"Allah moobu," came the reply each time. May God keep it safe.
He approached a pullo who was standing next to a fine black and white sheep. A second man, wearing sunglasses and a red and white checked turban, was prodding the sheep with a short wooden staff. The pullo stood on one leg gazing at the horizon with studied indifference.

"Salaam alekum," said Hamadou.
"Alekum asalaam."
"Have you seen my eere sihnge?"
"Allah moobu," murmured Red and White Check Turban." He prized open the sheep's mouth and examined its teeth, not seeming entirely sure what he was looking for.
The pullo turned to Hamadou, narrowed his eyes, and said, " Ayyo."
"You have seen her?"
"Ayyo."
"Where?"
"Bring hemre."
"Al barke."
"Bring woygu."

Hamadou fished out the coin impatiently, and handed it over. "Where did you see my eere sihnge?" he asked, eagerly.
"In a dream," said the pullo. Hamadou's heart sank. Another disappointment.
"When was this dream?" he asked, wearily.
"Last night."
"Where was she when you saw her?"
"I don't know. An old man was leading her."

The pullo looked away. Hamadou felt his disappointment turning to anger. "You deceived me," he said.
"Walai Allah, I did not deceive you. Everything I said is true."
"I think I shall go home," said Hamadou. "No one will buy your sheep, of course," he added, raising his voice. "Anyone can see it has gunya."
"Walai Allah, this sheep does not have gunya."
"Look at the neck there. Gunya."

The pullo was indignant. "That is not gunya. Are you a madman? Would you repay good with evil?" He realized too late that his prospective buyer had sidled away, and he turned to see the distinctive red and white turban bobbing up and down in the crowd. "Hey come back!" Furious now, he wheeled round to curse Hamadou, but there was no one there.

Back at his wuro, Hamadou mixed some millet husks with water and a little salt. He ate quickly and then with a heavy heart he lay down to sleep.

* * *

The next morning Hamadou rose early and went with some trepidation to see the maribout Ali Boke. Ali Boke was a newcomer in Petegoli but already had a fearsome reputation as wonderworker and holy man. The story was well known of how two sheep belonging to Al Haji Amadou Diallo of Aribinda had been stolen, and how the Haji had gone to see Ali Boke. That same night a certain tanner in Yalogo was making tea in front of his house when he was struck by a freak bolt of lightning. They found the tanner's teapot in a thorn tree thirty paces away, and two sheep-skins in a box inside his house. Ali Boke himself had told this story and on account of it he was greatly respected and feared. Besides which, his eyebrows met completely in the centre, a sure sign of one endowed with supernatural powers.
Ali Boke's place was on the edge of the town, surrounded by acacia trees. A small mud-brick house stood in the corner of a large, well-swept yard. In the center was a kaba, a prayer circle made of small stones. At the far end of the yard was an old ram with one horn missing, and a battered wicker chair.

Hamadou paused at the gate. "Salaam alekum", he called.

Ali Boke emerged from the house and walked towards him, "Alekum asalaam! " He wore a long, white robe, embroidered in blue down the front, and he held out his arms in such a way that the wide sleeves splayed out like wings. Small, black eyes sparkled through the opening of a copious blue turban. They rattled through the requisite greetings and blessings, Hamadou conscious that his own voice sounded unnaturally loud.

"Why have you come?" asked Ali Boke. It was true what they said about his eyebrows, they were extraordinary.
"My cow is lost. Eere sihnge. "
"I know," said the maribout . "Come, I will write a something. Sit down."

The wicker chair had a large hole in the seat, and sloped crazily to one side. Hamadou perched tensely on the edge and Ali Boke strode across the yard and disappeared into the house.

Minutes later, the maribout emerged blinking into the sunlight, holding a big book, an aluwal , a yellow beaker, a green beaker, a blue beaker and a quill. He crossed the yard in a speedy shuffle, and arrived at the chair without dropping anything. The one-horned ram backed off until its leash was taut. Ali Boke sat down on the ground in front of Hamadou and busied himself arranging his things. Hamadou watched him carefully. The green beaker was full of what appeared to be water. The blue beaker contained what appeared to be ink. The book was the Qur'an .

