When I was a cowboy, many things used to happen to me, to other cowboys, to the cows, to the grazing lands, to our friends, the wild animals, and our surroundings.

In this article, I’ll be sharing with you my personal stories we used to do as cattle herders. A lot has happened, but written are those memories that I merely remember. Please note that stories told for a ‘cowboy’ here refer to my locality and I, mostly in remote areas of what are today western and north-western Tigrai, south, and southwest of Eritrea, the Gadariffs of Sudan, and parts of north Gondar. I don’t know what other cowboys at other places do.

But I know the word “Cowboy” is most commonly associated with the American Wild West 🤠 — deserts, ranches, and frontier life; 🐎 horse riding and cattle herding; 🔫 gunslingers or shootouts in western movies; 👢 distinct attire — hat, boots, spurs, denim, and leather; 🌅 Freedom, ruggedness, and independence; 🎵 Country music and rodeo culture. In short, “Cowboy” instantly evokes images of Western adventure, toughness, and open landscapes. In the place I grew-up, a cowboy is a cattle-herder, goat-herder, or shepherd.

These stories are from my own personal notes, that one day may become a book or books for that matter.

We, cowboys, give priority to our cows. They are our number one. Our prime belongings are flour (maize or wheat), a traditional woven cup for milking (ጓጒድ), a handmade wooden comb (we’re afro, you know that ), a stick, and if lucky a plastic raincoat.

For several months, sometimes a year and more, we use only one costume, i.e. a pair of trousers, one T-shirt, and one pair of shoes. No reserve, no nightgown, no socks, not blanket, no bedsheet, not even the bed itself . My friends; socks, pants, and other underwear are luxury. In fact, I remember the first day I wore a pant and socks, I was over suffocated to death 🫣, as if I use to breathe through either of them .

So one day when I was away from home (don’t ask me in kilometers, it took me five days on foot to come back home), and crossing the river Tekeze, there happened an overflood and I was at the lower end of it. My cattle and I were crossing the river. In no time, the flood doubled, tripled, and overflowed. It was such a rush that neither retreat nor forward was safe. I decided to cross the river anyway and I had to push my cattle forward. We were practically floating.

The sun was setting and no one was around. It took me so long (could be an hour or so in modern timing) to cross. We entered the river at a distant upper part but the flood took us away down. At the end of the line, when I was close to declaring a triumph, all of a sudden, the flood brought a huge wood and hit me. I was stuck inside the branches. It drowned me and I couldn’t breathe anymore. It took minutes and I almost gave up.

All of a sudden, the big wood got stuck on to another tree standing on the riverside. After drinking a lot of garbage and fighting to death, I managed to escape from the wood branches and climbed up the other standing tree. It was a kind of re-birth. The tree was, however, standing in the middle of the flood. I had to take some rest there until the flood lowers down.

After hours, the flood cleared off the foot of the tree, I climbed down, swam to the riverside, and then went out of the flood. I lost all of my belongings. I had only a trouser torn into pieces; no t-shirt, nor shoes. I lost them to the flood. In fact, it was not worrisome, I was almost dead after all. I couldn’t identify which side of the river I was on. It was completely dark.

Now is a time to look for my cattle. The darkness was thick, the weather shivering cold, and still raining softly. I had to search everywhere blindly. I wasn’t able to see a step forward, I had to throw my foot anyway. I couldn’t find them though. Only hyenas shuffling here and there. Wild animals sound everywhere. It seemed to me that all of my cattle were eaten by them.

Somewhere afar, from the other side of the river, I can see a fire. It was a sign that there is a cowboy somewhere in the middle of the jungle. I was calling and asking if they had seen my cattle. The sound of the flood in between us couldn’t let us hear each other. But the other cowboy was loudly announcing that there were cattle around him with no one keeping them. I could hear some of his words. Sometimes there are ways cowboys communicate. You don’t need to know them in person to exchange information, help each other, or ask for a favor. Being human among all the wild beasts was more than enough to help one another.

He is too distant, moreover there are sounds coming from the flood, the wild animals, the wind and the rain. Using all the energy I had, I asked him the types of the cattle. He told me how they look, how many they are approximately, and other labels we use to identify cows. It was them. I learnt that the flood had carried me to the other side of the river. I was searching in the wrong place. “Things get lost when you look for them in the wrong place”.

Now I’ve to face the inevitable, re-crossing the river. It’s cold, I’m barefoot and naked. I’m in the middle of a jungle with thorny bushes and wildbeasts. You can find all sorts of thorns in my body. There is no way I can be afraid of all these. I’m already helpless, and I am already used to it. I went down the river again, crossed it with due care, colliding with rocks, trees, and unknown swimming objects. It wasn’t as horrible as the first one.

I joined my cattle, hurray. The strange cowboy gave me dinner: a stone-baked bread and milk, and let me stay with him for the night. It was such a loooooong night. The rain didn’t stop, and the hyenas were attacking us to take some calves. We didn’t sleep, nor did our cattle. They were shivering too. We had to burn a huge campfire in the middle of the herd. We spent huddling by the campfire for warmth and talking about our experiences.

In the morning, I asked his favor to help me keep my cattle for that day so that I can go to a nearby town and buy some clothing and other stuff. He agreed. That’s how we do as cowboys, even if we don’t know each other before. I took one of my stots to the nearest market and sold them. I still had no t-shirt nor shoes while traveling to the town and selling my ox. I remember selling stot for 400 Qirshi (equivalent to today’s , which made me rich over a day. I bought everything I needed including a raincoat gift for the kind cowboy.

This was a typical day in the life of a traditional cowboy like me. Each day comes with adventure. Life is pleasantly risky. It’s rare but we lose some cowboys to natural disasters and wildlife attacks. In that case, we keep their cattle until we know who they were, where their families are or until the families hear in any way and find us. Integrity and honesty are never compromised in the lives of cowboys. They are the driving forces keeping life more forward.

This still echoes close to something like it happened yesterday. A lot has happened after that. Life changed dramatically, and forced me to go to school,… and write this 😁.