Stuck in the Mud

Eleonore Spitzer and I slept well in the same bed, despite not knowing each other at all. I later found out she was in fact a distant relative of the no longer governor of New York, although she didn't know him. We made ourselves breakfast, reaching around the rancid honey that was dripping through the wall of an old fireplace turned pantry.

When we got to the office, I was assigned to go out with Philip, James, and Steven. If you know the Gray boys well this is somewhat ironic. This was the recruitment team for the day, which meant it was our job to visit calves between 3-7 days old and see if they qualified for our study. Now, when I had offered to bring my own coveralls for this project, I had been assured that I would be provided with a pair. I suppose no untruths were told, but all the coveralls at the office were so huge that I had to put my legs in and then just tie the arms around my waste to keep the crotch above my knees.

On the way there, Philip explained that the hardest part was getting accurate information. If you doubted the farmer you were to ask his kids, and if that didn't work the neighbors were usually reliable. We arrived at the first village, picked up the assistant chief, and drove out down a dirt path to a clearing with two circular mud houses with thatched roofs. As we anticipated there was an inconsistency of information: a call had been made to the office on Wednesday morning saying a calf had been born, but the farmer insisted it was born on Thursday. After a lot of talking and waiting for the in laws to arrive, we decided it was better to just let this one go.

After strike two, we headed off to a different sub-location way way out in the middle of nowhere and finally found a calf we could recruit into our study. The recruitment process is very detailed and takes about 2 hours to complete. No matter where we were, tables and chairs were brought outside for us to sit on. We ask the farmers many questions and examine the calf and its dam, and then we pay the farmer the price of a year old calf (about $125). In this way, we own the calf, but the farmer has agreed to take care of it as he would any other calf for one year while it is in our study. Usually at the end of the study, the farmer gets to keep the calf which gives him incentive to continue caring for it.

While we examined the calf, three young women examined me. Judy (15), Claire (17) and Laurie (3) eventually worked up enough courage to talk to me. After the usual introductions, Claire explained that she did not have enough money to go to school, and would I please remember her. Then the chief came up to me and told me that she was an orphan and could not afford school, and that I should consider helping her. Of course, none of the African men with actual incomes were being asked. I remained empathetic and found out that the fees were about $250 per year for kids her age. I said I might consider it in the future, but I could not do anything at the moment. I felt bad of course, but I don't blame them for asking and they were very nice about it.

After all the poking and prodding were completed, I was allowed to witness the money exchange. We went into the hut under the pretence that someone might be watching (let me remind you we were in a field in the middle of nowhere), and counted out the money in front of the farmer and the chief. After signatures were obtained, we were given sugar cane and sent on our way. We made it about 150 feed down the road before James slipped off the path and sent the front of the car into a muddy ravine. No problem I though, this car is monstrous. But I ate my words over the next two hours as we tried in vain to un-stick the car using jacks, branches, rocks, and elbow grease. At one point they even let me drive while they pushed, but this didn't work either. As it turns out, the rear differential was completely lodged in the mud as well, and even the other car could not pull us out. We ended up regrouping to go finish the calf visits while someone else called a tractor to come rescue the car.

At the next farm, we realized we had left the sling for weighing calves in the stuck car, so we improvised with my shoulder bag and Steven's belt. Then we went back to the office and I went in search of food. Along the road I found lots of fruit and some cake, which I brought home and ended up sharing with the Turkeys. Charles was in the yard doing laundry under the papaya trees. When he got up from his stool, on of the turkeys jumped up on it and tried to tag her sister while she ran in circles around her making ridiculous noises. When they were done, the one on the stool pooped to leave her mark before hopping down. I never knew turkeys were so silly.