My Painted House, My Friendly Chicken, and Me

 

   Did you know Maya Angelou wrote a book for children called My Painted House, My Friendly Chicken, and Me?  It’s about an eight-year-old girl called Thandi -- which means "hope" in her language -- who lives in an Ndebele village in South Africa with her family and a very special chicken who she tells her secrets to.  

   It’s one of my 19-month-old granddaughter Kelsey’s favorite books, and because she also has such a special relationship with chickens, we often have to skip straight to the parts where Thandi is holding the big, pretty chicken in her arms.  

  Kelsey has been living in a village of sorts too for the past year. Her parents have been working from home since last March because of the pandemic, and working from home has meant spending big chunks of time at both sets of grandparents’ houses, so Kelsey can be cared for while her parents work.  

   This Covid Bubble Village has kept her so sheltered from the outside world for such a long time, that she knows a lot about some things and very little about others.  She knows about the care and feeding of chickens and collecting of chicken eggs, finding “pretty rocks” on paths and trails, and what it’s like to have the unconditional love and undivided attention of two sets of grandparents for days on end.  She knows about being gentle with the dogs and how to ask for a “dance party” when she wants us to dance with her and an armful of dolls and bears to the rhythms of African and Caribbean music in our living room.  She also knows a lot about masks.  She's learned that her parents put them on when they go anywhere and that other people, even children nearly as little as she is, wear them wherever she goes.  She has an unusually large vocabulary for someone so little, and “mask” was one of the early words she learned to say from hearing her grown ups say it so much. Long before she could walk she learned that masks are not for touching or playing with.  

    Some of the things Kelsey doesn’t know much about is playing with other little children, getting to know grown ups who aren’t in her parent’s close circle, and seeing strangers smile at her.  

    My husband grew up on a farm in South Africa that wasn’t too far from an Ndebele village. He remembers being fascinated with the vibrantly painted mud-walled houses and the elaborate beadwork the people wore. He was the one who introduced Kelsey to her feathered friends.  

    Just like Thandi, she’s grown up with these chickens and she knows them well. She takes her chicken chores seriously.  When she goes into their enclosure with her grandpa, he opens the bins of scratch and she fills an old yogurt container with their food and scatters it on the ground for them.  Then they go together to the vegetable garden and Kelsey helps pick chard and dandelion greens for her friends. She says "No Chickies!" when they get too close.  And when they still don’t listen to her she lifts her arms up to her grandpa and says "UP!" And he picks her up and she is safe. 

    Maya Angelou dedicates her book To all the children, for they are the hope of humankind. When I am with Kelsey I cherish her uniqueness and pure Kelseyness, but I also see that she is no different from Thandi or to any other child in any place on this earth, and I find myself wishing that it was possible for every child to say UP! when they feel danger looming, and that a loving pair of arms could swoop them up and away from anything that might do them harm.