The Power of the Herd (25 page)

And you need a drop, just a drop, of a cunning and ferocious lion in you to protect your extended interspecies family from the occasional carnivore lurking about — and, much more commonly, against excessively predatory members of your own kind. After all, if you combine the agility and evasive intelligence of the horse, the skill and sheer nerve to stand up to a stallion or a bull, and the power to rally an entire herd, any two-legged or four-legged animal at all concerned with self-preservation will run screaming in the other direction — if he's stupid or cocky enough to attack to begin with.

That extra hint of tiger is mostly just for show.

Mature Fulani herdsmen choose among the various skills associated with leader, dominant, parent or companion, and predator thoughtfully, for the good of the community. In this context, it becomes clear that the dominant's role, when balanced with other, more nurturing activities, is essential in two major areas: assuring human safety and keeping the cattle from getting into all kinds of trouble. Breaking up fights between animals is one of the most
dangerous yet productive ways of gaining the herd's respect as social dominant while also guarding against animal injuries that could easily get infected. (Nomads have limited access to veterinarians.) To maintain safe relations with bulls known for bold and unpredictable behavior, herders must also correct, immediately and dramatically, the slightest hint of aggressive posturing, especially when it's directed toward a human. Boys well under age ten are taught to recognize “broadside threats” and other more subtle signs that a bull is
thinking
of charging, whereupon these young herders are obligated to respond with an upraised herding stick and a yell, escalating quickly to a brisk charge and hearty smacks with the stick if the massive long-horned animal doesn't immediately back off. (Considering the size, speed, and power of an irritated bull, submissive behavior must be obtained
before
he decides to attack if the human has any hope of surviving such an encounter. Remember, these people manage their cattle on foot, not horseback.)

Even more impressive is the Fulani's ability to maintain fine control over large groups without halters, ropes, or other restraints. At the end of the dry season, when foliage of the uncultivated savannah is nearly exhausted, herdsmen allow grazing to the very edge of unfenced fields just as tasty shoots of maize and other crops begin to grow. These men rely primarily on vocal threats and occasional charges at errant animals to keep them off highly desirable farmlands. In sharp contrast, Lott and Hart
“observed several occasions when non-Fulani cattle handlers
had great difficulty managing even one cow.”

This advanced ability to direct an entire herd depends less on training and more on
generations
of interspecies socialization. From day one, Fulani calves learn to respond respectfully to subtle changes in the body language of both species. Tribesmen and -women must be brave, assertive, and alert around animals ten times their size. Cattle must be gentle and respectful of children smaller than their own newborns.

At age six, the boys begin learning how to wrangle their feisty bovine counterparts. While calves are nurtured and protected by both species, they're also led away from their mothers each morning after feeding and tied to a “calf rope” to keep them in camp as cows and bulls move out to graze until dusk. After the adults leave, these four-legged youngsters are then turned loose, moving freely among the women, children, and older tribe members during the day, interacting with humans through a combination of loose informal encounters and purposeful episodes of restraint (when secured to the calf rope). In this way, social-intelligence skills and mutually supportive emotional bonds are developed between the species. As the boys struggle to lead these initially uncooperative calves, they also learn the wisdom of reining in and controlling
their own wild impulses while gaining strength, courage, and confidence. And impressionable young cattle learn to respect two-legged creatures who seem to grow smaller with each passing day: During the first two years of life, calves practically double in size for every inch their human companions grow.

And finally, the animals themselves relax into a cyclical, predictable, but varied lifestyle among their seminomadic human caretakers. While droughts can be harsh and stressful, adults of both species enjoy the differing terrain while orbiting camps that offer rest, security, and companionship at the end of the day. (Knowing that everyone will reunite at sunset, calves do not show the kinds of exaggerated fear responses that fillies and colts in the United States exhibit as a result of being weaned suddenly and then permanently separated from their mothers, causing the unnecessarily frantic behavior people consider normal in young horses.)

And then there's that glue holding the herd and tribe together. Cows feed everyone, blurring the lines of oxytocin's supreme bonding power through the daily act of milking and being milked. The hormone's calm-and-connect effect releases feelings of relaxation and affiliation across species lines, lowering blood pressure and suppressing the flight-or-fight response. Women tend to handle milking and dairy production, but even male herders spend a good part of each day grooming and massaging their cattle (who often initiate these encounters), causing both species to temper their fierceness with sensitivity and affection.

Lott and Hart observed Fulani men
spending “considerable time moving among the cattle
at the camps, stroking their heads, necks, and the inner surfaces of the rear legs. The cattle interrupt other behavior to stand quietly for this grooming and even approach herdsmen and ‘present' themselves for grooming or petting. Of particular interest is the rubbing of the inner surface of the rear legs. Adult cattle rarely groom each other there, but calves are regularly licked in that area by their mothers as they nurse. Apparently the herdsman is exploiting a property that persists into adult life but normally functions to strengthen mother-calf bonds.” The researchers were also fascinated to see “cattle approach and lick herdsmen as they would a conspecific,” something that happened “both in the camps and after a herdsman had led his cattle at a run and then stopped.”

Even among the Fulani themselves, however,
“it is not clear how herdsmen become able
to act as leaders. Some felt that the cattle naturally follow a leader and would as readily accept the Fulani herdsman as a conspecific in that role. Other Fulani said that they had to train the herd to accept leadership” through a cooperative leading and herding method undertaken by at least two people.
“In such training, one herdsman called while walking slowly away while the other drove the herd from behind.”

