It seemed almost everyone worked in Kenya. People worked regardless of age, gender or disability. In the suburbs, Karioko, Bahati, Pumwani, Kibera and Kaloleni, young girls under ten cared for their smaller brothers and sisters. It was not unusual to see a nine year old cooking or cleaning as she carried her baby brother or sister on her back. These activities were flawlessly carried out while her parents worked. In Nairobi, disabled people sold newspapers to government employees and those driving and walking through highly trafficked areas. Old men--far beyond working age--found jobs as messengers and janitors for foreign companies. Yes, in Kenya everyone who could, worked and that went for dogs too. It seems that the work ethic had been silently transferred to them also. It wasn't important what kind of work you did, only that you were able to find something that was self-supporting.
Housekeeping jobs--which the average American considers women's work--were done by men. I only remember having one female house servant when I lived in Nairobi, and she did not work out very well. She would disappear while I was at work, take my four year old son with her and return when she felt like it. Once, she was so late returning that I panicked and called the American Embassy. You cannot imagine the Embassy personnel's relief, when I called to say she had brought him home. Young, healthy young children were often taken to Mombasa and sold into slavery at Lamu, an island just off the coast of Mombasa which was renowned for slave trading.
It came as quite a relief therefore, when my husband was posted by the bank he worked for, to Eldoret in the White Highlands; it meant I could get rid of her. What a beautiful place it was, but there was absolutely nothing for me to do. My husband was collected early in the morning by the bank's transport and I was left the rest of the day with my son. The female neighbors did not speak English and I could not speak their language, so that left me with little company. I refused to let my son waste away in this beautiful backwater. As a matter of fact after a few weeks up there, I decided that I would have to return to Nairobi. In the meantime I found a lovely little pre-school to send him to. It was just down the road and up a hill which circled so that the school was almost behind my housing estate. Every morning I would walk him there, keeping him on my left away from the traffic, as there were no sidewalks.
Our day started at about 7:00 o'clock after the bus had collected my husband. We would have breakfast together and then get ready for school. He loved oatmeal and I thought it was a good thing to give him, as I was not sure how substantial his lunch would be at the school. One day while preparing to throw away the remnants of the morning's oatmeal, a large, black female dog walked across my front yard. I watched her from a distance and when I was sure she was looking at me, I scraped the remnants of the cereal onto an old tin plate which had been lying on the ground. After I had gone inside, the dog walked up to the plate, sniffed the oatmeal and ate it. I did not make any attempt at befriending the dog, but made certain that the bowl had a little something in it for her every morning. I also noticed that my son left larger portions of cereal in his bowl so as to ensure she would have enough. In the final analysis, I ended up making enough oatmeal for both of them. After a month or so, the dog's coat became shiny and she would come up and sit on my front porch. When it came time to take my son to school, she would walk with us to the school.
Around three o'clock she would wait for me and walk with me to the school. Unbeknown to me, she was making sure that she knew the way to the school. I, accustomed to a less intelligent dog, thought she was coming with me each day simply for company. One day the house servant having washed some sheets, hung them on the line at the back of the house and went off to the store. Little did I know at that time that thieves were notorious for stealing bed linen. It was a beautiful day and there was wonderful soft breeze blowing, just the type of afternoon to have a little nap. Altitude is a problem for those of us who have lived most of our lives a sea level. (It takes quite a while to throw off fatigue due lack of oxygen.) As I made my way to the bedroom, I looked out of the window and there was the dog-which we had be now named 'Mommy dog' lying on the ground between the flapping sheets. This location afforded her the maximum benefits of the breeze, as the sheets swayed gently back and forth, and also invisibility.
I was suddenly awakened from my peaceful slumber by the shouts of a man calling for the police. I rushed to the front of the house and saw a ragged man standing in the middle of the road calling over and over again, for the police. I wondered what had caused him to make such a fuss. I looked down and saw Mommy dog standing poised to pounce if he dared to move. One of the neighbor's children came to me and said, "Memsaab, that man mwizi (a thief) he is taking your sheets, but he did not see the dog. He was to take them down, but the dog make him go to the road." I wondered why my neighbors had not warned me. Anyway, since he was so intent on calling for the police, we got them for him and he was taken away. Mommy dog held him on the very spot where she had stopped him until the police came. Every morning I had the task of collecting small pieces of wood, to put in the furnace that would heat the boiler for our hot water. If you don't know anything about building a fire before you go to Africa, you certainly will if you live there long enough. I never carried great loads of wood; just enough to get the fire started and ensure that there would be hot water later that evening for dishes and bathing. As I entered the yard I saw a dead bird lying against my front door. I was terrified.
