The Great Chicken Incident

Aaah. So good to be back.

Didn't realise how stressful the TED prep had been until I got home. My friend Chris had managed to keep the cats alive, and we went straight to CasaKeza for a few beers - and pudding.

It's been a mixed bag of a month so far. Had a huge contract on, helping to compile a 125-page global immunisation report. It comprises many examples of best practice around the world, from Pakistan to Sierra Leone. All in a folder, in no particular order, and half in French. Had to jiggle it all together into a decent publication. Kept me extremely busy, but handed in the first draft the other day.

Which means I now have a lot more time.

Went out with a good friend the other night to listen to some live music. Ended up in a bar across town, attempting to have a conversation whilst a dozen blokes tried to muscle in. We eventually left, but not before I gave my number to one of these dodgy guys who had followed me from the previous bar and was declaring undying love. I think I was just a little flattered, he was quite charming, but then he started texting and calling a lot. And obviously I had sobered up by then.

I was half tempted to reply. I have a list of three questions:

1. Where do you stand on abortion rights?
2. How do you feel about gay people?
3. What do you think happens after death?

If the answers are, "ban it, kill them, our Lord Jesus Christ will save us," at least I know my decision to ignore them was justified.

If I had more energy, I would have asked. But right now, I'm good with not knowing. I've got way too many things I need to do at the moment.

For instance, I have just this evening baked bucket lasagna.

Fairly impressive. Garfield would approve. Although, I do admit to having used Blue Band to make the white sauce. It wasn't exactly toxic, but I wouldn't recommend...

I also tried my first ever guineafowl egg today. They were selling them at the grocery store so I thought I'd check it out.

 

  

 

I must admit, I do like a good egg, and this was very nice indeed. Good colour, rather large, flavoursome. Well done those guinaefowl!

Before I got on the plane back from Schiphol, I popped downstairs to arrivals and went to the supermarket there. I stuffed my bag full of treats, including chorizo, marzipan and a shed load of pesto:

 

I haven't seen pesto in Rwanda for ever. A lot of things are a bit sparse here at the moment. One of the major supermarkets, Nakumatt, has gone belly-up, and instead of floating off like a good defunct retailer, they're clinging to the premises - presumably so that no one else can come and stock it with food.

Hence, this:

 

 

Their marketing plan is just to take the few remaining products they have and space them out widely across the shelves to give a sense of fullness. You're completely sorted if you want cereal, rice or sardines. They're totally good for that. Anything else, not so much.

What else has been going on?

Well, my foot is still fecked. I've started physio. My lovely therapist, Peter, inflicts pain on me three times a week, then rubs it better with hot rocks. He also makes me stand on a jelly button and try to balance...

  

 

  

I'm not quite there yet, but I am getting better. I've really lost a lot of muscle mass on my left leg. Essentially, I need to try and build that back up. He's given me a rubber band to assist...

Ignore the bottle of whisky behind.

He's really a fab guy and I look forward to our sessions. We had a good discussion about the state of world economics today. I was venting my annoyance as the University of Rwanda has just whacked up their tuition fees. I support a friend through uni there and really wasn't expecting this. But my accountant has pointed out that school fees class as a donation, and donations are tax deductible. Not a huge comfort, but better than nothing. 

Had a fairly awful experience the other day. My little boy one, Gizmo, went missing for two days. He's never done that before. Obviously, I was panic-stricken as I know how much he likes his dinner. He's a real tough little guy, too cool for school. He likes a cuddle, but he'll only cuddle when the other cats aren't watching - he has a rep to protect. Though when the fumigator came last month, he was so terrified he hid in a closet. I eventually found him and coaxed him out. It was that image I had in my head when he went missing - him hiding in the closet - no longer the tough nut but a scaredy-boy. He would have died of embarrassment if the others had seen him, but I know he needs a little reassurance now and then.

So, him going missing was traumatic.

Made a thousand times worse by a kid across the road.

I went to my local shop to ask if they'd seen him. I stood there describing which cat it was (the black and white one) and how long he'd been gone (two days).

Then this little boy walks in, maybe about ten years old.

He explained, in good English, that his mother is the lady who sits outside the shop with her sewing machine. He then proceeded to tell me that two days ago, my cat killed one of their chickens, and it will cost FRW 10,000 to replace.

Which cat?

"I don't know, I can't remember the colour. Uh - white... black?"

Obviously the thought of Gizmo killing someone's chicken was awful. And my mind instantly ran to the conclusion that they had killed my cat for killing their chicken. He said he didn't know where the cat was, but that didn't convince me, because I knew he was probably thinking I wouldn't pay him if he admitted the cat was dead. 

I felt terrible for what had happened and my hand was halfway into my wallet before doubt crept in. Something didn't seem quite right. There are chickens walking up and down our street every day. I've seen my cats watching them, but never attack. They tend to bring home most of what they kill - usually rats. I would have noticed a chicken. 

And why only mention it now. You know it's my cat, you know where I live - why not knock?

I told him to wait for my neighbour to come home and to explain to him what happened. Meanwhile, I went home and texted my neighbour to explain my doubts.

Very glad I did. He went to the shop to see what was going on. The woman and her son don't even live in our neighbourhood, so they can't lay claim to any of the chickens roaming about. My neighbour spoke to the shopkeeper, and it seems the general consensus is, they made up the story. Seems the boy was listening to me talking about my cat and saw an opportunity.

It just absolutely maddens me that someone would take advantage of a situation like that. Someone desperate to find their cat, and you convince them they owe you money and let them believe the cat might be dead. 

Anyway. 

The morning of the third day, I got up, all ready to print missing posters and walk the streets, opened the door - and there was Gizmo. Licking his balls as though nothing had happened.

Honestly, cats. Who would do that to themselves?

Very glad to have him home, aren't we guys?