“Strange”, I whispered.
“ There is something wrong this morning,
Why haven't I heard my cock crow today?”
I said as I sat on my wooden bed and frowned.
I stood up and pushed open the short wooden door of my mud house. Rimi, my dog, wagged its tail as I stepped outside.
The breeze from outside almost chased me back inside, as it was cold, as if it had snowed.
Although it has been raining for a month now, the cold weather is not strange, and the heavy downpour left the village paths muddy. Today's weather can make you freeze up if you don't take care.
"Come on, Rimi," I said. "Let's see what is wrong.”
I ran my hand all over its body, and it humped at me.
I took my walking stick, then turned around to go to the other side of the mud house.
Getting there, I pulled open the brick block I used to protect my chickens from coming out of their shelter, and none of them strutted out as usual.
I ran my hands over my face to confirm that I was not in dreamland and quickly poked my head inside to see what had happened.
"Oh, no!" I cried.
The chickens were lying weakly on the floor as some had their beaks touching the ground while others could barely stand.
The goats blatted loudly, and I allowed them out of their barn, which was next to the chickens. They moved out and went straight to the bowl of cassava peels that I prepared for them.
As I looked at the chickens, something I don't want to remember sprouted out.
“ The death of my husband,” Baba Demeji.
Although I ventured into rearing after his death, I just added these chickens some months ago, so their illnesses were strange to me.
"My poor birds! What has happened to you?" I murmured and remembered that because of the endless rain, the chickens had been sleeping on the cold bare ground every night.
"They must have caught cold," I uttered and picked up one of the hens.
"You don't even have the strength to eat."
I said and sat quietly under the mango tree, thinking…
“ I can't just let them die,” I said to myself, and something came to mind.
"If one goat becomes too sick, people simply slaughter it for meat," I soliloquized and called myself back to notice, "but look at all these chickens! I can't possibly eat them all. What am I going to do?"
I sighed deeply.
"I don't know," I concluded, and just then, my old mobile phone rang.
"Hello?" I answered.
"Grandma!" a cheerful and familiar voice called.
"My dear, Sewa! Calling from Lagos, right?" I replied.
"Yes, Grandma. How are you?"
I replied, laughing, saying that I was stronger than ever, but she knew something was wrong after a silent moment.
Then Sewa laughed gently.
"Grandma, do you remember the tortoise story you told me when I was younger?"
I smiled and replied, "Which one?"
"The one where you ended by saying, 'The ways of humans are also the ways of animals.'"
I became quiet.
"The ways of humans are also the ways of animals," I repeated softly, and I assumed she thought it was my dog, Rimi, that was ill.
Suddenly, my eyes widened.
"Ah!"
"What is it, Grandma?" She asked.
"I think you've just answered my question," I replied.
"I did?" She laughed.
"Exactly! Do what you think is best." She concluded.
"I will," I answered, and after ending the call, I hurried into the house.
“Although we don't have animal doctors here, letting my chickens die is what I won't do either,” I said decidedly and embodied the position of the doctor.
"If humans feel cold," I said, "we rub balm on our bodies.”
I reached the chicken house and gently rubbed a little balm on each chicken's legs and placed a tiny amount under each wing, where I called their little armpits.
"I know you cannot eat," I said to them kindly and carefully opened each of their beaks, poured a little sugar inside, and added a little water.
I muttered to myself, “That will give you strength like glucose." And I waited patiently, dishing it to them twice every hour; I repeated the sugar-and-water feeding.
After they had taken the mixture several times, I opened my small wooden safe and brought out some fever medicine.
I ground one tablet into fine powder and concluded just a little for each would be enough.
For three days I hardly rested.
Morning, afternoon, and night.
Again and again I rubbed the balm, fed them sugar and water, and carefully gave each chicken a little powdered fever medicine.
On the fourth morning, Cock-a-doodle-doo! woke me up, and I opened my eyes widely and smiled.
"My cock!" I rushed outside, and the cock stood proudly, crowing at the sunrise.
The hens, on the other hand, scratched the ground happily, and the chicks ran after their mother.
I laughed until tears filled my eyes and uttered, "You are alive! Everyone of you!"
Just then, my phone rang again.
"Grandma," Sewa said, "how are you doing today? I observed that one of your livestock dulled your day the other day I called; gist me now?"
I laughed loudly.
"They are running around as if nothing ever happened.
"All my chickens were sick at once," I said.
“ So who cured them?” she asked.
“ I followed your advice,” I replied.
Sewa couldn't stop laughing and said, “Treatments for humans are generally not recommended for poultry animals and may be unsafe”
I looked at the healthy flock and smiled.
"You know, my child, I didn't know before, but the situation calls for urgent measures"
I paused and continued, "They also say that what people don't know is always a step ahead of them."
I gently picked up one healthy hen and continued, "But what I do know is this"
"What is that, Grandma?" Sewa asked.
"I brought my chickens back to life."
We both laughed as the cock crowed again, welcoming a new day.
