More ruminations!
on Melissa Hipkins (Rwanda), 25/Oct/2010 13:28, 34 days ago
Melissa holds informal English classes every Tuesday after work and it’s usually pot luck who turns up to them but one face that has become familiar to her is Eugene who is the district veterinarian. It seems to me that the term is often applied rather loosely and I never know quite what it covers. A lot of veterinarians have never done an operation in their lives or experienced the inside of a cow using the gloved hand. The extent of Eugene's dealings with animals is unknown to me – a clue is often whether they insist on being called doctor or not. Eugene does not seem that precious and I think he deals with the more technical tasks related to supplying materials for artificial insemination. I have often said to Melissa that I would like to go to Songa station, a large farm not far from Nyanza that does research into genetic improvement of the native Ankole cattle.She asked Eugene whether it might be possible to arrange a visit, he being the only veterinarian we know locally. He said he goes there himself from time to time and he would be glad to see if he could arrange something. He was also eager to learn more about my experiences with the scanner. Time went on as it often does over here and despite emails and texts nothing much happened. Melissa had asked him how things were going when she saw him in her lessons and he said he had been having problems with his emails, so she suggested I go and see him in the district office.He still seemed keen to go ahead and rang the director of the dairy herd, also based at Songa, to see what he could set up. This herd of over 100 cows is run by the Rwandan Ministry of Defence (MINIDEF) and it seemed the director was suspicious of my motives. What strategic importance cows have I couldn’t fathom but after a short discussion through Eugene he agreed to see us both the next week. There was however some doubt whether there would be anyone present to guide us and answer questions. The whole point of my visit would be to improve my knowledge of conditions and management of the cows so it was essential to have someone able to enlighten me. My wish to at least see the milking meant an early start to get to the farm by 7.00. Initially Eugene suggested we use the bus and then walk down to the buildings, that being the cheapest way to get there but as the first bus doesn’t leaveNyanza before 6.20 and the farm is 5 kilometres from the road a bit of calculation on the fingers confirmed we would be woefully late. Finally, he bit the bullet and conceded we needed to get motos. At least they would negotiate the tricky track right down to the farm buildings and, if we paid enough, stay while we conducted the visit and be able to get us back with the minimum of delay.The evening before the scheduled visit, I again visited Eugene at the district office as experience has taught us both not to take arrangements for granted but to check and confirm before committing to early starts. This paid off as he said the visit had been postponed as there definitely would be no-one there to accompany us.The re-arranged day happened to fall after one of the wettest days we have had this autumn and I feared the moto drivers would have difficulty on the rough track. As it was, the only problems we met were right by the farm when mud and cow muck combined to the extent that the drivers had to inch forward and keep their feet out in readiness for the loss of balance. I was more worried about coming off the bike higher up the track as my driver, who had obviously never come this way before, craned his neck to left and right marvelling at the very atypical landscape. Any area devoted just to grass with not the smallest plot of cultivated land in view is unknown.He was also watching intently the 4 or 5 herds of Ankole cattle. Large numbers of cattle free ranging over rough pastures are very alien here in the south. Ankole in particular are awe inspiring even when you’re ready for them. To encounter 50 or 60 denizens of this rolling tropical parkland with horns 4 feet long all eying you malevolently is sobering in the extreme.The drivers were on home ground when at last we met the Friesian herd right in the foot of the valley. We had arrived in time to see them gathering themselves by the buildings prior to milking. So far, much like the UK. The jolt came as we began to appreciate that these cows, some 75 lactating animals, all had to be hand milked. The farm has no electricity so for the moment machines cannot be contemplated. This also applies to any refrigeration; the milk has to be taken in churns by pickup to the processing plant in Nyanza as soon as milking finishes, and by hand that won’t be before 11.00. Because of this difficulty, afternoon milking begins at 14.00 to be able to get the milk away before the plant shuts at nightfall.About 1000 litres goes away each day, less so in the dry season. Despite the recent change in the weather, the grass hardly looked as though it had begun to respond and really green up. There is minimal pasture management, the herd is split into 4 sections and each section has its own hilltop to graze. There are fences dividing them, but some are in name only. There are over 1100 acres of rough grass and scrubby trees for the 115 cows and 230 followers-this represents a huge farm for Rwanda especially in the heavily cultivated south.All this information had been given by the 3 farm veterinarians who arrived not long after we had begun to watch the process of milking. They work exclusively for this farm and they have their own responsibilities; nutrition, general health and reproduction. I was struck by their knowledge and enthusiasm and after a bit of initial fencing, we got on well. They know what needs to be done but like everywhere here they are limited by resources. They have good records on spreadsheets and their cattle handling system puts Busogo to shame. I would love to be able to bring the scanner to the farm but at the moment the lack of electricity is a problem.On a smaller scale, we have had a very interesting day at Agahozo- Shalom, a youth village for orphans, originally of the genocide. It is an Israeli organisation, modelled on villages set up after the holocaust for orphans, the aim being to deal with their personal trauma and then to nurture them in a family environment and to continue their education to university level. Melissa was very interested in their school and I wanted to see their small herd of cows.Agahozo-Shalom is about an hour to the east of Kigali very much in the heart of the countryside a good 10 kilometres from the nearest village, and that caused us some problems in reaching the settlement. Spare beds at the community are very much at a premium so we thought it most practical to stay in Kigali Friday and Saturday nights and take the bus early Saturday to make a day of it. We had met Suzie and Ido at Nyungwe when we visited to see the chimpanzees and became keen to visit before they left to return to Israel. The village consists of about 30 dwellings each designed to hold some eight teenagers aged between 15 and 21. House mothers or fathers, depending on the house designation keep a semblance of order. They are there for 4 years, a time considered sufficient to benefit from the family organisation of the houses and to complete their high school education.It has only been going for about 2 years and has plans to double its size by 2012. A lot of money has been allocated to its development and Melissa was particularly envious of the standard of school building and the facilities available. The herd of cows is also in the early stages of its establishment and it will take a little time to decide what help they may need and in which aspect of their management.There has been a plague of flying insects at home, ant-like but not ants, beginning each evening after dark and made worse by the attraction of the outside light. The extent of the invasion is such that in seeking the light, they collide with us as we go in and out of the back door. They are not good flyers and have little endurance; their bodies accumulating underfoot to crunch unpleasantly as we move about. Inevitably they succeed by numbers to enter the house no matter how quickly we get the door shut. Many of them get in on our clothes or in our hair. It’s got to the stage now where we have abandoned washing up outside after the evening meal and leave it until the morning.We have been helped in dispersing those who fly furiously around the lights once they have gained entry by a gadget we bought to help control mosquitoes. It’s in the shape of a tennis racquet but instead of strings it has metal grids powered by battery in the handle. The electronics deliver up to a couple of thousand volts across these grids and a satisfying crack and flash means contact has been made. The contact is not always fatal, bigger flies are stunned; they drop to spin round on the floor until dispatched by a sandal. You can imagine what pyrotechnics can be generated by a tennis player of Melissa’s talents wading into the swarm with me trotting behind with a dustpan and brush.The only beneficiaries of this blight are the toads in the yard that can be seen pouncing on all the bodies that can only crawl rather than fly. Is it providence or evolution that brings them this bonanza at the beginning of their breeding season?