More cows for Africa
Editor-in-Chief Mr. Mayerberg enters the room: "Good morning, ladies and gentlemen! Today there is only one item on the agenda, Uganda. In particular, the work of German development aid in the country's north. As You know, several rumors are circulating about the Kaoli tribe, which had to clear its village for the mining of rare piles of earth on the initiative of a Birgit Janssen of Mining of Mineral Resources, MoM for short, and now they live further north by MoM. To this day Mrs. Janssen is still missing completely. Her company claims that she had resigned and, so far as one knows, she was so enthusiastic about the tribe she rented a house near the tribe to better study the Kaoli. However, I would like our colleague Jutta Siebert to do some research there and our new volunteer Mrs. Carola Stiefmütterchen will assist her there. That's it for today. Questions or suggestions? No? Well, then I wish us all a productive day! Goodbye!" When he went out, he still thought with a grin: "If everything is true what they told me about the Kaoli tribe, I get rid of both fucked up sluts with one blow!
Jutta Siebert: "Shit! Now that idiot sends me back to the wild scared I'll get his job and to top it off I also have to play babysitter for Stiefmütterchen. What kind of name is that anyway," I thought angrily and went into my office with my new assistant in tow.
"We often have to work closely together in such remote areas. So I suggest we call each other by our first names. My name is Jutta." "I am pleased to meet you. Carola's my name."
"Here's a list of the vaccinations you should have and the documents and items you should have in those countries." My computer called. "Ah! I see our flight leaves Frankfurt next Monday at 08:00. So, hop, hop! Time is running out!"
The flight was uneventful. When we got off at Entebbe Airport in Uganda, a less comfortable journey to Kitgum awaited us. Finally, arrived there, we could move into our rooms, freshen up and eat something. With a double whiskey, I said goodbye and went to bed.
The next morning we had breakfast with Rainer Mayer from MoM.
"My name is Rainer."
"Jutta! My assistant Carola," I said.
"I would say when you ladies are ready, we can leave. It will be a strenuous ride through partly rugged terrain. And when we get there, we have to live in the village. There are no western hotels and comfort. They expect from us we respect their customs, as they live there in strict gender separation. I stay there with the men and you with the women and the children in a separate hut," he said. "I'll try to arrange an interview with the chief for you.
But be careful, they consider women as cattle rather than people. They'll treat you just and good farmers treat their livestock. Under no circumstances you should address a man there, for this is always being misinterpreted as an invitation to sex, with the consequence that you become his property following having sex."
"That's archaic, they treat women like cattle. Is there nothing we can do about it?" asked my naïve assistant.
"Adapt, my dear colleague. We'll do anything to do a good job. From African naked to Arabic veiled. If you got a problem with that, get another job! Journalists are always observers. Therefore, we are not interested in people's problems.
While the jeep brought us closer to our destination rumbling over badly built roads, I discussed the details with my assistant: "This is not how I wanted it to be. I thought we'd go to the village and do our interview with the chief and leave them. But now it looks like we will have to spend a few days with these savages. We don't know their customs, and that may lead to misunderstandings, so we need to be cautious."
After hours of shaking, we arrived at our destination. Already at the entrance of the village, a crowd of yelling children greeted us. At the village square, When we got out of the car, the men warmly welcomed Rainer, they're treating us women as if we were air. They ignored us for the time being. The people here were all above average, even the women. But everything on them was a little out of proportion with normal women. Their breasts were enormous, their hips so bear-friendly, wide, but most interesting were their hairstyle and jewelry. Their hair was so braided that it looked like cow horns. At the septum, they wore a plate that partially covered their thick lips. However, they wore a collar that could confidently be a yoke. It was around, shoulder-wide wooden disc, which was massive only at the neck and at the outer edge, otherwise decorated with thin, filigree carvings. Except for a loincloth they were naked and wore tattoos all over their body, even on their faces. As soon as Carola and I had got out, the women greeted us with kisses and strokes. Then the chief's eyes fell on us, and he said to Rainer:
"We have to mark your cattle, so we can protect them for you!"
And before we could figure it out, we were in the women's hut. It was huge and with no furniture. There seemed to cook places on the walls. There were also some tools that I could not assign to a function yet. But I think they should use everything for housekeeping. They scattered thick mats on the floor and some recently used bowls and cups. So there was nothing we could do other than sit down on the ground with the women. Their names were Ungas and Atto. A fair-skinned woman, I thought she was an albino, approached us. She brought a big jug and handed us cups. "Hello! Me Ngana. Do you want a drink? Makala! Makala! Mhm, very tasty! All right, you drink!" she poured us in, and we drank gratefully. An explosion of taste took place in my palate. I drank nothing this delicious in my life. Carola looked at me in amazement. She felt like me. Then they handed us the bowls. The porridge smelled delicious. Ngana moved with her left hand to her protruding ass and with her right hand to her mouth. And Carola looked at me confused.
"You can only eat with your right hand, the left is for your ass," I told her. The porridge tasted fantastic, but when we had eaten enough, we continued to drink Malaka. Ungas and Atto had pressed us all the time under constant giggling, again and again kissed us and never stopped stroking us. At first, it made me feel uneasy. Yet curiously, I soon found their affections very comfortable. I felt safe with them and their intellectual indolence and kindness seemed to rub our mind off on us. And it gave me an inner peace I never knew. They began to undress us and started to draw on our faces and bodies. All the time they gave us Makala, and we sank into increasingly deep dizziness. They then tattooed their drawings with pointed pencils inside our skins. Not one spark of concern penetrated my dazed brain as they decorated the skin of my face and body for all time according to the Kaoli style. Makala disabled even my sense of pain. I was only a dull dump who enjoyed all the attention. And even when my septum got pierced, I didn't feel a thing. In the hole, she put a small piece of wood. They washed us carefully and tiredness overwhelmed us. The efforts of the journey slowly became noticeable, and we just wanted to sleep, and so we fell asleep happily in their arms just like it would be the most normal thing in the world.
"Sleep soundly, my little heifer, so you may become a beautiful cow," Ungas whispered to me. However, I had already fallen asleep before I could properly understand what she was whispering to me.