First of all I hate birds-with the exception of eagles. Secondly, in Africa and in many black areas of the U.S., dead birds are used to curse the domicile of the person where it is placed. At the sight of it I screamed. Little did I realize that Mommy dog had placed it there as a gift and gone somewhere out of sight, so she could see what kind of reception it would receive. I had been feeding her every day, and now she wanted to give me something. As it turned out, I made such a fuss, that she walked up to the front door, picked up the bird and took it away. It was only after having made a complete fool of myself, that I realized the intent of the dog. My house servant thinking that I had seen another large insect, dashed out the front door to give me another mild reprimand for screaming at the sight of one. His witty sense of humor always amazed me. During my first few weeks there I screamed every time I saw an insect.
Mind you, I was a New York lady, who had never seen an insect which could not be covered by the sole of my shoe. Even the butterflies in Africa are larger than life. If you put your two hands together, thumb to thumb in prayer fashion, open them and spread your fingers, you will have some idea a the size of a butterfly. "Madam," he said to me one day in exasperation, "If you continue to scream every time you see an insect, it will turn into a career." Even though I learned how to control my screaming, I must have looked quite silly ducking these beautiful creatures while standing in the back yard, but if they had been any larger, they would have needed FAA clearance to land. By this time, the Mommy dog had decided that there was little need in returning to her own home and so she decided to take up permanent residence on my front porch. I guess she liked the fact that I talked to her and that she was free to come and go as she pleased. I had been told by the little girl who could speak some English, that the man who owned her kept her tied up and rarely fed her. I am always reminded of my mother who said, "Treat everything kindly. Even a horse knows when you don't like it." After several weeks, I received a surprise visit from Mommy dog's owner. "Why are you stealing my dog?" "I am not stealing your dog." "You have taken my dog from my yard." "No, your dog comes to my house." "Give me my dog," he demanded. I suspect he wanted me to offer him money for it. "Please feel free to go out to the front porch and collect your dog," I answered.
He stomped out of my living room in a huff. I sat silently waiting for him to leave the porch with the dog. All of a sudden there was the big ruckus, the dog snarling viciously and producing growls that sounded as though they were coming from the pit of her stomach. After a short period of failed attempts at ownership, the man returned to my living room and very humbly asked me if I would be good enough to bring his dog to his house. Later that day, I leashed the dog and brought her to the house. He placed her in a cage. A few days later, there she was again, at my house. The three of us continued the same routine we had always kept. I was never again accused of dog theft. It has always amazed me that dogs know exactly what time it is. They know when it is time for you to come home from work, for your children to get up in the morning and when it's time to go to school. Mommy dog knew exactly what time my son had to go to school. He was always a person who could not get cracking in the morning and I had to keep herding him along.
Usually, I had him pretty well under control and on this day I paused only once to yell from the kitchen that it was time to go to school. I stopped for a few minutes to deal with a minor detail, and by the time I reached the front porch my son was nowhere in sight. Four years old and he had taken it upon himself to walk to school. I dashed out of the yard and down the road. Ahead of me was Mommy dog and my son. They were walking along at a leisurely pace. Ever so often he would wander a little further out onto the road than she thought was safe and she would nudge him back onto the road's edge using her nose and her body. I watched them for a few minutes and then managed to catch up with them. I was awed by the fact that she knew exactly what she had to do to keep him safe. The more learned about her, the more I admired her intelligence and came to the conclusion that mutts are smarter than thoroughbreds. One afternoon, I realized that I had been working on a project which had made me late for the close of school. I dashed out of the house, down the road and up the hill. When I arrived, the teacher was just sending the children through the gate.
"Memsaab, please do not send your dog to collect your son." "I never do that. As a matter of fact she is not even my dog." "Well, sometimes she comes and waits outside the gate for your son. As long as he is inside the gate everything is all right, but once he comes through the gate, no one can touch him; she growls and threatens."
I was surprised at what she said. I had only been late a few times. On those occasions, I had seen that the dog had arrived before me, but thought little of it. What a wonderful dog she was, and her owner never knew what a prize he had. I was sad to have to leave her in Eldoret when I returned to Nairobi, but there would not have been a place for her there.
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