There is a conversation that every son and daughter from Mt Kenya living in the city needs to have with themselves – and with their ageing parents back home. It is about that single dairy cow tethered in the homestead, the one that has, for decades, been regarded as the pride of every rural household. We grew up believing that no home was complete without a cow, that a family’s dignity rested on the ability to milk something every morning. But maybe it is time to question that belief.
For many parents in Murang’a, Nyeri, Meru, Kirinyaga and other parts of the region, the dairy cow has become less of a blessing and more of a burden. Walk into any homestead and you are likely to find the cow healthier, fatter and better fed than the elderly couple taking care of it. The cow’s stall is swept and sprinkled with water before the owners even have breakfast. The first money that comes in is used to buy bran, maize germ or napier grass. Your mother might not remember the last time she ate meat, but she can tell you precisely when she last bought dairy meal for her cow.
This cow has become something close to royalty. It eats before anyone else. It is cared for more tenderly than the very people who sacrifice for it. You might even say it lives a softer, more pampered life than its owners. The comparison is almost comic – like those scenes in Nairobi where a young woman in Ruaka sips fine wine and chews pork chops while the man who paid the bill gulps cheap beer and mutura. That is the kind of one-sided relationship many elderly parents have with their cows. They work, sweat and strain so that the cow may be comfortable. They live for the cow. Even when they travel to the city, they always fear for the cow.
Let us be honest: for most elderly parents, owning a single dairy cow in today’s economy is no longer economically sensible. Feed prices are high, labour is scarce and milk prices fluctuate unpredictably. The daily yield from one cow rarely covers the cost of its upkeep. Yet the emotional attachment to that animal remains stubbornly strong. The generation that raised us still believes that the sound of a mooing cow at dawn is a sign of wealth and respectability. To them, a home without a cow feels empty and undignified.
Meanwhile, you and your siblings in the city send a few thousand shillings every month “to support the dairy project.” The money is often meant to pay the farmhand or buy feed when supplies run out. But if we are being realistic, that same money could do so much more for your parents. Imagine asking them to sell the cow and instead use the funds — and your monthly contribution — to live a little more comfortably. For example, if you and your siblings send Ksh 4,000 a month, that could easily pay for half a kilo of fresh liver from the local butcher every three days, a small luxury that would nourish them far better than the milk from their struggling cow.
The tragedy is that our parents do not see the cow as a burden. They see it as a symbol of life, continuity, and respect. Convincing them otherwise feels almost like trying to talk someone out of their faith. The cow has a spiritual presence in our villages — it is the companion that wakes up with them at dawn and the one that moos softly as the evening fire is lit. Many old men will tell you they would rather lose their radio than their cow. For women, the milk they sell — however little — is a matter of pride, a way of feeling productive even in old age.
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Yet we must face the truth with love and courage. That cow is draining their energy, finances, and time. It keeps them chained to daily routines that no longer suit their age or health. The 5 a.m. milking, the endless search for fodder, the worry about ticks and diseases — all these rob them of peace and rest in their later years. What was once a sign of stability has turned into a kind of self-imposed slavery.
It is time we help our parents reclaim their freedom. That begins with a gentle, respectful conversation — not one driven by arrogance or urban superiority, but by care and realism. Let us help them see that they do not need a cow to feel complete. That dignity in old age comes not from maintaining outdated traditions but from living a peaceful, healthy, and less stressful life.
Of course, it will not be an easy battle. The bond between our parents and their cows is emotional, almost sacred. You will hear phrases like “Tiga gũtũrĩrwo na mburi” — better to be found without a goat than without a cow. You may face resistance, even anger. But it is a war worth fighting, because its victory will mean less exhaustion, fewer hospital visits, and more moments of joy for the people who raised us.
We cannot keep watching our parents pour their last strength into feeding cows that give them little in return. We owe them more than nostalgia. We owe them rest, comfort, and dignity. Perhaps, one day, we will drive into the village and find the cowshed turned into a neat kitchen garden – and our parents sitting under the avocado tree, sipping tea without worrying whether the bran ran out. That would be true wealth.
It is time to free them – and ourselves – from the slavery of the single dairy cow.
By Ashford Kimani
Ashford teaches English and Literature in Gatundu North Sub-county and serves as Dean of Studies.
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