Lik'o-Hosa

Trips into town are never without the unexpected. Some days, the surprises are welcome and almost fun. Most times, however, I could do without them. Today's trip, well, I could have done without having to wash the rank odor of blood out of our truck bed.

Micah and I had gone in to town to see if we could pick up a few good egg-laying chickens and whatever fruits and veggies were available this time of year. Having browsed the market and returned to the truck with our spoils (cheap mangos and monster guavas!), I wasn't surprised to see a friend run up to us. "Travis, Travis, can you take a lik'o-hosa for me. I'll come to your house later to pick it up." She spoke quickly in Gumuz and I missed some of it, but I had enough context to know what she was asking even if she had asked in the language of Beeker (everybody's favorite muppet). She had come running from the mills where Gumuz women often go on market days to have their grain ground. Dumping the sacks of flour in the back on my truck sure beat carrying them the 6 miles on foot. "What?" I asked, probably just for fun because I didn't really engage my mind to receive her answer. She ran off and returned later with the most oddly-shaped "sack of grain" I had ever seen. And the smell! The sweet breeze suddenly turned foul as the mystery package arrived at my bumper. As I helped her lift it in the back of the truck, I asked, "What is this?" To which she responded first with the universal "Are you deaf? I told you twice already!" look which surfaces quite frequently in our cross-cultural interactions. Patience finally got the best of her and she responded with a smile "lik'o-hosa." Ding, a light went on in my head as my brain finally connected the two nouns in the compound word – head-cow. I looked down at the my new companion for the journey home and sure enough – it was a real cow's head. I grabbed a horn, patted him on the snout and said, "Good cow head," much to the delight of the audience that had gathered. Dark red stain was already seeping through the bag and pooling in the trenches in my plastic tuck bed-cover. Oh well, nothing a bit of soap and water can't clean off back at home, besides, I may be saving this young lady the hassle of many mangy mutts trailing her for the two-hour walk she'd make in returning home later that afternoon. "155 birr (that’s about $18)" she told me, "Pretty expensive, but it will make a good meal for the yula tomorrow evening." A yula is when one family invites all their relatives and friends to come work in their field for the day. In payment of a full day of work, the host provides an evening meal for everybody. Now stop and think about it, we Americans have a similar practice, reflected in our cultural commandment: Thou shalt not fail to buy cheap pizza to feed all those who help on moving day.  Ever have trouble hooking friends (with trucks) to help you move? Try changing the bait. Instead of promising a lap full of greasy Little Sleezers, why not throw a cow head on the BBQ?