Ever since August, the goats and I have been on bad terms. They like to enter my concession, sleep on my porch and poop everywhere. After complaining about it to my landlord, he repaired the fence again and added a door. It was a blissful few months. But, alas, the problem with straw fences is that they do not last long and it is easy for goats to wiggle their way through.
So we reached a mutual understanding. They run away whenever they see me and if they do not sleep on my porch I will not throw water at them.
But then, last week, everything changed.
I was walking home from work and my landlord’s brother and owner of the goats, Ismail, saw me. We exchanged the normal greetings, but he seemed to be struggling with telling me something.
“A goat gave birth today,” he finally said.
“Oh..congratulations?” (I do not know what the etiquette here is for goat births.)
I continued walking towards my house.
“She’s over here,” he said.
“Ah,” I replied, “…wait, where??”
“In your garden.”
And that was that. The goats have won. There was was no way I was going to chase a mother goat with newborns out of my concession, but I did take a picture.
P.S. Still unsure what it is about my garden that screams “dispose of all waste that comes out of your body here,” but in the words of a friend: “Your garden is probably the nastiest and most fertile place in the whole gaht village.”