The Farm, Laikipia

Outside the nightjars were calling and a zebra brayed in the valley. The constellations were still bright as the dogs all piled into the Landcruiser with me for the drive out to the yards. During two years of drought we’ve been unable to sell cattle, which have cost us a fortune in hay, silage and feed. After the rains came at last in April, green grass sprouted across the farm until the pastures waved like wheat on the plains, fattening the livestock and returning life to the way it used to be. At the crush I busied about the scales as cowhands arrived, twirling their cattle sticks and stamping their feet against the chill of the dawn.

Weighing cattle is always a big to-do and the burly figure of Leshoomo, our head stockman, strode up, set down his rifle and directed everybody to their places as we waited for the work to begin. We put 50 kilo bags on the scales to test their accuracy and then the men amused themselves by weighing each other. Incredibly fit but very thin, most of them were about two-thirds of my weight. Leshoomo was about the same as me but he’s all muscle.

Then up the hill came the herds, cows lowing for their calves, bulls bellowing, herders whistling. In swirls of dust they came in, all humps and dewlaps, the rumble of their hooves on hard ground. For me there are few things more exciting on the farm than a morning like this, with the gathering of cattle in the yards.

We were looking for steers and cull cows ready to sell at last, but all of them had to be weighed. Leshoomo and the men went about sorting the animals into separate enclosures as the different herds arrived. Then silence settled on the scene. We never shout at our animals or make a racket. The men go about quietly, prodding cattle with their sticks but never beating them. These are creatures that have lived on open pasture without any stress. They are docile and, because a herder is always with them during the days and armed guards at night in case of rustlers or lion, they become familiar with the humans on the farm.

Our cattle are a Brahmin-like breed with ancient roots in the Horn of Africa. The first European ranchers knew them as Northern Frontier District cattle and began selective breeding about 100 years ago, finally confirming them as a new breed called the Boran. My father used to trek them down from southern Ethiopia and Somalia and he was a founding member of the Boran Cattle Breeders’ Society in 1951.

First across the scales came animals from the two breeding herds. A typical Boran is a wonderful mother and you can see it on the scales, because she looks terribly thin after giving all her strength to the calf. Often, by the time her calf is weaned at nine months, she may weigh less than twice her offspring, which by then is glossy-coated and sturdy with its diet of just milk and grass – and no extra feed.

Next to be weighed were the heifers, who grow in strength until they reach about 300 kilos at two years, when they go to the bull. Or, if we don’t like her, she will be sold as a surplus animal to an up-and-coming farmer. The Boran society has a list of points for the registration of breeding animals and overall, she must be feminine and attractive.

Third came the weaners, young bulls that we scrutinise closely. Most will be castrated and fattened for the butcher, while very few will be retained for sale later as breeding bulls. Finally, we weighed the animals we want to sell. These can be cows culled after they’ve given their years raising calves, or animals that do not breed or rear calves well. Or they can be steers that are sold as ‘stores’ to a rancher with a feedlot or greener pastures, who will fatten them up. Sometimes we can keep steers ourselves, until they’re fat and finished for the butcher.

This morning, we were intent on finding animals ready to sell. The sight of a fat steer had me shaking Leshoomo’s hand as he looked away modestly, happy that his team had done so well. Others were still too thin and would return to months more on the grasslands. At least, we all felt as we went off for breakfast, there would be money to pay for diesel and the wages.