three ba2aras, lost in translation

Transcript of an interview from yesterday, in an area so far removed from a paved road that 3 days of 7 hour drives a day have left me with bruised shoulder blades, back of my neck, legs and ass - all a yellowish blue. Well. At least I was productive:

[background: we were taking interviews in one of the districts about cases of looting during the genocide, soon to be addressed by the gacaca courts]

Me: So, how many cows did they steal?
Mr. X: They didn't steal any cows.
Me: But I thought you said they stole your cows after you ran away?
X: No, they ate my cows.
Me: Right. So how many did they eat?
X: two cows.
Me: But you're asking them to pay for five?
X: Yes because they had my five cows.
Me: So what happened with the three others?
X: what three?
Me: the cows that they didn't eat but that you don't have anymore
X: They stole them.
Me: Who did?
X: I don't know. [turns to the two kids climbing on top of me, pulling at my clothes in an attempt to reach my hair]:Tssss, leave the umuzungu's hair alone, it will fall out.
Me: Actually, umuarabu! [awkward laugh, failed attempt at building a rapport]. But thank you. But who will have to pay for your 3 cows?
X: What three cows?