People in Ovamboland eat meat, and a lot of it. They eat chicken, goat, lamb, cow, pig, dog, fish, and frogs, and they don’t seem to care if they are eating flesh or bones. The only readily available meat that they don’t eat is donkey. Because most Ovambos keep animals, they do not need to go to the store to get dinner. Instead, they catch one of the chickens that is running around the homestead, or take one of goats from the kraal. They kill it, skin it, and cook it right away. When I went to visit Meme Monica (see earlier post), she honored me by killing a goat and roasting it for supper.
I began to wonder, “Could I do that? Could I kill my own meat?” If not, then I had no right to eat meat at all. Eating meat means killing animals, even if your source of meat is Jewel or Stop ‘n’ Shop. Could I do it, I wondered? Ten days ago, I had my chance to find out. My Peace Corps friend, Robin, bought a goat, and I asked if I could be present when it was slaughtered. As it turned out, I not only watched but helped.
Shikuma and Susanna, Robin’s Ovambo friends, arrived around 6pm with a medium-sized, brownish goat which cost about N$500, or US$70. Shikuma walked the goat into Robin’s yard, and we sat it down at the base of a tree while we gathered the knives and bowls we would need. Then he tied the hind legs together, and hoisted the goat upside down over a tree branch, so the blood would drain out quickly. He told us that there were two common ways to kill a goat: you could slice its throat or suffocate it. I asked which one was more humane, and he said the goat felt less pain from the cutting, so we decided to do that one.
Before we killed the goat, I asked if it was customary to say a short prayer first. That seemed logical to me, given all the praying that happens down here. They pray over everything. The kids have to go to church 10 times a week. The school week begins and ends with a prayer. When I went to a professional development workshop on debate, the we prayed. What could be more sacred than the taking of a life to give life? The Ovambos saw things differently. They roared with laughter at the idea of praying for the goat, so I said a little Jewish/Deistic prayer to myself, and then we got started.
With the goat hanging upside down from the tree, Susanna held the forelegs while I gripped the horns tightly in both hands. Shikuma took out the sharpest knife in Robin’s kitchen, which was a chef’s knife. He asked me if I was ready, counted to there, then sliced the neck. It was a clean cut, and within seconds the poor creature’s blood was draining quickly into a bowl we had placed under the tree. The little goat’s body twitched and spasmed several times, but it was all over in a minute’s time. I felt like I was on automatic pilot, holding tightly onto the horns and not feeling much of anything at the time. In fact, I felt some exhilaration that it wasn’t as bad as I had expected.
After about five minutes, when most of the blood had drained, Shikuma showed us how to skin the goat and then cut it into pieces. The killing done, this part of the work was oddly fascinating. The skinning process was pretty straightforward. He began with one long, very shallow cut down the belly, and then slowly worked the skin off as you go around the body. We held the edge of the skin in one hand and curled my other hand into a fist, working it between the flesh and the skin. That felt a little creepy – the body was still quite warm as I pulled the skin from the abdomen and back. Because many of the Ovambos use the skin to make shoes, Shikuma taught us that it was very important not to rip or cut the skin as we went.
Once the skin was off, it was time to cut off the meat and the organs. We started by hacking off the forelegs with a panga, a thick traditional knife approximately 1.5 feet long. Next we cut through the rib cage, and out popped all the innards. It was fascinating how quickly I could identify the various parts: the stomach, large and small intestines looked just like they do in biology textbooks. Shikuma taught us that in the old days, different parts of the goat were reserved for different people. For example, the neighbors got part of the chest, friends get a leg, and so forth. Now, however, those traditions are falling by the wayside.
When we were finished cutting the meat, Shikuma took the head, hooves, stomach and intestines, all parts that Robin didn’t want. We cooked up the liver and the kidneys immediately by pan-frying them with spices, tomato and onion. They were absolutely delicious, and I remember walking away feeling rather pleased that I had been able to help. Ah, I thought fondly, there are some good meat-eating days ahead of me.
The next night, my mother phoned.
I told her proudly about slaughtering the goat. She said that she could never do that, that she could never kill an animal.
“But Mom, I didn’t actually kill it. That is a different thing. I don’t know if I can do that. I only held the horns.”
Dryly, she replied, “Yes, that’s what the Germans were saying in 1945.”
Leave it to a Jewish mother to conflate eating meat with organized genocide. Nonetheless, over the next few days I kept looking at the pictures I took from that night. One in particular troubles me. It is the picture of the goat tied up to the tree and struggling. In the next picture, I’ve zoomed in on the goat’s face. He’s clearly terrified. It’s not clear whether he is merely in pain or if he knows what will happen next. But either way, the look in his eyes is hard to forget.
I’m curious to hear what readers’ thoughts are, especially because I know there are some vegetarians out there. Does this story confirm everything you feel is wrong with eating meat? What about the people here in Ovamboland, who subsist on meat because there isn’t enough rainfall to grow crops regularly? Is it ok for them, but not for those with a choice? My dear dedicated carnivores, have you ever killed your food? If so, how did you feel? If not, could you?
Ten days later, I haven’t become a vegetarian. Some days meat is completely unappetizing, but over the weekend I went to another brai and devoured several slices of beef. I’m still thinking about this whole event, and have come to no conclusions yet. Although I doubt that I'll give up meat, for now I’m really happy when the hostel serves butternut squash instead of fish or beef.
