They would come round to visit more regularly, and would spend half the time looking at Eere oole and giving me advice about how to feed her and look after her properly.

For the Fulani, the cow is the centre of their identity. When I was looking for a herder for my cows, I interviewed one young Fulani man called Hamidou, and asked if he knew much about cows. He laughed. Scoffed even.

“A cow gave me birth. My mother is a cow.” Now, to call your mother a cow in England is not generally the done thing. But Hamidou was simply saying that he was born and had grown up among cows.

So for a man such as myself, wealthy enough to buy a puccu njamndi – a “metal horse” otherwise known as a motorbike - it was strange that I had no cows.

Fulani give their cows descriptive names. No Daisy or Buttercup here. Eere oole simply means whitish cow with a blotchy neck. Over time Eere oole gave birth to a healthy calf, and I also bought more cows. As they grew up, Seydou and Monique’s children, Oli, Sarah, and Timotee, got used to having cows around the yard. But Eere oole was always special because she was the first. It was with her we learned to tie the calf to the front leg, to keep mum calm while she was being milked - and also to tie the back legs together at the same time to stop her kicking us when she got fed up with being messed around with. It was with her we went through all the trials of sickness and treatment. Not unlike having your first child I imagine.

We would let Eere oole out to the bush with a herder each morning, and then she would find her own way back in the evening – drawn back initially by the tasty feed we prepared for her. Later she had the added motivation of coming home to her calf, who would hear her lowing late in the afternoon and would start straining at the rope that tied him to the tree in our yard. When untied, he leaped off like a crazy thing. He would go dashing and bouncing round the yard, before shooting out the gate to go and find mum.

So the first time Eere oole went missing I was worried. It was the start of rainy season, and there was fresh green grass everywhere, and it seems she had found a nice patch and settled in somewhere. Layya had gone off by foot looking for her, but today was the third day, and he thought a more radical solution was needed. We needed to go looking for her on the metal horse.

So off we went, Layya sat behind me as we shot down tiny sandy tracks, across muddy riverbeds, and through fields. I’m not sure what signs he was taking his directions from, but, he would suddenly wave his arm vaguely in one direction or another, and I obediently swerved accordingly, praying that we weren’t heading for a hidden pile of thorns.

Eventually I could barely make out in the distance a herd of cows.

“It’s Isa.” Layya informed me. I couldn’t see anyone. But sure enough, a few minutes later as we drew closer, I spotted Isa Duroo among the herd of several hundred cows. Isa looked up nonchalantly, as though it was every day that a white man on a motorbike came to visit his place of work. We went through the greeting sequence, and then Layya and Isa started a long discussion about cows. My Fulfulde was pretty good by this time, but I struggled to understand much at all. It was like listening to another language. Cow-related language is so rich and vast among the Fulani, and the herders, who have kept something of the original culture of the Fulani are different in bearing and attitude from those softened by life settled in the towns and villages. Eventually Layya asked:

“Have you seen Adama’s cow?”

I am Adama. The “th” of Keith is unpronounceable to the Fulani. Indeed the very name “Keith” is so strange to their ears that it is not even regarded as a real name. And so I was renamed Diallo Adama by my Fulani friends.

“What does Adama’s cow look like?” asked Isa.
Silly question, I thought. There are thousands of cows out here in the bush. How will he recognise one by its description?

“It’s eere oole, with long horns like this” Layya held up his arms in a fair imitation of Eere oole’s horns.

“Mm. I saw her yesterday, over there, with Lobbo’s herd.” Isa waved a hand towards the east. “Maybe she was heading towards Bangil” I imagined he was trying to save face by at least saying something, but Layya seemed convinced, so we set off towards the east. We passed another herd on the way, but Layya didn’t want to stop, and eventually we spotted another herd of ant-like cows on the horizon.

“That’s them!” Once more, Layya’s apparently hawk-like eyesight baffled me.

But sure enough, there was Lobbo, and there, joining a bovine banquet with hundreds of newfound friends, was Eere oole.

Layya got down from the bike, and after chatting amicably with Lobbo, wandered off towards Eere oole, waving his stick. Eere oole looked up briefly as if to say,

“Oh, it’s you. I was wondering where you’d got to,” and sauntered casually off in the direction of Gorom, as if that was where she had been heading anyway, and we were hurrying her up unnecessarily.

I left Layya contentedly urging Eere oole towards the west, and I went on ahead on the metal horse.

Seydou and Monique were happy with the good news, and when Layya arrived with Eere oole late that afternoon, we all had a little celebration. That whole day we hadn’t even thought of our other cows. We had been simply thinking about the one.

For Eere oole had been lost, but now was found.