Ali Boke opened the book. Its pages were crisp and white, except in three or four places, where they were crumpled and dirty. He cleared his throat, " Sura 2," he said, "The Cow, starting at ayaare 68. I shall translate.

"'They said, "Call on your Lord for our sake to make it plain to us what she is." Musa said, "He says: Surely she is a cow, neither advanced in age nor too young, of middle age between that and this; do therefore what you are commanded."'

Ali Boke looked up from the book, and raised part of his long eyebrow. Bewildered, Hamadou nodded and frowned intelligently. The maribout continued:

'They said, "Call on your Lord for our sake to make it plain to us what her colour is." Musa said, "He says: Surely she is a yellow cow; her colour is intensely yellow, giving delight to the beholders - "'

" Eere singhe ," broke in Hamadou in an urgent whisper.
"Intensely yellow, giving delight to the beholders," repeated Ali Boke icily. "Those are the words." There followed a long and unsatisfactory silence.

"And now," announced Ali Boke, as if to a large audience, "I shall write." He rolled up his long white sleeves theatrically. "Bring hemre ."

Hamadou dared not Al barke and meekly handed over the note. The maribout took up the quill and dipped it in the blue beaker. His sleeve fell down. He rolled it up again, began to write on the aluwal , right to left, in a spindly Arabic script. Hamadou was mesmerized by the slow, scratchy passage of the quill across the aluwal .

"Hold this," said Ali Boke suddenly, handing Hamadou the empty yellow beaker. "Hold it still," he snapped, his black eyes glaring out from under that uncanny eyebrow. Hamadou grasped the beaker in both hands. The maribout put down his quill, lifted the green beaker high over the aluwal , and poured. The water mixed with the ink and ran off the board into the yellow beaker.

"Drink!" cried Ali Boke, causing Hamadou to start violently and spill some of his precious solution. "Drink, drink it all!" demanded Ali Boke, looming towards him. Hamadou drank. The dilute ink was bitter on the tongue. The maribout sighed and leant back on his hands. He suddenly looked very small and tired. "You will find your cow tomorrow," he said, "if God wills it."
" Amiina yarabi. "
"Or the next day."
"Er - amiina . Thank you."

Hamadou left Ali Boke's yard, turned right, trotted a few paces, and vomited briefly into an acacia.

Back at his wuro , he mixed some millet husks with water and a little salt. He ate a few mouthfuls and gave the rest to a passing garibou . Then with a heavy heart he lay down to sleep.

* * *
The next morning Hamadou rose early and looked for a maabo . He did so discreetly. To ask around indiscreetly for a maabo is to have all the maabuube in the land come running to your wuro with their palms outstretched and their teeth a-clacking, thickening the air with dust and pre-emptive storying. Hamadou knew well the cautionary tale of rich old Ibrahiim Hampaté Ba. Being close to death, he had asked for a maabo to attend his final hours, to recite his genealogy and the edited highlights of his long and illustrious life. It is said that twenty-four maabuube turned up at his gate, brandishing drums and three-stringed lutes, clamouring to be let in. A fight broke out between the maabuube , during which Ibrahiim Hampaté Ba passed into the afterlife, grim-faced and unsung.

Hamadou found Maabo Tamboura Demmbo sitting at the market by a pile of cola nuts. He was dressed in a bright green complet , and was looking at his face in a small handheld mirror, rolling his wide eyes back and forth and moving the mirror to keep up.

" Salaam alekum ," said Hamadou.
" Alekum asalaam ." The maabo 's eyes did not leave the mirror.
"Did you wake in peace?"
"Peace only."
"Do you own a drum?"
"Two."
"Only one is needed. I have lost my cow. Eere sihnge ."

