What Came First...

We are all familiar with the philosophical question about the chicken and the egg whatever our views on the answer might be. Well, here in Kigali my answer is the egg came first, at least in theory. About a month ago shortly after my arrival in Kigali my roommates and I were chatting and thinking how nice it would be to grow something in our beautiful yard. Though many different bits of produce came to mind, we were convinced that we were geniuses when we decided we would produce eggs. Obviously we wouldn’t be doing the production, but we could get chickens to take care of and reap the dual benefits of their eggs and their affection during our time in Rwanda.

Convinced of our genius we left for the market on a Sunday morning to purchase three proper egg-laying chickens. With the help of a Rwandan man we quickly found our way to the poultry aisle and they pulled three beautiful chickens out of the box. Some frantic French and a few odd looks later, we were able to explain that we did not want the man to kill the chickens—we wanted to take them home alive. And there we were, three apparently “crazy muzungus” with three living chickens.

We got them home and introduced them to their free range environment knowing that there were plenty of trees in which they could roost and that the walls to keep predators out of our house would be perfect to keep the chickens inside their new home. However, later that evening we were informed by our guard that they needed a home to protect them from cats. His statement was met with a bit of skepticism since he also said we should bring them in to keep them from getting cold. With the threat of three frozen and cat-tormented chickens on our collective conscience, we began conceiving of a way to keep our new pets and egg-layers safe.

It is within this history that the “resource-limited setting chicken coop” was born. The wonderful thing about being in a country like Rwanda is that very little is wasted. So, when rummaging through old furniture at work our administrative staff was very happy to allow us to take the broken filing cabinet behind the project off their hands. A quick stop at the hardware shop gave us the remainder of the supplies we were lacking—chicken wire, nails, hinges, and screws. With hammer and Swiss Army knife in hand, Sally, Sam and I worked to convert the old filing cabinet into a chicken coop complete with fold out doors and run. Extra supplies came in the form of a hair rubber-band, some zip ties, and duct tape. Though these were things that were undoubtedly packed without a clear purpose in mind, I can guarantee that I did not anticipate a chicken coop being a potential use for my roll of duct tape. After toiling away for a couple of hours our masterpiece was complete and our chickens had a new home in which to lay their eggs.

We fell in love with our chickens, despite their apparent lack of chicken sense at times. To express our love, we gave them each a name fitting of their personalities. The white chicken who is the biggest and the bossiest was named Fossey, after legendary primatologist Dian Fossey who pioneered her work with the gorillas while making the locals mad here in Rwanda. The brown chicken was given the name Darwin due to her evolutionary prowess. She was invariably the first to find the water, the food, and the first to put herself to bed. Finally, we have Indiana, the black chicken who is always first to explore territories unknown. His penchant to escape from the gate and venture down the dirt road on which we live earned him the name after the fictional explorer and archaeologist of George Lucas fame. Despite giving them a safe and innovative architectural masterpiece in which to live, and a supply of wheat and corn that rivaled the meals they undoubtedly received before their pardon at the market that day, we were given no eggs.

All of the guards and general workers on the block were abuzz about the three crazy muzungus and their three eggless chickens. Four weeks into the process we had invested time, money, and energy into Darwin, Fossey, and Indiana with no edible return on our investment. Last week, however, our luck changed in a rather unfortunate way. While home eating lunch one day two of our three pets ventured into the house without our knowledge. As we dutifully locked the door and returned to work, we unknowingly locked the chickens in the house. Returning home in the afternoon gave us a surprise of feathers and chicken products all over our house. They had ransacked the kitchen shelves, broken dishes that were sitting out, and left little reminders of their presence all over our floor. Our frustration turned to laughter as we proceeded to clean up the mess and discuss the fate of our poor chickens, when all of the sudden we found it. During their lock in, one of the chickens laid an egg in the middle of Sally and Sam’s bed. The precious offering was, rather ironically, next to a roll of duct tape as if to say thank you for investing all of this time and energy into us.

Since that exciting day the house has been filled every other day with the noises of two proper egg-laying chickens courtesy of Darwin and Indiana. We wait in anticipation for an egg from Fossey, but to be completely honest we aren't entirely optimistic. The grand total is up to fourteen eggs—most of which we will share with the guards for all of their assistance wrangling the chickens when they escape. Though we were anticipating a wealth of eggs from our chickens, they have in some odd way given us much more. Sam was thrilled with the opportunity to use his Swiss Army knife for a practical application. Sally gets a great deal of pleasure watching them peck around the garden all day. And I will never forget the pride that accompanied seeing that first egg in the middle of Sam and Sally’s duvet. In our case the chickens, and their mess, clearly came first. However, without the wait, the egg that was subsequently poached to perfection would not have been nearly as delicious.