How I got a chicken

I had two, ten year old boys play chicken with my car today. Not cool. I missed the 1st one by inches and thankfully my friend in the car behind managed to miss the 2nd. I wish I had enough Ciyawo, or presence of mind in the pumping adrenaline to get out and demonstrate /explain to the boys just how hard a car is... I really think they have no idea.

That's a chicken story, but not strictly the chicken story- so let me start....An old man in one of the villages I pass through loves to greet me and chat. I really struggle to understand him- but he is un-phased. Somedays he susses out what time I'll be heading back to Mangochi and what day I'll be returning past his house and catches a lift . After the last such lift, he got out thanking me profusly and said something about a chicken. It was explained to me that he wanted me to wait while he caught a chicken for me...so I explained that I really appreciated the sentiment but couldn't possibly take a chicken off someone- especially in the hungry season. and un-verbalised was the thought that -what on earth would i do with a live chicken anyways?!

I noticed the translation didn't remotely resemble my answer, coming out more along the lines of 'lisiku line' or 'another day' than my 'Im rich, you're poor , Im not accepting your gift ' arrogance. It is arrogance- to think that no one can give me stuff. This last year I've learned to accept the rich gifts of acceptance, friendship, hopsitality and time that people offer me. Gifts that are difficult to reciprocate as a foreigner who can't talk properly and misses most of the cultural cues... but it seems i'm still clinging to the right to be the one that doesn't need any 'stuff' from anyone else...

So today, as I was sitting on the front verandah chatting about farm things, a girl appeared with a chicken, unceremoniously squawking and dangling from its armpits while they tied its legs with grass. A female chicken they announced proudly. I asked what its name was and they said 'chicken' as if I was stupid. 'No- lets give it a proper name kids- what shall we call it?' 'chicken' came the reply. Ok-'chicken' it is. Oldy, but a goody.

Half way down the mountain on a particulary sharp corner I almost jumped out of my seat when 'chicken' objected to the level of cetrifical force. I'd completely forgotten she was there!
So...now the question is, what am I going to do with a live chicken?