The maabo adjusted the mirror slightly and bared his teeth. They were stained red with cola nut juice. He took a deep breath.
"You have lost your cow," he said. "I have lost my self. I used to craft words that seized men's innards and confounded their minds. I used to soar in song above the desert eagle and straddle in speech vast oceans of wisdom. I used to shine dazzling coloured lights down the wells of history. When I sang the Ballad of Safietu and Pullori in Oudalan, the weeping lasted three full phases of the moon. When I recited the conquests of Ousmana Dan Fodio, right here in Petegoli, the cows were woken from their sleep by the sound of infidel knees a-knocking. In Ouagadougou, when I told of the Ten Plagues of Egypt and the Omniscient Twins of Tombuktu, princes clutched my robes and begged for more. Look at me now. A grovelling goynoowo , an announcer of commonplaces, a pedestrian wallopper of goatskins. It is no matter. I will go to my grave wailing eere sihnge , and in my dying breath a library will burn. Bring hemre ."
" Al barke ."
"Bring woygu ."
"Here is woygu ." Hamadou handed over the coin. "I last saw her east of the town, by the baobab tree. My brand is like this." He drew a W in the sand, and the maabo 's eyes strayed momentarily from the mirror to look at it.

To his credit, Tamboura Demmbo did a loud and thorough job. By sunset, everyone in Petegoli was aware that Hamadou's eere sihnge had gone astray. Several simple folk, hopeful of a reward, gathered at the baobab tree and paced around it, clicking their tongues and calling, " Eere, eere. "

Back at his wuro , Hamadou mixed some millet husks with water and a little salt. He ate quickly and then with a heavy heart he lay down on his mat.

* * *
Hamadou passed a troubled night, tormented in his sleep by mosquitoes and a nightmare starring Ousmana Dan Fodio. Early the next morning, he was woken by a small child. " Eere sihnge . I have seen her."

He followed the child out of the town, going eastwards past the baobab and then turning north. They had walked a mile or so when he suddenly caught sight of the familiar tracks of eere sihnge . His pace quickened until the child had to trot to keep up. Two hours they walked, passing several Fulbe settlements and flocks of sheep and goats. Then, to Hamadou's horror, the tracks entered a field of millet through a small gap in the hoggo . A trail of bent and broken stalks showed where eere sihnge had trampled and devoured the almost-ripe millet.

The tracks leading away from the hoggo were even more worrying, the split hooves of the cow now accompanied by pointy human footprints. They led to a nearby town called Baraboulé, and to the prefectoire . There in the cow prison were several animals, and amongst them, ruefully chewing the cud, was eere sihnge .

" Al hamdillalai! " exclaimed Hamadou. He gave the child noogay and hurried into the prefectoire .

The prefet was sitting behind a large desk, dressed in a beige uniform. There was a carved nameplate on the front of the desk: Ouedraogo Michelle . He held a cup of coffee and a cigarette in one hand, a sheaf of papers in the other.
" Salaam alekum ," said Hamadou.
" Oui ? "
Hamadou gestured towards the cow prison, "My eere sihnge is in the prison here."
The prefet exhaled a cloud of bluish smoke. " Moi, je ne comprends pas peulh ," he said, yawning.

French was power. Ever since independence, French had been the language used for teaching the young, strangling the weak and mocking herders.

Hamadou stepped sideways to be in the path of the prefet 's smoke. He could only occasionally afford a cigarette, and passive smoking was better than nothing. How much would he have to pay to release eere sihnge , he wondered.

The prefet rifled through his papers ostentatiously, while Hamadou looked at the array of calenders on the wall behind the desk. Esso, Seventh Day Advenist Church, SIDA awareness. He racked his brain. What was the French word for the cow prison? He must have heard it several times. Minutes passed. Eventually he cleared his throat. " Cuillère ," he announced.

The prefet took the spoon out of his coffee, raised an eyebrow and laughed. Not cuillère , then. There was another pause. The prefet finished his coffee, stubbed out his cigarette, opened a draw and took out a key. "Ta vache est dans le fourrière , n'est ce pas." Fourrière , that was it.
" Oui, " said Hamadou.

The official stood up and left the room. Hamadou followed. They went to the fourrière , the prefet unlocked the gate and stood aside.

" Eere sihnge ," called Hamadou in a low voice. The red and white cow left her cellmates and trotted towards him. He took hold of the rope which was tied round the cow's horns, and stroked the side of her head.

The prefet closed the gate with a harsh clang, and said, " Ca fait deux mille cinq cent CFA. " Hamadou understood the figure well enough. He swallowed dryly. He had paid the pullo , the maribout , the maabo and the child, and he had no money left at all. The awful truth of the matter presented itself immediately to him: he would have to sell eere sihnge.

