Guinea Fowl, Prologue

GUINEA FOWL: A west African bird having dark plumage mottled with white; native to Africa but raised for food in many parts of the world

The Stamford Museum and Nature Center, in Stamford, Connecticut, is an amazing place. There is a farm full of baby animals. There is a hidden playground in the woods. One time the changing art exhibit displayed mechanized creatures made of trash. It was on a trip to the Stamford Museum and Nature Center, probably sometime in middle school, that I first formulated one of my life goals.

We were leaving the butterfly garden when I saw the flock of guinea fowl. We stopped to watch the birds amble along the wall. I decided I needed to own some. Not right that instant, obviously, I wasn’t a “buy me a pony!!!” kind of kid. I filed the goal away with the other things to accomplish “when I grow-up.” I worried a little, because “managing a farm” was not on the list of grown-up things to accomplish, nor even “live in a rural setting,” so I wasn’t sure how I’d be able to succeed with “own guinea fowl,” but I decided I’d let my grown-up self figure that out.

And then, of course, I forgot about guinea fowl for awhile. For fifteen years, to be precise. Then I came to The Gambia.

“Guinea fowl!” I would’ve shrieked and pointed, if I’d been the kind of person who shrieked and pointed. A boy in training village had a pair of them and I asked my language teacher about them. I didn’t explain the whole life-goal-since-middle-school thing, but I told her I wanted to buy some. She said that was possible, and told me the prices, said they became more expensive as they grew bigger.

On subsequent trips to the market I kept my eyes peeled for guinea fowl. I saw only chickens.

During my first weeks in village, when I wasn’t doing much of anything because I couldn’t say much of anything, I thought about my future guinea fowl. I even debated what I should name them. Phineaus and Philomel? Or Bonny and Clyde?

But when the markets remained depressingly devoid of guinea fowl, I decided to get a puppy instead.

For a few months I thought, “Well, I don’t really need the guinea fowl now, that might be too much trouble, I can always wait until I’m later to buy them…even if I don’t get them until I’m sixty-five or something…that could be funny…I could be the crazy guinea-fowl lady…doesn’t have quite the same ring as ‘crazy cat lady’…Oh well.”

Luckily I snapped out of this thinking and realized, “NO! Guinea fowl cannot wait until later! I need one NOW.”

So this past October I began pursuing my life goal in earnest. I even wrote “guinea fowl” at the top of the month’s calendar page.

I go with Julia to ask Samba how to say “guinea fowl” in Pulaar. He tells us. I write it down. I lose the slip of paper. I ask where they sell guinea fowl. He says they sell them here, but they are maybe 400 or 500 dalasis. I could get them cheaper somewhere else.

I decide to look somewhere else. I have a vague memory of passing a flock of guinea fowl on the road to Basse…but where? Julia texts other volunteers for guinea-fowl-related information, but there is no response. I vow that even if I need to pay 500 dalasis for a guinea fowl, I would do it.

In mid-October, as I am biking to Basse, I pass a flock of guinea fowl on my way through Sudawol. I ask the volunteer in Sudawol if he knows who the guinea fowl belong to. He says his family has guinea fowl. Lucky me! I ask if he will find out if two are for sale. He says he will.

A couple of weeks later, I am in Sudawol for the HIV bike trek. I ask again if the guinea fowl are for sale and am told they “probably are.” I can come ask his family. I decide I will do it that evening. Evening becomes night before I’ve remembered. I forget the next day. And the next. Then we leave Sudawol.

It is the start of November. I write “guinea fowl” at the top of the calendar. On a bike trip back from Basse, I stop in Sudawol and greet the volunteer and his host family. He asks if I want to ask about them about the guinea fowl. I say, “Sure!” We find the one woman who speaks Pulaar and I ask her if the things that are not chickens and not ducks were for sale (had the guinea fowl been walking nearby I could’ve just pointed to one, but I guess things were more amusing this way). She says she doesn’t own them, but brings us over to the neighbor who does. He speaks Pulaar too, but the woman doesn’t explain why she led us over here so I need to go through the not-a-chicken-not-a-duck charade again. He says they are for sale.

“How much ?”

“But they are difficult to catch.”

“But you will sell one?”

“Yes.”

“How much?”

“If you come in the evening, before they go to the tree, they will be easier to catch.”

“Thank you.”

Maybe he wasn’t telling me the price because I’d get it for free? The Sudawol volunteer develops a plan involving a mini-mosquito net and says he will call me if he catches one.

The next week, walking back from the market, Julia, our “stranger” and I pass a flock of guinea fowl. I ask a nearby man if the guinea fowl are for sale. He says, “If you catch one, it is yours.” Our stranger chases one. It run-flaps away. One of my students, who is been watching, says, “So, Miss Jallow, you want one of these?”

“YES.”

“I will catch one for you.”

“If you catch one for me I will be very happy.”

It is starting to seem that owning a guinea fowl is as simple (or difficult) as catching one. I ask for advice from fellow volunteers. The mosquito net trap sounds like it should work, but it hasn’t so far. I am told someone’s neighbor has just captured a live baboon and has caught guinea fowl in the past…with bullets. I am told they have a loud and annoying squawk. I am told to wait until evening, before they fly into trees to roost. It is suggested I lure them under a wash basin leaning on a stick connected to a rope. I am told they are “pretty obnoxious creatures.” It is suggested I forget about owning a guinea fowl.

It is the start of December. I write “guinea fowl” at the top of the calendar.

In my journal, I write:

December 13: Casey didn’t catch one before he left for IST, but yesterday the kid from Camara Kunda said he’d caught a guinea fowl but I never came for it. I didn’t know if he was being serious or if that was just his greeting, so I tried to emphasize that I would pay money in exchange for a guinea fowl. Abdoulie told me he would catch it for me, I said I would buy it if he does. He could have it for me today. Today? Today or tomorrow. He wants to catch me the white one. Casey also wants to catch me the white one. If I end up with a pair of white guinea fowl, that would be amazing, but even if I just end up with one absolutely ordinary guinea fowl, that would be amazing.

On other scattered days throughout December there are similar broken guinea-fowl promises. I lose hope.

It is the start of January. I do not write “guinea fowl” at the top of the calendar.