LIFE BY LOUIS: Fond memories of our cattle dip chairman

Unluckily for me, the cattle dips became extinct before I graduated, killing my prospective career as the Matimbei cattle dip executive director. ILLUSTRATION| IGAH

What you need to know:

  • Growing up, my role model was the chairman of our village cattle dip back in Matimbei.
  • He was always in a suit and shiny wellington boots, despite the nature of his work.
  • He knew all the cows in the entire constituency and was quick to point out and reprimand you if you dared miss a session.

I recently went to see a medical consultant in one of their air conditioned office at Upper Hill, Nairobi.

The area is one of these well treed parts of the city where residents walk their tiny white dogs in the evening. Here, you don’t talk about going to the hospital. Instead you say that you are going to see a specialist. That way you sound like the person who is immune to strikes by nurses and so forth.

I admired the young doctor who ushered me into his office with a flick of his gold capped pen.

You see, in my formative years, all I did was waste the government subsidy dating college girls and buying donkey meat from a guy called Wamuthoni. I had no idea what I wanted to become in future.

My role model was the chairman of our village cattle dip back in Matimbei.

Although the cows came to dip every Tuesdays at 7am, he was always there by 4am. He believed in getting an early start, just like like the modern day CEOs who begin the day with a round of golf and a quick swim in the clubs heated pool.

He was always in a suit and shiny wellington boots, despite the nature of his work. He had an air of importance around him and called all the cows by their English names.

He knew all the cows in the entire constituency and was quick to point out and reprimand you if you dared miss a session.

PROBLEM SOLVER

Sometimes an inexperienced calf would get stuck in the middle of the murky dip waters or a heavily pregnant cow would refuse to float and risk a prenatal death.

Or a weak heifer would break a limb or neck while diving, a result of malnourishment or lack of licking salt that left their bones weak.

Or an overzealous bull would attempt an acrobatic dive poorly executed, landing on an innocent calf and threatening to drown it.

Whatever the situation, the able chairman had a solution to each problem.

The highlight of taking the cows to the dip was when a randy bull decided to take advantage of the queues and mount the unsuspecting cow ahead.

Being cheeky boys, we would distract the chairman so as to buy time for the bull to get on with its business, much to our amusement.

However, the chairman would soon catch wind of the commotion and show up with a thick stick. The bull would be whipped mercilessly until it dismounts.

Later on, a hearing would be conducted with the bull owner as the defendant and the cow’s owner as the plaintiff to address the issue. Often, the bull owner would be charged with allowing his bull to act in a manner likely to expose other herds to poor genes.

Fines would be paid and the chairperson would receive a decent compensation for arbitrating the case. I think he used the proceeds to buy new suits and wellington boots.

Unluckily for me, the cattle dips became extinct before I graduated, killing my prospective career as the Matimbei cattle dip executive director.