Back at his wuro , Hamadou tied up the cow and milked her. He drank the milk, and then with a heavy heart he lay down on his mat to sleep.

* * *
Hamadou did not sleep well. He woke in the night and got up to drink milk again. After that he lay on his mat until dawn, his eyes wide open.

When the sun was up, Hamadou untied eere sihnge and led her to the animal market. He greeted a group of Fulbe he passed on the road, but did not meet their eyes. He entered the marketplace. The trade in animals at that time was at a desperate low; poor rains the previous year meant there was precious little pasture to be had, and herders were unwilling to take on new animals. Cows were being sold for a fraction of their proper price, shaming buyer and seller alike. Hamadou stood against a wall and kept eere sihnge close to him.

An old man with a fine black and white sheep approached him. He recognized the sheep. The old man he did not recognize. He was wearing a blue robe and curious pointy shoes.
" Salaam alekum ."
" Alekum asalaam. "
"Why are you selling this eere sihnge ?" asked the old man.
"She got into someone's field," answered Hamadou. "They took her to the prefet . I can not pay the fine."
"That was me. It was my field. I took her to the prefet ."
Hamadou's eyes widened in surprise. "Sorry about your field," he said.
"Sorry about your cow."

They stood in amicable silence for a while. Hamadou felt no anger towards this old man. On the contrary, he was glad of the company.
It was the old man who spoke first. "I hate to see a pullo sell his only cow," he said. "It is not right."
Hamadou looked at him sharply. How did he know eere sihnge was his only cow?
"Take this sheep," continued the old man. "She is a good sheep. She will pay your fine."
Hamadou took a moment to register this. "But your field," he said, "Would you repay evil with good?"
The old man handed him the tether. " Allah hokku jam, " he said. May God give peace. He turned and walked away.

Hamadou got eight thousand CFA for the sheep that day. It was bought at midday by a man wearing a familiar red and white checked turban and sunglasses. The man was accompanied by a friend, who examined the sheep carefully and declared it a gunya -free specimen with excellent dental health.

As for eere sihnge , Hamadou took her home via the food market, where he bought a salt-lick and a bowl of chobbal . Back at the wuro , he tied her up and milked her. He mixed the milk with some of his chobbal and drank it. Then, with a light heart, he lay down on his mat to sleep.

Notes on the text

Petegoli - a small sahelian town in the north-west of Burkina Faso
eere sihnge - amongst the Fulani, cows are named according to their appearance. The first name denotes a predominant marking, the second denotes the predominant colour. There are many hundreds of possible combinations.
baobab - Adansonia digitata The leaves of the baobab are very appetizing to animals and are used to prepare sauces. The fruit, ‘monkey bread’, is also edible and the flowers are eaten cooked.
wuro - (Fulfulde) home
pullo - (Fulfulde) Fulani man (plural fulbe )
Salaam alekum, alekum asalaam - (Arabic) greeting commonly heard across the Muslim world (lit. Peace be upon you, And also upon you)
hemre - (Fulfulde) a 500 CFA note
Al barke - (Arabic) an appeal to lower the price of something (lit. God bless you)
woygu - (Fulfulde) a 250 CFA coin
gunya - (Fulfulde) skin disease common to sheep and goats
maribout - (French) Muslim religious teacher
aluwal - (Fulfulde) narrow oblong board used for Writing Qur’anic verses (see picture top left)
Amiina yarabi - (Arabic) Amen ‘master’
garibou - (Fulfulde) beggar, often used of the young pupils of a maribout
maabo - (Fulfulde) storyteller or minstrel (plural maabuube )
complet - (French) shirt and trousers cut from the same material
goynoowo - (Fulfulde) town-crier
hoggo - (Fulfulde) a fence of thorn branches enclosing a field or animal pen
prefet - (French) the administrative authority in a town
cow prison - enclosure where animals involved in a dispute are impounded, pending payment of a fine (French fourriere ) - this is almost always administrated by the prefet .
Al hamdillalai - (Arabic) Praise God!
noogay - (Fulfulde) a 100 CFA coin
peulh - (French) Fulfulde or Fulani
chobbal - balls of cooked millet and herbs