The Tears the Sweat and the Pains of the Farm

Today I woke up to a social media post from my favorite Farm Enthusiast @caleb karuga on how he a few weeks ago lost 800 fowls in a span of two weeks, and I thought “that is horrific.” And this has inspired me to write about my own experience a few years ago when I first ventured into broiler chicken farming, and let me start by indicating here that am in no way doing this to discourage you my fellow farm enthusiast. Am just reminiscing on the ups and downs and the daily experiences of a farm away from the rosy manicured television stories that make most of us think it will take a little investment, regular phone calls from the comfort of our office chairs and a rare Saturday dash to the farm, to start minting millions from dairy heifers from south Africa, or the improved chicken from Uganda. 

Back to my broiler story, I started quite humbly with a makeshift housing unit on my rented compound using offcuts and chicken wire which I must confess was a big undoing. The structure was so shaky it was tough balancing act for my young wife then to place the feeders and waterers in the morning because a single misstep wound send her sinking in to the hollow spaces covered by wire mesh, thus earning me nasty lecture and tough warning every time followed by threating words that I can’t write here.

 The birds did so well with the first 100 batch maturing at 92percent success and earning us good margins despite the fact that a good number ended in her kitchen. Riding on this success we did our second batch of 100 and I can’t go without mentioning Phyllis our house manager then who tirelessly tended to the project again giving us a fruitful harvest at 93 percent though this time the margins were not as good (city market dynamics) 

The shocker happened on our third phase and from the most unlikely source. We had applied all the biosecurity checks and were at no time challenged by the common diseases in chicken thanks to a wonderful vet and supplier who constantly mentored us and made sure our brood was healthy and growing at optimum. But my little housing mistake came to visit us and effect was catastrophic.

When selling our birds the animals would be slaughtered and dressed at home and this meant stray dogs and cats from the neighborhood would sneak and feed on the left over wastes like offal and blood which we disposed at the nearby dust site. Of course the carnivals would trace the occasional fortunes to our place and that became our major problem.

 One morning our house manager went for the morning routine and came back screaming, I was at work and my wife called with the sad news; 15 chicks lay scattered on the floor, their necks pierced and blood sucked. I requested them to check around the house for any openings and the dead were disposed. Hoping that it was a rare mongrel which would go away. The following morning, another seven were found massacred on the floor with the same signs. This time I looked for a farm hand to make sure there were no openings and on the third day there were no casualties I breathed a sigh of relief. When I was called on Thursday morning just before starting my day at the office I immediately asked for two days off and headed from Nyeri to Thika on the next available bus. That morning 35 two week old broiler birds had been massacred and left sprawling on the floor. Only a broiler farmer can fathom the loss. 

When I got home and saw the sight, I found myself swallowing hard and turning away so Phyllis couldn’t see my red eyes. Out of the 200 birds we had brought in, we had now lost 52. I could not rest until the perpetrator was brought to book. That night I and a friend held vigil in the cover of darkness until the culprit showed up. A heavy black and white male cat walked into the poultry house and the birds were startled. We swung into action and after a sting operation more out of anger than courage, the 5.2kg carnival lay lifeless on the same spot its victims I had found in the morning. 

As we sipped the hot cup my Harriet had prepared for us at a few minutes past 2.00 am, I felt relieved but purposed to put up a real poultry house