mother, what happened to the little black hen.

"Did she get hit by a car?"

Colette shrugged.

If it had gotten hit by a car, it probably would have ended up closer to the road because no one would have touched it. But from the way it looked, that seemed to be the most logical explanation.

"What happened to it?"

"I don’t know, Da Marie." ("Da" is short for dadavi, which means

From 1996-98, I was a Peace Corps Volunteer in Togo, West Africa. I lived in the village of Blitta without water or electricity. Just before making a trip to the Peace Corps office at Lom? at the end of January 1997, I noticed a very young black hen in our yard one morning. She had two broken legs and couldn't move. No one in my African host family owned a chicken, and it didn't seem to belong to any of the neighbors, as no one came looking for it.

Animals for the most part run free in the village. Most Togolese don’t have money for fencing. The free-roaming animals eat up any scrap of anything even remotely edible that is dropped anywhere, and things are dropped everywhere. It's the custom for people to eat outside in the yard, as the tin roofed houses have the ambience of an oven. They drop bones on the ground, and during food preparation the women drop peels and kitchen garbage on the ground. Pygmy goats and occasional ducks or chickens which wandered through our yard would eat some of these scraps. Villagers don’t have money for animal vaccinations, much less for animal feed, so for the animals it was eat everyone's garbage or eat nothing.

Since there were no fences in this village, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to see a chicken in our yard. No one came looking for it because people didn't seem to keep track of their animals unless perhaps they were about to become dinner. None of the people who passed through our yard paid any attention to it at all. If it were diseased, that would be prudent. I overcame my initial desire to help the injured creature and asked Colette, my host mother, what happened to the little black hen.

"Did she get hit by a car?"

Colette shrugged.

If it had gotten hit by a car, it probably would have ended up closer to the road because no one would have touched it. But from the way it looked, that seemed to be the most logical explanation.

"What happened to it?"

"I don’t know, Da Marie." ("Da" is short for dadavi, which means

the neighbors, as no one came looking for it.

Animals for the most part run free in the village. Most Togolese don’t have money for fencing. The free-roaming animals eat up any scrap of anything even remotely edible that is dropped anywhere, and things are dropped everywhere. It's the custom for people to eat outside in the yard, as the tin roofed houses have the ambience of an oven. They drop bones on the ground, and during food preparation the women drop peels and kitchen garbage on the ground. Pygmy goats and occasional ducks or chickens which wandered through our yard would eat some of these scraps. Villagers don’t have money for animal vaccinations, much less for animal feed, so for the animals it was eat everyone's garbage or eat nothing.

Since there were no fences in this village, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to see a chicken in our yard. No one came looking for it because people didn't seem to keep track of their animals unless perhaps they were about to become dinner. None of the people who passed through our yard paid any attention to it at all. If it were diseased, that would be prudent. I overcame my initial desire to help the injured creature and asked Colette, my host mother, what happened to the little black hen.

"Did she get hit by a car?"

Colette shrugged.

If it had gotten hit by a car, it probably would have ended up closer to the road because no one would have touched it. But from the way it looked, that seemed to be the most logical explanation.

"What happened to it?"

"I don’t know, Da Marie." ("Da" is short for dadavi, which means

es on the ground, and during food preparation the women drop peels and kitchen garbage on the ground. Pygmy goats and occasional ducks or chickens which wandered through our yard would eat some of these scraps. Villagers don’t have money for animal vaccinations, much less for animal feed, so for the animals it was eat everyone's garbage or eat nothing.

Since there were no fences in this village, it wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to see a chicken in our yard. No one came looking for it because people didn't seem to keep track of their animals unless perhaps they were about to become dinner. None of the people who passed through our yard paid any attention to it at all. If it were diseased, that would be prudent. I overcame my initial desire to help the injured creature and asked Colette, my host mother, what happened to the little black hen.

"Did she get hit by a car?"

Colette shrugged.

If it had gotten hit by a car, it probably would have ended up closer to the road because no one would have touched it. But from the way it looked, that seemed to be the most logical explanation.

"What happened to it?"

"I don’t know, Da Marie." ("Da" is short for dadavi, which means

t wouldn’t be out of the ordinary to see a chicken in our yard. No one came looking for it because people didn't seem to keep track of their animals unless perhaps they were about to become dinner. None of the people who passed through our yard paid any attention to it at all. If it were diseased, that would be prudent. I overcame my initial desire to help the injured creature and asked Colette, my host mother, what happened to the little black hen.

"Did she get hit by a car?"

Colette shrugged.

If it had gotten hit by a car, it probably would have ended up closer to the road because no one would have touched it. But from the way it looked, that seemed to be the most logical explanation.

"What happened to it?"

"I don’t know, Da Marie." ("Da" is short for dadavi, which means

mother, what happened to the little black hen.

"Did she get hit by a car?"

Colette shrugged.

If it had gotten hit by a car, it probably would have ended up closer to the road because no one would have touched it. But from the way it looked, that seemed to be the most logical explanation.

"What happened to it?"

"I don’t know, Da Marie." ("Da" is short for dadavi, which means "little sister" and is a term of respect for adults.)

I couldn't understand why no one would made any attempt to care for the animal. After all, a small amount of care would enable the chicken to live long enough to grow a little more and make a better meal. At any rate, I wasn’t going to ignore an injured animal in the yard, so I approached the hen to see how bad her injuries were.

Other than being unable to walk, the chicken seemed to be in good health. She was not bleeding, she was alert, and her feathers were in reasonably good condition. She was small, as most village chickens are, and looked to be less than a year old. I observed the hapless immobile creature over the course of the morning. No one fed her or made any attempt to care for her. I couldn't bear witnessing the chicken's slow death by starvation and dehydration, so by mid-afternoon I started to care for it. Fortunately, she was in the shade, so I didn't have to deal with moving an injured animal. I brought her some instant oatmeal that I had bought from the little store nearby a few days ago and some water in a washed-out tomato paste can. The chicken drank eagerly and pecked at the oatmeal with good appetite after her initial apprehension at my approach. I continued to feed her and brought her water several times more throughout the day, much to the amusement of my African family.

If the hen had been hit by a car or mauled, she might have internal injuries and not survive, but if all she needed was a little care and feeding, I didn’t mind doing it. If it did survive, it would no doubt hang around my house because