Mama kuku na ndogo

Defender of the young

To the consternation of my son, I enjoy chickens. I’m no expert on fowl of any kind, chickens included. Have only read stories and other people’s musings about chickens. Have never taken an extension class or done a 4-H project. I just enjoy watching them. ... The back and forth dig-digging in the dirt, the clucking as they go about the day’s work of digging and eating and the occasional purring of content. The miracle of the daily egg. And the beauty of feathers—some downy breaths of air, others stiff and smooth.

What a treat to live where chickens are the Congolese version of cereal in the American family food pantry. Every household in Beni has at least 4 chickens, I’m sure. The Kasali household has about 6. And Chelsie, Meredith, and I have 7: a mama and 6 chicks.

Chick transport

Our chickens came to us about 3 weeks ago. A young boy and two girls arrived one morning. The boy was holding a hen tight against his side, and one of the girls carried the kind of woven bag common around here. The boy set the hen down on the path. She began clucking and squawking as the girl upended the bag. Out tumbled 7 tiny bodies of fluff, cheeping furiously and scrambling to surround their mama. Noisily they comforted one another (or so I imagined), and she scurried off to find protection under some bushes, her brood racing to keep up. (One chick fell into the water where our laundry water drains. So, that's why we're mama and 6 chicks.)

Our mama kuku is protective of her young. Any attempt to corner her or one of her babies prompts a nasty squawk and attack. The chicks collect under her at a sign of danger, and she covers them with her wings and settles her body over them so they are hidden. Covered by her wings. I imagine it all soft and warm and dark—a great hiding place, comforting as the chicks feel her heart beat.

Walking the property

Mama Kuku and her chicks spend the day circling our house, hunting, pecking, scratching. At first the chicks relied on her to uncover tasty morsels. She would do the scratch and dig two-step, and they would scramble to pick out surprises. The chicks are beginning to learn the dance for themselves, so wander a few feet from their mama during the day’s foraging.

Our chickens sleep in a cabinet in our kitchen (Congolese kitchens are outside). We have a coop; but it stands about 12-16 inches off the ground, and the bottom is slated. The chicks are still small enough that they would, literally, “fall through the cracks.” Mama kuku and the brood usually call it day by 4pm. Seems a little early, as the sun sets at 6pm. But then they start each day by 5:10. I know because they assemble on the kitchen porch and greet the day with a loud and joyful song. I know because my window, which faces the kitchen porch, is about 15 feet away.

Kitchen porch: aka The Choir Stall

The chicks are beginning to get their 1^st grade feathers—smooth back feathers marked with color and shade. While they no longer stay within a quick dash of mama’s protective wings, they don’t wander out of her sight. Soon we will introduce them to the chicken coop (on the other side of the house). I hope they will still sing their morning song from the choir stall of the kitchen porch.