From the Perspective of the Kenyan Chicken Little
Life as a chicken in Kenya, although almost inevitably short, is arguably more fulfilling than being a chicken in America. For starters- who of you Yankee chickens can say you have ever ridden on a bus? I’m here to clear up any confusion and state once and for all that life is better for us chickens in Africa. And here is why:
1. We get unlimited access to kilometers and kilometers of land, unfenced and unbound. We can run around at will, chase uglier chickens and eat whatever trash or wild grasses are available—the world is our buffet. And Americans talk about “free range”! We even show our appreciation by our melodious clucking, starting around 4 am every morning right outside the houses where people are sleeping.
2. Silly American Tourists think its funny to chase us around outside and take a lot of pictures of us. We must be celebrities. Watch out Paris Hilton and Lindsay Lohan.
3. We get the luxury of riding in buses (as I stated before) called matatus. Sometimes women put us in their shopping bags, along with other delicious smelling fruits and fresh vegetables from the local market. Our legs are bound so we don’t run away, and although that is slightly uncomfortable, I believe they just value us so dearly they couldn’t deal with the immense sadness that would follow if they were to lose us. After all, there are many strangers that also ride on the matatus and we would not want to get lost!
4. Like little children, women carry us under their arms. What other life-stock can claim that they have actually been carried by the people that own then? A cow cannot claim that; they are only tied to a fence post to graze all day and whipped if they miss behave. A pig cannot claim that; most of the farmers that deal with pigs wont get near enough to touch them—can you imagine someone carrying a dirty, smelly pig? And donkeys definitely don’t get that same treatment. They slave away, carrying buckets of water and pulling heavy carts for many kilometers.
5. Our babies grow up to be much stronger and tougher than you American softees. They learn what it’s like in the real world from an early age, mastering the street smarts that can save them from an encounter with your average wild dog or hyena.
Now, I should probably talk about our inescapable and fated end, one that meets all chickens no matter your race or background. Children, avert your eyes because this is not pretty. But it is the fact of life. And unlike you American chickens who are killed without thought or that personal touch, we are given the decency to be slaughtered one by one, by the very hand that will eat us. Who else could ask for a more individualized and caring way to die? After all, the person who is going to eat us knows what the chicken is going through and what is going on in our minds in the final moments of life. I couldn’t ask for a better ending. That is why no matter what is said, the life of the African chicken is far more stimulating and exhilarating than that of our brothers in the US.