News of strange folly in faraway Europe is filtering through to the smoky Masai villages along Kenya's Rift Valley.

The word goes that thousands of perfectly healthy cattle are being slaughtered and incinerated because of foot-and-mouth disease. It's an abomination, say the Masai.

"These are very, very foolish people," says Loseti Bois, a one-eyed herder, with barely concealed disdain. He grimaces as a fellow herder explains the horror of European disease containment policies.

"Don't those people know the cattle can be cured?" he demands. "They need a punishment for killing them. They should be shot too."

Foot-and-mouth has been endemic in Masai herds for as long as anyone can remember. But the disease is so unthreatening it has the same name as the common cold: oloirobi. And instead of slaughtering every four legged animal in sight, the Masai nurse the infected animals back to health.

Wild herbs are diluted with water and fed to them. Sores on the feet and mouth are treated with cold ash, then sealed with cow dung to prevent the virus spreading. Lastly, the animals are put into quarantine, bush style.

Otopokie Ole Kereya, a sprightly 75-year-old, explains how it works outside his hut at the foot of the Ngong Hills. "We make a sign at the entrance. Nobody is allowed to eat or sleep there for two days. And then we take it for an injection."

Vaccination has been spurned in Europe but embraced by the Masai. One vaccine costs 45 shillings, so a herd of 20 can be treated for just £10. Even the white man can see the sense in it.

"Maybe the Kenyans have a better policy than in Europe," suggests Imke van der Honing, a Dutch agriculture consultant.

There are solid reasons why Kenyans can afford the occasional foot-and-mouth outbreak. Their Zebu breed is more resistant then its fragile northern cousins. The only export business consists of cross-border raids by rival tribes.

And a slaughter policy would mean herds of migrating wildebeest and zebra would also have to be culled - not something wellheeled tourists would appreciate in the Masai Mara.

But the crucial difference is cultural. Cattle are much more than walking hamburger factories for the Masai. Songs are sung about them, women are bought in marriage with them, battles are even are fought over them.

God help any government official who would dare to try to take them away. "They would probably get violent," ventures Dr Antony Masoke of the International Livestock Research Institute in Nairobi.

According to Masai tradition, all the cattle in the world originally belonged to them. Anyone else who owns one, they say, is just borrowing it.