From: TUBOB: Two Years in West Africa with the Peace Corps
After work one day I walked to the farmers’ market with a long list of items we needed. Heading home, I tried not to think about the heat and the heavy pack on my back. Instead I planned our Easter dinner. Absorbed in my thoughts, I trudged along the winding path. Suddenly I stopped in my tracks. A large herd, maybe fifty head or so of longhorn cattle, grazed on the scrub grass, completely blocking the path.
To turn around and go back to take the road home would add at least a mile to my walk, not appealing in that heat. I looked around for a Fula herdsman, but didn’t see him, though I was sure a herd this size wouldn’t be here on its own. Most cattle, especially this many, were owned by the Serahule tribe, but herded by a Fula tribesman. Well, I’d just take my chances. I walked down the dusty path, talking softly so I wouldn’t startle them.
“Hi, guys,” I murmured. “I’m just going to slide right by you here.” I kept watching out for those long horns, hoping one wouldn’t stick me. Almost as worrisome was being swished by a shitty tail.
“Okay, here I am, just step aside.” I kept my voice low key, almost a whisper. A few of the cows mooed at me, some sort of grunted. None were alarmed, though they rolled their huge eyes at me. A few stepped out of my way; others let me step around them. Flies from the cattle landed on me, but I concentrated on not waving them off, trying not to make sudden moves. Churned-up dust settled on my shoulders and hair. I walked perhaps a quarter of a mile through the scattered herd before reaching the other side of them.
At one point along the path, a small hill rose on one side. From the hill I heard, “Abete ata bake, Mariama!” Well done, Mariama!
I looked up and saw the herdsman sitting in the shade. He waved. I waved back. The poor guy probably had held his breath the whole time I wove my way through the cattle, expecting to have to pry me off one of those long horns.
For weeks afterward, I heard about that incident. Word spread like locusts in a maize field. Woman couldn’t imagine why I would do such a thing. Men thought I was probably just ignorant of what could have happened to me. I kept telling everyone who questioned me that it was just too hot to turn around and go home the long way.
Love it! Love how you told it. Great! Reminded me of when I was a kid walking the mile home from the bus with my younger siblings. We always stepped off the bus with eyes peeled for the neighbor’s herd of free ranging cows… afraid of none but the old ornery red one in their midst. But unlike you who walked right into the herd, we circled around, leaving plenty of ground between us and that old red bossy.
What a fun story! Whether you knew it or not at the time, that was just the right way to move through the cattle. They should have started calling you a “cow whisperer!”
What a great story from your incredible book!
You were brave, Mary! LOL I’ll bet you were something of a hero after that!
What a great story, Mary! Your prose is both economical and evocative, no mean feat, and you had me right there in the heat with the flies buzzing and the cattle wondering what the heck you were doing, but not stirred either. Wonderful writing, and a great taste of your memoir!