A thief twice rewarded, my lessons recorded

Four chickens stolen. Two months, three incidents, many exchanges of hands. Motorcycle motorcades, machetes being brandished. Two tribes, two religions, three languages, one village government. One bird recovered. The thief paid twice. Is this Tanzania or the wild west? Sometimes I wonder.

To make a long story short, our flock’s rooster was stolen on Tuesday and I found him being sold at the weekly market the next day. We figured out who the original thief was (the rooster had already been sold twice that day), but his family fiercely defended him, saying he had been at school and couldn’t have stolen and sold a chicken. The chicken dealer, who adamantly recognized the boy as the thief, began to doubt himself and called the case off. The thief’s family was paid, by the chicken dealer, for the disturbance and embarrassment that was caused them. We got our rooster back and three hens to replace the ones stolen last month, but it was hardly a satisfying ending.

It was a wild and exhausting day, but I think that the lessons I learned are more interesting than every little detail of how the day unfolded.

Lesson 1: your tribe is thicker than water. According to Wikipedia, there are more than 120 different tribes in Tanzania alone, each one with a unique language and culture. Omari and I moved to this area in April, which is predominantly Masai territory. Masai will stand up for one another until the bitter end.

Lesson 2: being visible and known helps, on the day you need help. As a white female in this town-outside-of-Town, I’m pretty recognizable (for better or worse). And in these few months since moving here, I have made friends and acquaintances whom I found I can count on if I need someone in a sticky situation. Omari had been away and unreachable by phone until several hours after I found my rooster, so having community members who knew me and helped me navigate the situation made all the difference.

Lesson 3: if someone helps you out, they expect to be repaid. Once everything got sorted out, with major thanks to our friend Elia, a Masai bodaboda driver (motorcycle that takes paying passengers), he started asking us, what about his dume? “Dume” means male animal – he was referring to cattle. In the Masai culture, if someone goes out of their way to help you out, you would probably give him a cow. Cows are wealth in the traditional Masai culture. That’s how you repay someone. He knows we don’t have any cows; in this case, dume is a euphemism for money.

Lesson 4: you’re never the only victim. It’s easy for me to think I’m targeted because as a white female in Tanzania I stick out like a sore thumb. But that day, when I found my stolen rooster and caused chaos at the market, it seemed like every other person I talked to told me they had had chickens stolen from them before – sometimes several dozen chickens all taken at once, and never found again. It’s unfortunate that so many have been victims of theft, but it also reminds me that being stolen from is pretty universal, and I’m not the only one it happens to.

Lesson 5: animals live in the present – why can’t we? When my rooster got back home, he flapped his wings, shook out his feathers, and went back to pecking corn bran and wooing his ladies. He made it look so easy, whereas there I was ruminating about the odds of the thief coming back and doing more damage than he did this time. But why worry about something that might never happen? I don’t think my rooster is losing sleep over it.

Divide and conquer: what I did about the chicken coop

I have seven hens and had read somewhere that two nest boxes would be more than enough. It wasn’t.

Let’s just say I don’t think the author of that advice ever dealt with your typical Tanzanian village hen. These chickens only lay eggs once in a blue moon, but when they do, it’s like they move in to the box. They spend so much time rearranging wood shavings and feathers in there, then lay an egg, go away, and come back and look at it again. And forget about when they go broody. These hens would rather set outside in monsoon weather than miss a precious opportunity to hatch out their spawn.

Despite (or perhaps because of) their neurotic tendencies, these village chickens make great mother hens. I hadn’t let any hens set this year (okay, one snuck by me… I told you they were crafty, right?!) because of our move and crazy schedule of events, but I finally got some cross-breed eggs for two of my hens to hatch out. However a hen needs to set somewhere where she will not have other motherhood-crazed chickens clambering all over her. So I figured the time had come to improve upon our one-room coop that clearly was just not cutting it.

During the past couple of weeks, I had been slowly figuring out how to best make a mama-and-baby sub-section of the main coop. I was able to use all scrap wood that remained from our house construction, with total expenses being the cost of 3 meters of chicken wire, two plastic five-gallon buckets, a piece of sheet metal, and nails, hinges, and a latch. It may not be the prettiest thing, but it gets the job done:

chickens 2

The top lifts up for easy feeding and cleaning:

chickens 3

chickens 4

The nest buckets are removable and easy-to-clean:

chickens 5

We finished it yesterday, thanks to Omari who saw I was a bit out of my league when it came to cutting sheet metal. Those edges can get razor-sharp!

Once we hammered in the last nail for the roof hinges, we had a good laugh about the tiny chicken door, and felt pretty accomplished with ourselves.

chickens 6

Where do you let your broody hens set and raise their chicks?