Warning: The following post is a bit graphic, viewer discretion is advised.
It was a Monday morning just like any other, but for one unfortunate chicken it would be his last...
After breakfast I found Marieta waiting with a knife as basin; she was ready for the slaughter. She grabbed the unlucky rooster from the garage, and we headed out back. Now I know that chickens have very small brains, but this guy knew what was up. From the minute Marieta picked him up he was screaming like I have never heard a chicken before. She placed him on the ground, put one foot on his legs and the other on his wings. Now it was my turn. I mimicked her stance atop the victim and asked "What now?"
She stepped away and simply said, "You cut." I clutched the rooster's head and began cutting, expecting this to be a quick process. I soon realized that this knife was extremely dull. The chicken agonized for almost a minute while I sawed at its neck. I finally broke throgh, he made one last scream, and breathed his last. I held his body for a few more moments while its muscles continued to contract (I had always heard that headless chickens could run around).
As I walked ways with bloody hands, a knife in one hand, and a chicken head in the other, I felt a sense of supreme masculinity, like Liam Neeson walking away after killing 20 bad guys in "Taken." The irony of course was that I had merely killed a defenseless chicken. Eh, testosterone is testosterone regardless.
Other culinary firsts:
-Fresh mango (Lopez shout out)
-Fermented milk (kind of like yogurt)
-Purple porridge (made from millet flour aka "wimbi")
-Two types of Tanzanian beer
-Sugar cane (you literally gnaw on a branch and suck out the sugar)
Tanzanian Fun Fact: Speaking of food, the Swahili word for butt is "tako." When people from Tanzania visit America, they are perplexed to see people eating at Taco Bell. Would you eat at a place called "Butt Bell"?