Good morning, good morning to you

While home this summer, I missed waking up to the sounds of Lusaka. At 17 Lombard, I awoke to lawnmowers or car alarms. At my flat in Northmead, I love(d) waking up to barking dogs, roosters crowing and the constant hum of the fan.

Things have changed.

On the plot of land where I live, there are cottages (formerly known as servants’ quarters). One of the enterprising renters has invested in chickens. I wake up at 4:00am to switch on the hot water tank. I usually hit the toilet for that morning pee as well. At 4:00 every morning, I hear a rooster that sounds like he’s in his final death throes. He appears to be directly outside the window & his “cock-a-doodle-doo” sounds more like a rooster hitting puberty- the voice cracking after the first “rack-a-crack-eeerr”

Groggy & grumpy, I hit the sack until it’s really time to get up at 5:15. The puberty-aged rooster serenades me while I bathe, brush my teeth, apply various girly creams & comb out my wet hair. I’ve started talking to it nicely “Hey chicken, I can hear you, I’m awake- please shut-up”.

To no avail.

I went to the kitchen to prepare a quick breakfast & the attempted cock-a-doodle-doos seemed to be coming from just outside my door. I opened it and found the beady-eyed culprit. (To my surprise it’s a gorgeous black healthy-looking bird with bright red rooster-y things on its head & jowl). Despite his beauty, I was still miffed. There was a stare down. He stuck his bright red head high in the air & stalked off.

I’m praying that the cocky bugger doesn’t discover that I sleep at the front of the flats. If he trumpets outside my window he may have to die. So much for the nostalgia and romantic remembrances of African mornings while I was back in Edmonton-hahaha!