Day 13: The Day of the Goat

          Today we took a innocent creature, slit its throat, cut it up into little pieces, threw the pieces in a fire, and then ate them.  It was pretty good.
          Still reading?  Congratulations you have passed the physical for reading this post.  If you didn't make a break for the bathroom to throw up, you are qualified to read this post.  If you did, you might want to consider reading something else.  Like this post.  Otherwise, consider yourself warned.

          Seriously though, it's not that bad.  At least, it wasn't for me...

          Today we were welcomed to Tanzania in true Masai fashion: with a goat.  If you think this is cruel and unusual torture, let me tell you how the Masai slaughter an animal.  First they sing and dance to it and thank it, while feeding it honey wine.  And they sing and dace some more and feed it more honey wine.  And more honey wine.  Eventually the animal is so drunk, it collapses comatose on the ground.  They then gently walk up to it and kill it.  The animal never even notices a thing.  Furthermore, since the animal was relaxed when it was killed, the meat is very soft and savory.
          However, since the Masai also keep and drink the blood, that's not how our goat was killed.  Instead they killed it "Islam style", since the Muslims avoid blood as much as we do and they were familiar with this method of preparation.  But I'm getting ahead of myself.  Let me start back at the beginning of the day.

          We woke up kinda late that morning.  Actually, considering what was becoming our regular schedule, maybe I should say we woke up at our usual time.  Whatever, we both woke.  Now where was I...ah yes.  We got up, ate, blah blah blah.  We were supposed to have left at like, noon, for the feast.  That sooooo did not happen.  I don't know what my Mjomba Terevaeli was thinking, but I knew there was no way we were leaving that early.  Instead we left at about four (a much more sensible time).  The feast was going to be held at Mjomba Terevaeli's property by KIA (Kilimanjaro International Airport).  It will some day be...a hotel (que: gasp of surprise).  Terevaeli designs Hotels, restaurants, and the like, and at the moment there doesn’t happen to be one anywhere near KIA.  My Mjomba plans to remedy this, though I'm not sure when, exactly.  How about I get back to you on that?
          Great, I've lost my place again.  Come on, think, where were you, Tate (besides in Tanzania). Oh yeah, the goat. The poor, sweet, innocent goat.  So we left at about four, me, Terevaeli, Baba, Neto (grounds keeper for my Mjomba), and two friends of Terevaeli's.  We road in Terevaeli's American jeep, the only car I have seen in all of Tanzania with the steering wheel on the correct side of the car.  Mjomba Terevaeli, however, rather poorly choose to still drive on the wrong side of the road, despite the fact that he was driving an American style vehicle.  This made things unnecessarily hard on my Mjomba, as he had to pull almost completely over into the other lane when he wanted to pass someone before he could see if there was any oncoming traffic.  Still, he didn't do to bad, never hitting anyone and only driving two old ladies and a school bus full of screaming children off the road.  (Just kidding.)
          I wasn't really actually paying that much attention to my Mjomba's driving, as I was far too preoccupied the entire trip trying to find a way to be comfortable.  I was crammed in the tiny back of the jeep with Neto and the two friends as well as some of the supplies for the goat.  I tried everything sort of a hand stand (not enough head room), but nothing satisfied for long.  We drove like this for about half an hour until we got to the place where the goat was waiting for us.  In the end I did find a comfortable position, outside the jeep.  The goat was waiting for us a traditional Masai auction yard, a large open area about the size of three football fields, encircled by a low stone wall.  Easily big enough to hold a couple herds of livestock.  There was also a covered arena on top of a hill along one side of the field where, I believe, the actual auctions were held.
          Our goat was already bought and paid for, so all we had to do was truss it up and toss it in the back of the jeep.  With us.  Riding with the goat wasn't really all that bad, it was the flies that it brought that annoyed.  We then rode like this for another hour until we reached Terevaeli's future hotel site.  At the moment all it has is a small simple house that will serve as an office while the hotel is being built.  We were doing things traditionally, though, so we didn't use the house at all.  Terevaeli had brought traditional men’s dresses - I mean robes - and we all put them on.  Also following tradition, no woman was allowed near.  This was a special and sacred time for Masai men, when they got to get away from the yapping women and be real men, and do real manly things.  Like killing and eating stuff.
          You see, some may think that Masai men had the soft life, making women do everything, like cooking the food.  This is not entirely true, however.  You see, since the women always cooked the food, the women controlled the food.  They got to pick what they wanted to eat, and then give the rest to the men after they were "done cooking".  This, then, was the one time when Masai men got control of the food.  They could eat whatever they wanted, and say and do whatever they wanted without worrying about any women overhearing them.  A time to relax.  Probably the closest thing to it in the States would be when men gather together at a bar.  Only this was more special because it only happened a few times a year.  Also, no one got drunk.
          Oh no, not again.  Come on, help me here, where was I?  I got distracted with fantasies that I was a Masai.  Ah, yes!  So, we took the goat and killed it ("Islam style"), buried the blood, and skinned the carcass.  Baba and I didn't actually help with any of this, we were the guests of honor, you see.  I did watch, however.  I've always felt that, if I'm going to eat meat, I ought to have the guts to kill what I'm going to eat, or else be a vegetarian.  I didn't actually kill the goat, but psychologically speaking, watching I feel was nearly the same thing.  I wished that the goat could have gone a bit quicker (like instantaneously), but other than that it didn't really bother me much.
          Oh drat!  I forgot to talk about all the blood and guts and gory stuff!  Ah well, there's another feast scheduled in our honor, I'll try to do a better job when describing that one! }:)  I've read a few wilderness survival books, and they skinned the animal just like the books described!  A veterinarian came to inspect the meat and see if it was safe to eat.  It was, thankfully.  By the time it was cooked it was very late.  There were no lights, of course, we were doing things the traditional way.  This was great for me, as I couldn't see what I was eating, and thus wasn't put off by any sill American notions on what was and wasn't food.  I do know I ate liver (it wasn't all that bad), and I'm pretty sure I ate some other parts, but beyond a leg and hoof, I can't say what for sure.  But it all tasted good!
          We stayed up until way after midnight eating and talking.  It was a lot of fun.  I enjoyed all of it (yes, wearing the robes too).  On the way home we stopped at the Snow View hotel, which had been converted into a hotel from office space by Mjomba Terevaeli.  From there we went to much deserved sleep.  Until tomorrow...


E’ya! - Tate


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