>On Friday I visited a farm outside of the city. Now when I say “farm” I mean a place where things are grown, not necessarily the farm picture you probably have in your head when I write that. I know this because I had the picture of green hills and a white farmhouse in my head as I woke up and got ready to go- why I still thought this after living here three months I do not know. There was no white house or front porch. There were no green hills. But there were chickens. Lots of chickens.
I like wearing the covering ladies here wear- it goes over all your clothes and around your head and then over your shoulder (sounds complicated. kind of is…but the good news, I haven’t tripped on it on a while). The covering I was wearing on Friday was a bright hot pink…and I was feeling pretty and cheerful (don’t bother calling me out on my vanity…it solved itself later I promise). So our national friends are giving us a quick tour of their property- and take us to the chicken circle. A courtyard surrounded by huge chicken coop (sp.?)- each holding probably 300 chickens at least. As I slowly meander into the courtyard and approach the first chicken coop (sp?), I begin to hear some rustling in the pen. Then the rustling grows louder as the chickens begin to stir. Then suddenly all 300 chickens are flying around madly and bumping into each other and squawking like I’m there to kill them. I watch with interest, wondering what could be causing this ruckus…mentally berating whatever naughty thing would get the chickens all riled up in this way. I move away from the party coop and am astonished to see the same thing happen in the next pen. And the next. And the next.
A gentleman, apparently one in charge of the rather excited chickens, smiles at me and points to my tob and I smile back and wave- figuring he was interested to know why I would wear the slightly awkward covering. He did not stop pointing though and began speaking to me in Arabic, but alternated pointing to me, then the chickens, then the tob, and then all three over again. I could not hear over the ruckus, so I was puzzled, but kept smiling and shrugged a bit (I’ve learned when they think I’m dumb, they just leave me alone…lately it has not been hard to convince people of this). Finally a friend who spoke English pointed to my tob and said that the color was upsetting the chickens.
Again with the shrug, but the friend continued and said that I would have to leave the area, I was scaring the chickens.
Apparently (don’t judge me you people who already know this) they won’t lay eggs when they get really scared of something. Friday, that something was me.
Rejected, by chickens.

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One Response to >REJECTED

  1. Peyton says:

    >It’s humbling to get rejected by chickens once in a while. But I think you’re probably the first one I’ve heard to admit it. Nice!

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