarah said. “When I was a little girl growing up in Nkayi, I envied boys riding donkeys and oxen. I asked mother if I too could ride a donkey, she was shocked. She said good girls never rode animals.”
She narrated her experience:
One morning I got up before sunrise and sneaked to the cattle kraal with a leather rope. At the calves’ kraal, I put the rope round the neck of a calf called Bhantomi. Knowing that the rope was always put before it went for feeding, Bhantomi co-operated.
From the top of the kraal side, I jumped on to Bhantomi’s back. The startled calf jumped up and down, trying to throw me off. I held on to the rope in a manner that would have scandalised my mother and turned many boys green with envy. After a few minutes, Bhantomi gave up. I opened the kraal door and rode him out. I directed Bhantomi to the main kraal and rode round it.
Bhantomi’s mother, Ntusikazi was furious. She glared at me, pawned the ground and mooed. The bull, Blackface also glared at me, pawned the ground and bellowed.
On hearing the support from his parents, Bhantomi resumed his attempts to throw me off. He dashed to and fro, jumped up and down and kicked high his hind feet. I held on like a tick on the calf. Tired and frustrated, Bhantomi gave up. I patted him on the neck and went on to ride round the kraal as many times as I wanted.
Later that morning, I joined my brothers to milk the cows. I climbed up one of the kraal’s perimeter logs to watch the milking. Ntusikazi sniffed the air as though sensing danger.
Suddenly, she lowered her head into a fighting position and charged towards me. I jumped back just before she hit the kraal logs. The logs remained intact. Ntusikazi butted the perimeter trying to bring it down and come after me.
Everyone around was amazed. Ntusikazi was the tamest cow in the herd. What omen was this when she suddenly turned violent? Why target an innocent little girl like me?
One of my brothers escorted me back home and told mother what had happened. She looked at me and sighed. “You finish my strength. How many times must I tell you never to do boys’ things? You don’t belong there and that’s why the cow is angry with you.”
“I am sorry mama,” I said, “I will never go there again.”
Try as I may, I could not resist the call of the kraal. Several mornings I slipped to the kraal and enjoyed my rides. Ntusikazi never tired of roasting me with a furious gaze. I was careful never to go near the cattle outside my secret morning visits.
Ntusikazi lived to a ripe old age and was slaughtered at the kraal years later. With other girls, I went to the kraal with dishes to fetch the meat. Bhantomi was now a full-grown ox.
Just as his mother had done years back, Bhantomi sniffed the air when he saw us coming. Suddenly he lowered his head and charged at us. We fled in all directions.
I was never much of a sprinter, but that day I ran faster than everyone. Bhantomi ignored all the other girls and came after me. My brothers quickly recovered from their shock and flew to my rescue. They shouted, threw stones and sticks at Bhantomi and drove him away from me. I made it home in one piece.
Even mother had no explanation for this one. “Next year,” she said, “you are going to a boarding school. We can’t risk these animals killing you.”
“Thank you mama,” I said with a smile.
“So you see,” my friend Sarah said to me, “how can I be surprised by a hen that can count when I know of an ox that had a long memory?”
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