Chicken Little

It has begun to seem, from our mountain top community in Santo Antão, that the sky is falling. We’re accustomed to heavy clouds, but they usually pass quickly and allow the sun to peak through. Lately, this has not been the case. The clouds have descended upon us and lingered. The heavy fog turned to relentless rain. The shirt that I hung from the line to dry 2 and a half weeks ago is still there, still wet and now growing mold. Our nest of chicken eggs, so close to the hatch date, got swamped, and the hen abandoned her prospective chicks.

When the rain started to fall, so did the temperature. We have no heater, so the thermometer readings inside our house have varied between 51 and 54 degrees. Now, I know this seems laughably warm to you Wisconsinites (or even you Nashvillians since you guys got a glimpse of snow this winter), but I assure you that it has not been cozy. The humidity makes it feel even chillier, and we can almost always see our breath. We remain layered in all of our warmer clothes, and I only begrudgingly take off my snow cap to bathe.

As you can tell, I’ve grown a little weary of the gloomy weather. Things have not been all bad, though. I’ve been giving environmental education classes to pre-school and elementary school groups, and by keeping my appointments, I’ve proven my metal. The teachers now either respect that I keep my word or think I’m nuts for hiking in the rain to reach their communities.

Work has been picking up. At the Ministry of Agriculture and Environment we are making plans for community forums in honor of the upcoming United Nations World Day for Trees and Forests. I’m also teaming up with a women’s NGO to plan an event for Women’s Day in March.

A little while ago I mentioned that we had received a rooster as a gift from a generous family. Well, Carl had to die. He was a menace, determined to eat all the eggs that our hens laid. Unfortunately, Scott and I liked him dead about as well as we liked him alive. Even as the starring role in a chicken noodle soup, he was a tough old bird.

In his place, we have acquired Pikachu, renamed Elton- the long awaited displaced rooster belonging to another volunteer. We received a call from PCV Thomas one morning detailing the terms of the chicken swap. His message was this: “Pikachu is tied to a tree across from the Economic Chamber in the town of Coculi. He has a red bandana around his ankle. If you’re unable to secure the shipment by 0-900, it will self-destruct.”

I embellished on the self-destruction bit, but the style of the rooster procurement seemed patterned after an extremely low-budget action film. Scott was up to the challenge. He hiked 4 hours down to the specified town, found the rooster easily (most roosters, although often tied to things, seldom sport gang membership symbols), and lugged him back up the mountain in a potato sack. Now that’s what I call an action hero.

Elton’s a good looking rooster, and our hens are crazy about him. Bonus: he’s not a cannibal. We’ll be trying for chicks again before too long.

Scott and I will be heading to the capital city soon for a Peace Corps training seminar. We’re excited to reunite with other volunteers and to feel the sunshine that we’ll assuredly find there. Remember that our town is a Cape Verdean anomaly. While we’ve been wet and cold, almost all other communities are still warm and very dry. Their struggle has been strong winds carrying clouds of dust from the Saharan desert 300-something miles away.

Bring it, desert winds. I welcome your warmth.