Eventually, this technique results in reliable group behavior initiated by a single herder. “Once he has the cattle's attention, he turns away and begins to walk, or even run, continuing to call as he goes. The cattle follow him in single file or two abreast, sometimes vocalizing.” That they're all heading back to their children at dusk is certainly part of the attraction, but the ability to rally these animals with “a unique call” and lead them in a specific direction at other times of the day (rather than drive them from behind with horses, containing the herd on both sides, as teams of cowboys do in the American West) is impressive.

As Lott and Hart conclude,
“The adaptive value of following a leader
seems likely that the follower benefits from the leader's knowledge of the terrain, food and water sources, and predators. At minimum, it favors group coherence while the animals are moving about.”

And that, in essence, is the role of a leader in the great unfenced backcountry that favors mutual aid as an evolutionary force.

In an earlier article, “Aggressive Domination of Cattle by Fulani Herdsmen and Its Relation to Aggression in Fulani Culture and Personality” (1977), Lott and Hart did not seem to be aware of these leadership and socialization subtleties, concentrating instead on the herdsmen's fierce reputation and how working with cattle might have influenced the culture at large. It's also clear that, initially at least, the authors didn't quite understand the difference between aggression and the kind of committed yet controlled assertiveness needed to manage large animals — a misunderstanding most sedentary people share. Even so, the authors managed to
illustrate
that difference through brief descriptions of the behavior involved.

Though the Fulani's origins are sketchy,
these tribes “apparently began their penetration
of the study area in northern Nigeria between
A.D.
1350 and 1450,” Lott and Hart reveal. “At the time of the European colonization of the area they had achieved political domination of virtually all the local populations, although they were outnumbered at least four to one.” History therefore suggests that the ability of a single herder to hold his own with an angry Fulani bull one minute, herd several dozen cattle away from tempting crops the next, and lead them all happily back to camp at the end of the day has significant repercussions for leading or dominating large groups of people as well.

The Fulani are also revered for their unusual courage,
“both in the sense of
lacking fear and being able to overcome it,” a quality developed through practical cattle-herding methods and intense ritualistic traditions. From age six, boys begin daily herding chores with their fathers or older brothers, exercising their legendary bravery almost immediately. As Lott and Hart discovered through extensive interviews and observations, “At this time, they are encouraged to begin to display aggressive dominance towards the mature bulls and oxen. We are told that initially the boys are often afraid of the bulls. Nonetheless, they are obliged to discipline these animals by charging them or hitting them with herding sticks. Boys who refuse to beat cattle on instruction are usually considered cowards, threatened, and even beaten if they still refuse.”

What sounds incredibly cruel on both sides of that interaction holds a certain rustic wisdom for herding cultures. In the first place,
grown men
would have good reason to shy away from these huge animals. Even worse, smacking a bull with a twig could easily antagonize him,
inviting
him to attack. Any stick a six-year-old is capable of wielding isn't much of a threat, either — it is the intensity of the child's commitment and courage that is being exercised here. As I noted earlier, for long-term safety the young herders must not only accurately read the first indications of a bovine challenge, they must also gain submission from an adult bull
before
he charges. And while I cringe at the idea of some families punishing the more sensitive boys for refusing to smack any animal, it's clear that their lives are in serious danger if they don't muster up the courage to face down those bulls.

It's important to remember that, in nature, a dominant animal
will
charge others for no apparent reason, apparently
trying
to keep everyone a bit on edge. This is especially true of adolescent alphas who haven't been recognized as dominant by the larger herd — and who haven't yet learned how to manage their power in more skillful ways. And so the boys are encouraged to follow suit, though they're doing so under the supervision of a more experienced herdsman who can either back them up or stop them from going overboard. Also, these tenderfoot herders aren't expected to
lead
the cattle, so subtlety in wielding their power is less of a consideration. And the boys are taught to stop when a submissive response is achieved. For a six- or seven-year-old boy, gaining respect from the bulls and dominant cows is more important than getting them to follow, even if it means causing cattle to look away and move away when these herdsmen-in-training approach, the very response dominant animals intend to solicit from their outlandish behavior.

At that stage, the boys' interactions
are
aggressive, in that the attacks are sometimes capricious and unwarranted, designed purely to gain advantage over others. However, Lott and Hart also observe that older herders do not punish
animals undeservedly. And it is here that the authors neglect to make an important distinction between youthful aggression and a more mature form of assertiveness. To lead is a much finer art, and that means doling out acts of dominance for justified purposes only — namely, breaking up fights and keeping cattle away from farmers' crops. Also, once a herdsman establishes himself as someone that others
want
to follow, his authority is rarely challenged by adult herd members. Over time, any action he takes to set boundaries or move cattle away from something desired yet forbidden requires less and less force, becoming mere posturing for the most part.

In descriptions, master herders sound like certain older, vastly experienced but innately modest cowboys I've met: They're cool — in the deepest, most authentic, empowered sense of that word. They conserve energy for true emergencies, and at that point in their professional development nothing short of a tornado or lion on the prowl feels like much of an emergency. These quiet experts don't panic in response to herd dynamics, realizing that the most flamboyant attacks are launched by adolescents whose own lack of experience often trips them up. There's no need for mature leaders of any species to waste energy being surprised, offended, or afraid of these power plays; they need only be
aware
of the rash, sometimes impressive, sometimes uncoordinated yet still potentially dangerous antics of naive youngsters experimenting with their vitality, strength, and, at that age especially, sheer, unadulterated chutzpah.

In this same article, once again promoted as evidence of culturally endorsed aggression, Lott and Hart discuss the
sharo
tradition. From my perspective as a trainer of young horses, standing up to stallions who've literally threatened my life, I can't help but appreciate this strange, violent rite of passage as a forum for channeling adolescent male aggression into something greater: an advanced form of courage based on vulnerability, endurance, and self-control.