Lunch walked around the back porch yesterday – a live hen the family had delivered from the market for our meal.
The mother of our host family, Venny, had called me to see the extra large sweet potatoes that she had just had delivered, thinking I would want to take a photo for my travel article. But what caught my attention was the most beautiful cockerel strutting his stuff outside the back door, being fed corn by a small boy, who had just delivered it.
Bright, the eldest boy, 22, had been up early and selected this bird as a special treat. Apparently it is a custom that when you have guests you kill a chicken or a cow for their meal. I was busy taking pictures of the bird, I named Henry, with his lovely red-brown body, red cox-comb and dark green tail feathers, when it dawned on me that this was to be our lunch! I then realised that the bird’s feet were tied together with string.
“You’re not going to kill it!” I exclaimed, and the two girls who were in the kitchen, Joane 18, and Faith 16, burst out laughing. “No, really, you are not going to kill it,” I repeated, and they laughed again, obviously thinking this was such a stupid question.
Venny said: “Most people do not care, they just do it,” realising that I had already developed a soft spot for this lovely creature. I said that we got our meat dead and packaged from Tesco and that our grandparents were more used to having live food - that we, nowadays, were so far removed from where our food came from.
But I felt that this was Africa and I had to do what the family did, to be brave and to chalk up yet another new experience. I sat in the lounge busying myself with some writing, trying not to listen to Henry’s happy clucking, oblivious to his fate. I also did not want to see the blood splashed on the ground, or the feathers hanging around. I had asked if they would be wringing his neck. “No,” said Venny, “we are waiting for Bright to return, he will use a knife to cut its throat.”
Eventually I heard sizzling in the kitchen and realised that Henry was no more. It took an age and we eventually had lunch at 4pm. Henry had been plucked, cut up, and boiled to death, before being put into some delicious curry sauce made by the girls and presented with a great range of vegetables on the dinner table.
I took a very small portion, along with loads of veg, hoping that no-one would notice and I would get away with it, and not insult their kindness in buying a bird at £3 especially for us, a fortune here. I dug my knife into the flesh. It did not even make a dent. I tried again and managed to tear off some shreds of meat which I put into my mouth. It felt like small rubber bands, and not even chewable. Bright had hold a leg and was chewing away with gusto – obviously enjoying this seldom affordable treat. Mike also tried to eat his portion, but it was inedible. The family was enjoying their meal and we hoped they had not noticed we were struggling.
I volunteered to wash up and quickly lifted our two plates and went into the kitchen plonking the left overs into the waste bin, hoping they would not notice we had not eaten this ‘treat’. At supper time, which was served at 10pm, Henry made a second appearance, this time devoid of sauce, and served cold in a casserole dish. Mike took a small portion. “Oh that is the neck,” said Venny. “Give that to Faith and take a better piece.” So he was forced to take a larger chunk which he cut and put some into his mouth. “It was horrible,” he said later, “it was just like chewing leather.” He had spat it out on to his fork and returned it subtly to his plate. When the dish was proferred I just said, “No thank you,” feeling awful. Faith said: “Take some!” I again politely declined.
I just hope that they realised that having become attached to Henry, albeit briefly, it was just a step too far for me, and I felt that I had failed in my resolve to be like a real traveller, to try all things new, and be like a Rwandese for the time I was here.
I just do not know what I will do if I return and they kill a cow as promised!
I WAS AWAKE FOR MY OPERATION!
(Sun 04/03)
Me and Sir Jimmy Savile
(Thu 03/11)
What not to wear!!!
(Wed 15/06)
Rwandan adventure Our sponsored child
(Mon 06/06)
Rwandan Adventure - Lunch Was Alive!
(Mon 23/05)
