Boof Babies

Looking back on last week a few snapshots come to mind.

After emailing back and forth with Laura who is departing for the Democratic Republic of Congo in a few weeks, I briefly considered visiting her while she is there. She is involved in a like-minded development project (www.workingvillages.org) so we are cooking up a scheme to save the world together. But after I realized that it would require a surprising amount of money and traveling alone in Rwanda and the not so friendly part of DR Congo by bus and plane, I decided against it.

Things continued to be hit or miss in the lab. On Friday afternoon I was feeling especially bad about my progress so far when Phil asked me to meet him in his office. I expected him to yell at me and half hoped he would, but he was actually very encouraging. He reminded me that this is how lab work goes and we had a good talk about my data so far and where to go next. Somewhere between the pep talk and his wife's homemade chocolates I began to feel better.

After work on Friday I went for a walk around ILRI with Cassandra and the liver-spotted Dalmatian, Basil. A variety of factors can make this walk slightly unpleasant: heat, trash and meat scraps on the path dropped by scavenging birds, the trash burning "facility" at the bottom of the hill giving off a not-so-homey-smelling stream of smoke, the broken microscope slides in front of the trash burning oven that fell off the cart on the way down the hill, Basil pooping or peeing on everything we pass (including cars and buildings), and the muscle necrosing hill that you invariably have to climb. But this evening I was distracted from all of this by the breathtaking scenery. The sun was setting in such a way that the light everywhere was golden. Huge billowing clouds reflected the light as small patches of indigo sky peeked through. The sloping pastures on either side of the path were vividly green and dotted with cows enjoying the cool evening. Dark birds with billowing tails that weigh them down and make them fly almost completely upright flew between the trees, and thousands of others called from every direction. Then Basil found some cows to bark at and we had to chase him away before he was gored by a feisty little heifer. I love that the cows here, even the black and white ones, have horns.

When I returned Basil home, Derek his owner invited me over to watch a movie after his kids went to sleep. The movie (some creepy murder mystery horror thriller) was one of the worst I have seen, but scared me enough to make a mental list of people I could go spend the night with if need be. But I ended up staying and chatting with Derek for a while before I left so I had time to calm down. He is from New Zealand and his wife (who was sitting exams for her MBA program in South Africa) is from Poland. They are the ones who loaned me the sleeping bag earlier. Although Derek started as a vet student, he ended up in Agricultural Economics and got his PhD from Penn State. He has traveled and lived all over the world and it was great to hear his take on ILRI, working abroad, raising a family abroad, farming in different areas of the world, the role of vets, and the politics between all the strong personalities here. We also arranged for me to house/pet sit for two weeks at the end of June while they are on vacation.

The next morning Cassandra and I caught a ride to the supermarket, did laundry, and read by the pool. On the way back to my house we were called over to join a celebration that had been set up on the lawn. It was a retirement party for a man who had worked as a chef in the ILRI kitchen for 34 years. He was not there yet so we waited with the Ithaca High School boys in the mean time. Our volleyball friend Jeffrey, a fellow colleague from the kitchen, was there grilling sausages. They were about 4 inches in diameter and made from cow intestines stuffed with spiced goat meat and tripe. I wasn't particularly sad they were not ready yet. We were also given a strip of paper with the numbers 1 2 3 printed on it and told we could use these drink tickets at the bar.

After waiting at least 2 hours for the guest of honor to arrive, a white Toyota wagon finally pulled up and approximately 9 or 10 people climbed out. They were seated at the only table under the tent and the rest of us took chairs all facing forwards in rows. The guests were welcomed, grace was said, and we got in line for the food. While we were eating our stew containing veggies and chunks of broken rib bones and meat, a series of speeches were delivered. Sang, the guest of honor, had been at ILRI since before I was born and longer than anyone else there. You might therefore imagine an older, maybe graying, man sitting with his family, but this guy could have passed for 35. Robustly dressed in the two top pieces of a tan three piece suit and a baseball cap, with huge teeth protruding from his upper jaw, he smiled and ate his food while just about everyone there got up to say something. One man said he would clone Sang if the laws allowed, others attributed his youthfulness to a vegetarian diet, and then the cake was brought out. It was white with pink flowers and in the shape of a guitar. Sang and his wife cut the cake together, fed each other large bites, and then proceeded to call up and hand feed everyone who had made a speech. I learned later that this is a Kenyan custom to show respect.

After being there for at least 3 hours, we took the dessert break as an opportunity to shake Sang's hand and head home. But not before a slurring man in a mustard yellow shirt could come over to Cassandra and I and tell us what beautiful ("boof" is actually what he said) babies we were, and smart babies, and that she was a boof baby but I was a really boof baby but she shouldn't be offended just because I was more boof she was still boof and could he have a picture with us. By the time we had caught our breath from laughing he had forgotten about the picture and was headed towards the bar.