Unborn Sheep For Sale

“Greetings, is there peace?” I was asked this morning shortly after arriving in town. “There is peace, I am very happy today.” How could I say that when I was the defendant in a “court case” that I knew would end in me being found guilty (unjustly, I believed)? Well, sometimes, it’s better just to end a problem/argument, then to actually win it. Yes, that advice applies to more than just marriage.

 

I sat on the large stone along the backside of a liquor store. On my one side sat Wenber, whose name literally means “chair,” a very fitting name as he is the current chairman of the Kebele (the smallest of the political divisions in Ethiopian government, maybe like a town or sub-city).  On my left sat an old man who had witnessed the incident at hand. And directly in front of me, stood the upset man, unfortunately, there were no more big rocks for him to sit on, but his crossed arms and restlessly shifting his weight exposed him as seemingly content to stand. I had called for this ‘timba’ (traditional reconciliation ceremony) in advance to finally put an end to a saga that had haunted me for three weeks.

 

Mr. Chair kicked things off by reviewing the details of the case, something like this: “Three weeks ago, Travis drove into town and parked in the main square. After concluding his business in that area he hopped into his truck to head out of the market area not noticing the sheep that were enjoying the shade under the truck. As he pulled away, people started yelling strange questions like “doesn’t your head work?” He looked out his window to see a baby sheep limping away. As with any excitement in a small town, a crowd gathered quickly and joined the fun of insults and accusations. After some time, one man claimed that it was his sheep and played the cultural role very well: blowing his top, demanding money (but carefully not saying how much), and of course, dramatically storming away with threats of further action down the road - “I know where you live!” My position was simple, “If there is a problem, let’s solve it. The sheep’s leg is not broken, he is limping but has no problem walking off on his own. Look, he is 100 meters away already, keeping up with the others. If you want me to buy the sheep and take it home, name the price and all these people here can help us decide if it is fair.” The owner of the sheep, however, was quite elusive until finally he agreed with what everybody else was now saying, “The sheep is fine, go on your way.” But, could it be that simple?

 

Later that morning as I was leaving town, my truck was weighed down with as many Gmz people that could fit. Mr. Chair (Wenber) was one of those who had hopped into my truck for a lift home. When this “sheep-owner” saw Mr. Chair through the open window, he went over to him and filed a complaint saying, “He hit my sheep, if it dies, I want to be paid.” I rebutted saying, “No, if there is a problem, we solve it now. I don’t want you coming to me one week, one month, or one year later to say I killed your sheep.” Everybody in my car agreed that it needed to be solved right then and so Mr. Chair asked me to give 50 birr (about $3) for the sheep to go to the doctor and get a shot (there is a general thought here that shots cure everything, when in reality most shots given here are simply pain killers.). I gave the 50 birr and was told it was all over. But, could it be that simple?

 

The next time I went into town (5 days later), I stopped at the post office only to be confronted by another angry man saying that I had hit HIS sheep. “Who did you give the money to?” he demanded. “I don’t know, some guy who said the sheep was his. If you want to know, you’ll have to ask Mr. Chair. He decided the judgment and handled the cash.” I said, “By the way, how is the sheep doing?” “Oh, the sheep is fine, I just want that 50 birr because it was my sheep!” Great, everybody in my car agreed that this was an easy fix. He would ask Mr. Chair for the identity of the lying man and then track him down for the 50 birr. But, could it be that simple?

 

The next time I came to town (now 2 weeks after the initial incident), I was approached by two men, whom I recognized as the original liar and the actual owner of the sheep. In the course of the argument that took place between the three of us, the liar gave the sheep owner 50 birr. My guess was that the liar wanted to clear his name by handing over the money in my presence. Then they both dropped the bomb, “the sheep is dead.” The owner of the sheep was not satisfied by the 50 birr but I wasn’t about to fork over more money without proof of the sheep’s death and my having caused it. Besides, I wasn’t understanding his ss-l-u-rrrr-e-d speech well enough to finish the conversation. I walked away to take care of business and when I returned, he was gone.  But I knew it wouldn’t be our last meeting, for by now I was sure, it couldn’t be that simple.

 

And so sure enough, the next time I passed through town, he stopped me on the road to pick up the argument where he left off. How does a sheep get better after one week, only to die by my cause in the second week? Some of the passengers in my car helped me by talking to him until finally a bystander pulled him away from the truck and told me to drive off. It is widely known around town that this man tips the bottle a bit too much and there is no point is arguing or discussing anything with him in that state. Upon returning to Gesas, I knew something needed to be done. The next morning I had sick people lined up at my door requesting rides into the doctor, but I no longer wanted to go into town because of the harassment that awaited me. I couldn’t just roll up the windows and drive by his angry demands, nor could I just throw money at him as that would in effect be a public request for more un-provable accusations against me. Something official needed to happen.

 

 And so, here we were sitting on rocks behind the liquor store, playing the role of the defendant in a traditional timba reconciliation ceremony, a beautiful cultural event, if you ask me. Well, it sure beats the pants off of our way of solving things with court dates and lawyer fees and a whole mess of paperwork. I sat on my rock smiling knowing that when I got up, I would fork over some cash and be DONE WITH IT! Woohoo! Mr. Chair started off and before long, all the important details of the case were discussed, well…with the exception of evidence that the sheep was actually dead, the possible causes of its delayed death, and whose fault it was that the sheep was camping out under my truck. But, I didn’t care, I was here to end the disagreement, not to actually receive what I understand to be justice.

 

My guilt was assumed from the very beginning and so we soon came to the compensation portion. Now, keep in mind, a baby sheep would probably go for about 200-250 birr in the local market (about $9-$12). But first, as in all timbas, the offended party is asked what he wants in compensation, a request which is discussed and then considered in the final decision made by the timba elders. True to cultural form, the plantiff passionately requested 800 birr, that is reimbursement not just for the baby sheep that was “killed,” but also for whatever sheep that little gal might have possibly given birth to down the road. Sounds like a funny argument to us, but it seriously holds weight here. I was glad to not have to barter that one on my own, I just had to conceal my smile as I waited for the decision of the elders.

 

The next thing I knew, Mr. Chair had reached his decision. He took my hand and the plaintiff’s hand and brought them together. Then he placed his hands on top and the three other elders followed suit. He then declared “I ask that you be reconciled of this sheep for 400 birr.” The plaintiff jerked away and tried to pull his hand out of the fold, but everyone held tight. Mr. Chair asked him to please accept his judgment. And that he did. His acceptance was demonstrated when all the elders let go and he kissed my hand and offered his hand to be kissed by me. We then hugged and promptly I forked over the 400 birr. I was then given the original 50 birr back (since the shot was never given), and then gave two of the four elders 10 birr for their services (the plaintiff gave 10 birr to each of the other two). It was finished, the right way, and I got to be a part of a very respectable part of the culture in which we live.  So, I guess it was simple after all!