THE CONVERSATION OF THE CHICK AND ITS HUMAN OWNER

 

 

A certain animal farmer once had a wingless and tailless hen. The Nsukka people would call it an “avuke”. it is valued more than other types of fowls that would be seen as complete, because the traditionalists use it in their special religious sacrifices. They use other hens too. But, in the rank of importance and potency, the avuke would come first, and then there are other ones - the spotless white feathered, the naturally bouncy feathered (also known as the “iyaya”) - before the ones that would be considered normal or complete. 

Well, certainly, in the realms of the humans, this might be a little the-other-way-round, being that things considered complete are first ranked before the ones that would be be looked upon as deformed. However, blood sacrifices are for the gods, and in the realms of the gods, there is always a tendency to ask for things not easily gotten, like the eyeballs of a crocodile, the egg of an eagle, the vagina of a virgin, and so the list goes…

The avukes, the iyayas, the white feathered, these are all special demands of the gods. Because naturally, the uniquely created - whether considered deformed by humans or not - are mostly rare; not easily gotten. 

One day, this farmer’s avuke hatched its’ eggs in that time of the season when hawks were still in the sky. Consequently, to keep the little chicks safe from the prowling hawks, the farmer got a basket, gathered the hen and her chicks in the same place, kept food and water for them and covered them with the basket. Nonetheless, in this basket, there were openings wide enough that allowed the little chicks out, but not their mother. 

Thus, on a certain day, the farmer passing across the area where the hen and its chicks were caged saw one of the chicks swinging its little body to and fro the surrounding areas of the basket, while smartly leaping up to catch the tiny flies above its head. The farmer observed the little chick with keen interest for a while, amused at the way the chick seem to be enjoying its freedom without knowing what lurks in the corner for it. 

“you little thing that knows nothing,” the farmer said, “by the time the hawk gets hold of you, tore your limbs off its hinges, gorge out your two eyes and rip your heart from its base for afternoon meal, you will understand just why you should have respected my decisions to keep you and your mother in that basket cage.”

The little chick stopped its’ hunt for some minutes, gazed upon the farmers face thoughtfully and looked away, saying nothing at first. It went ahead to spread its little body under the refreshing morning sun, and spreading its tiny legs, it chipped in nonchalantly, “one only wonders how people claim to be so good, and yet their goodness surpasses not that of the hawk.” The chick turned its other body part to the sun, whistling with such an attitude one does after having intentionally thrown a shade at a person. 

“excuse you?”

The chick whistled on, ignoring the farmer. 

“You little ungrateful rascal! You dare look me in the face and call me a hypocrite? Me, who provided you with food and water; and protected you from the ravaging hawk?”

“When one imply things another have not said, it is only because it is probably true,” the chick spurted out, derision written all over its face. 

“And what in heaven’s name might you mean by that you little wretch!”

“Oh goodness! You have really got to calm your nerves, you know. Actually, I only meant that I have called you no hypocrite.”

“You have not? What then would my not being better than a hawk mean?”

“Come on, Mr. Farmer,” started the chick calmly, “ we both know what that means. Or, are we going to pretend we don’t? sure, if that’s your wish, I am all here for it. I mean, your wish had always been my command, after all. Or, not so?”

“You still have not answered my question. Did you or did you not call me a hypo…”

“Well, I did not! However, I did say you are not better than the hawk. And that, if you must know, only means that neither I nor my mother asked you to keep us. If you think me too ungrateful, Mr. Farmer, you have the option of letting me go. Or, would our going cost you anything?”

“cost me anything? How? What special thing do you think you do for me? I don’t eat you because your specie isn’t meaty. I don’t use you for sacrifice either, since that is left for the traditionalists…”

“But you do sell me for money! When the grown among us dies of sickness, you do eat us. And of course, I have not forgotten my mother is an avuke and sells far better than our other brothers and sisters. So, yes, Mr. Farmer, you sure need us is why you are keeping us. If you say you don’t, simply let us go then.” 

The farmer opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He closed it again and remained silent. 

“Well, dear farmer, since you can’t let us go, can we now agree you are not better than the hawk? You see, at the end of the day, you still kill us, anyway. Whether it is by selling us to people who do so or you do it by yourself, the fact remains that we get killed and you play a role in it.”

“fine! But don’t think yourself any better. Did I not see you few minutes ago leaping up to make a meal of those innocent flies even when you have food kept inside that basket for you?”

“oh well! I never claimed to be better. You did, so deal with it!” the chick said with a tone of finality, while at the same time finding its way back the basket cage.

“wait, why do you go back to the basket when you know all of these?”

The chick putting its head into the opening of the basket, lets itself fully into the cage and then turned back to say to the farmer, “let’s say it is because I know that at the end of the day, we are all just preys and predators. Every sensible creature would rather choose the lesser evil. Or, have you any other better option for me?”

The farmer stood rooted in the ground for sometime. And, finding nothing more to say, he turned to leave.