Birds Above, Cattle Below: Migration Double Standard, by Junaidu Maina
Migration is not backward; it’s nature’s survival manual
EVERY year, Nigeria becomes a busy airport for feathered travellers. Our international bird migration pathways include the West African flyway, where birds from Europe migrate south to winter in the Sahel and sub-Saharan Africa. Key sites like the Hadejia-Nguru Wetlands are their favourite rest stops—nature’s version of a transit lounge—where these long-distance migrants pause to refuel before continuing their complex, multi-leg journeys across forests, savannahs, and deserts. Nigeria has over 11 wetlands—basically bird transit lounges—which is almost twice as many as our international airports.
It’s a breathtaking spectacle. But here’s the fine print: some migratory birds are also linked to the global spread of avian influenza—a serious disease with pandemic potential. These birds play a crucial role in carrying the virus across continents, where it can spill over into domestic poultry. I learned this the hard way in 2006, when Nigeria reported Africa’s first outbreak. These winged tourists don’t just bring beauty; they sometimes bring viruses too.
And yet, the world adores them. Bird-watchers swoon, conservationists rally, and even aircraft engineers borrow their wing designs for stealth planes. Recall the 2020 Central Park incident in New York, where a Black American birdwatcher clashed with a White dog walker from Canada—an episode that made global headlines and revealed just how passionately people feel about birds. Migratory birds may carry pandemics across borders, yet they still enjoy five-star PR
Now compare that to our migratory cattle. They don’t soar across continents. They don’t spread global pandemics. At worst, they munch on someone’s maize field or flatten a cassava patch. But instead of admiration, they’re branded a nuisance. Transhumant herders are called “terrorists,” their cattle treated as if they’re plotting the downfall of civilization.
The irony writes itself: the flying virus-carriers are revered; the walking milk-and-meat providers are reviled. If you’re a cow, your only crime is not being born with feathers and herded by a Fulbe.
Yes, cattle migration does cause conflicts—farmer–herder clashes are real. But migration itself is not the enemy; mismanagement is. Just as bird flyways are mapped, protected, and respected, cattle stock routes can be designated, negotiated, and managed. With technology, modern grazing systems can be developed and agreements made to exchange crop residues for manure—enriching the soil and helping to mitigate climate change. Managed this way, transhumance could be as orderly as bird migration—only with less chirping and a lot more beef.
So, here’s the question: why do we celebrate birds that spread avian flu, yet condemn cattle that provide milk, meat and livelihoods?
Migration—whether on wings or hooves—is nature’s survival strategy. If we can forgive birds for carrying viruses, surely we can forgive cattle for nibbling a few ears of maize—or, at worst, agree on fair compensation. But harming cattle, attacking herders, or contaminating grass and water only worsens the problem and takes us further from solutions. Perhaps it’s time to flip the script: instead of scorn, show a little respect. Haba, after all, both the birds and the cattle are simply trying to survive.
In the end, the difference is striking—one becomes a documentary star on National Geographic, while the other meets a far more flavourful fate, grilled and served as suya.
