It starts with an alarm wake-up at 04h30, after a late night working on reports for the Bureau after the Internet finally returned. A very early morning when one still has unsightly circles and wrinkles under her eyes. The event entails donning layers of clothing for protection. This, on a day when we'll reach a daytime high of at least 41 Celsius. Still, it's cool (only about 88 Fahrenheit) on this happy Wednesday morning, so the layers aren't too bad.

So off to the bureau by 05h30, when it's still so dark that I need a headlight. Of course, I'm the first to arrive and find the gate to the bureau locked. And then, voila! Gate opened by our bureau guardien. I didn't know we had an overnight guard! Serves me right for never arriving before 07h30. He sleeps outside under a mosquito net. Wonder what we're protecting at GaMo Wigna. Maybe it's my grafted mango tree. Anyway, before 06h00, we're off for a quick drive to the egg farm.

Let the fun begin!
The washing of 60 hens. By the time we arrive, the sun isn't up, but the dawn has broken. This means that the hens are getting frisky . . . cocks, too, as they tend to be in the mornings. And their friskiness explains the need for the requisite layers and layers of clothing for which Yaya had prepared me. These animals have sharp barbs on their legs. They'll also peck, hard, if given half a chance.

My favorite activity in this country is holding poultry upside down by their legs. They have strong legs, so there's no real threat to the poultry. But should a leg get loose, watch out for the barbs. Anyway, no poultry was going to escape my grasp unless . . . . What the ? Yaya makes me don thick rubber gloves for protection. Yikes, now these guys and gals are slippery.

Catching the hens is the hard part. This I left to Yaya and Hassan. Imagine a coop full of groggy poultry. Imagine how quickly they awaken when chased by two grown men who can, literally, snag them right out of the air . . . whether by the tail-feathers or feet (the poultry, not the men).

My job was to guard the coop door and grasp the hens, sometimes two at a time, by their feet. After all, if Yaya and Hassan have gone to the trouble of snagging a hen in mid-air, who wants to release it for recapture. So I get to squeeze tightly one hen under my arm while immersing another in a bucket full of water and 1.5 milliliters of some type of medicine.

One must be careful when placing the hen (or cock) in the bucket. They're not the brightest of creatures and can drown . . .  so heads well above water is a must. This sounds easier than it is. So while you're splashing medicated bath water under their wings and up against their chicken derrières, you must also keep the head above water.

It's a lot like washing Jill The Pill. Getting that rump well-submersed isn't always easy. This I tried to explain to Yaya and Hassan; but the concept of why anyone on earth would wash a dog is beyond comprehension in Burkina Faso.

How many more do we have to bathe? What? There's another two coops to go?!

So why are we washing cocks and hens? Because they can contract disease and parasites. I had no idea that poultry farming was such a precise science. Happily, Yaya is an expert. Our poultry occasionally get medicine in their drinking water, vaccinations, and medicated baths. Hey, even our PC Medical Officers don't treat us PCVs with such care. What wouldn't I give for a medicated bath? Well, maybe not.

The fun part is the release. They're totally stunned after being mostly submersed. If you didn't hold 'em up for a moment, I think they'd flop over from shock. Maybe not.

Of course a little crankiness is to be expected. Actually, I suspect that it's more humiliation than peevishness. Oddly enough, they're not that cranky, proving once again that the cliché mad as a wet hen is a myth.

On the other hand, the reason for such an early morning bath is so that they're still a bit groggy from sleep. No one wants to bathe a wide-awake hen. After the exciting bathing event was over, Yaya, Hassan, and I went home for our own baths, and then back to bed, which is more than I can say for the poultry. The entire event concluded before 07h30, proving that I can wash me some hens.

So if these hens are still so sleepy at this hour, why is it that I can hear cocks crowing throughout the night, all down throughout the valley, on each of my numerous nightly trips to the latrine? What's up with that?! And who am I trying to kid? Those circles and wrinkles aren't solely from an early alarm clock. I might, however, attribute them to my lack of medicated, candle-lit baths . . . but we can only speculate.