I am a single white female… chicken. I sense its morning because I can see light. The cock of our coop hasn’t crowed yet. Well, actually he did crow at about midnight. Mi thinks he was gotten from Asia so maybe he is not operating on East African time. That’s not very likely though since we all belong to a Kenyan household. I would imagine up to three generations of my ancestors came from Kenya. It’s not likely that someone brought a chicken on an aeroplane or even ship. So yes we are all Kenyan chicken. In Kenya children write compositions in English and Kiswahili and a majority of them start with “I heard the cock crowing early in the morning….” This cock would certainly make it difficult to write a convincing beginning to a composition that starts with an early morning. You don’t expect a child to write “The cock crowed at midnight and so I knew it was morning….” do you? Unless of course, the said child was a writer in the making. Any way back to my morning; I think I am hungry. I cannot wait for the young lady of the house to come by with the food. She always comes round at about seven. The thing about her is that she really takes her time when she is feeding us. She especially does this when she brings kale as well as chicken feed. She has to tie the kale first before she puts the food into the troughs. The entire time I am thinking, “are you kidding me? Do you know how hungry I am? Do you think the first thing I want to see is green when my tinny tiny stomach is rumbling? Since she carries on with this format of feeding over and over again, I figure that she has no idea what is going through my head. So what do I do? Attack!
Smack! Ouch! She’s a feisty one this one. She just hit me with the plate. I guess I deserve it for biting the hand that feeds me. The person who came up with that expression must have had my species in mind. We more often than not bite the hands that feed us and we still get fed! It’s not so bad being a chicken after all. Oh wait it’s not that great either especially when you are you in a coop and you have to contend with other hens. When my mistress decided I was old enough to leave the little league to join the big league things took a turn for the thorny. There were these two older females who terrorized me every single day. They obviously perceived me as a threat to their affections from the cock of our coop who I will now refer to as the king of our coop. Have you seen the guy? He is a bit too old for me. I am still young and hot. I think I can do well for myself. Oh wait it doesn’t really work that way around here because we aren’t exactly free range in the free range sense of the word. I mean that question that humans keep asking in jest about why the chicken crossed the road, it does not apply to me at all. I may never cross a road in my entire life. In spite of being bullied every day I am still here. It’s true what the human’s say; what doesn’t kill you will make you stronger. I might have developed thicker skin by now but that’s not very likely except for maybe my neck area which has thick skin by default.
I forgot to tell you my age but then again humans say a lady never tells. What I can say is I’m old enough to have my biological clock ticking. I want to have me some chicks. Like I said before we are cooped up and that means I have never seen a chick in my entire life. Did I mention that I was the only one who survived my mother’s hatching? Yes I was an only child though that wasn’t the plan. I know the mistress took it harder than my mother did. So yes the last time I saw a chick was the last time I was a chick. I remember I was very cute back then and if that is what they look like then I want some of my own. I want them so bad that every day I lie in a corner hoping my mistress will take a hint and get me some eggs to hatch. I heard her saying that none of my eggs have been fertilized. So you see I have been faithful! I never messed around with the king of the coop. Be that as it may I want to have chicks and the sooner I get on with it the better. I don’t care if we have to adopt eggs I just want babies!
My hints seem not to be working. What is wrong with this woman? Does she not understand the internal pressure I am feeling right now. I feel like I’m going to explode! Ok, calm down, calm down. We need to think. There must be some kind of leverage I can use against her. Oh yes! I got it! I know she likes my eggs so I will stop eating and lie in my little corner until she finally gets it. She obviously can’t let me die just to show me whose boss around these parts. Two days later…. What’s that I see? Everything is so hazy then there are those busy patterns like circles and spirals. Whoa! This must be the definition of feeling faint, must hold on for dear life, dear life is slipping away…. At this rate I hope they make a meal out of me already. If they are going to deny me the opportunity to live out my purpose which is to bring little ones into the world to ensure an endless supply of eggs then at the very least, they should let me feed a family. When my life comes to an untimely end I hope I will be delicious. I hope I will sit in a marinade for hours with lemon and garlic and a couple of spices until I am all embellished and I’ve lost that not so great chicken smell. Now I wish I lived in an Indian household then I would end up in a tandoori or just stewing in a curry for hours. Is it weird that I’m getting hungry right now? It is. Let’s change the subject. Let me ponder one of life’s greatest questions, “which came first, the chicken or the egg?” Oh that’s easy, I remember stumbling out of an egg and my mother wasn’t there.