I awoke the next morning to loud braying. I took two pillows and covered my ears. And then instinctly, I got up and covered the ears of one twin with another pillow. I didn't want her drama in the morning but she was out like a light. No clue where the other two were. I sat on the edge of the bed and listened to the goats. Curiosity got the better of me. I opened the balcony doors and stepped out. As I looked down, I could see the side of the carpark. The local butcher, with a machete around his back and a belt full of carving knives, was leading each goat to the side. I looked over to the right and saw a scattering of small black pellets all over the front of the carpark. Great. The goats were literally sh*tt*ng themselves. I turned back and looked down. The butcher was looking straight up at me. I realized then that I did not have my head covered nor was I properly attired to be in public! I quickly took two steps back and hid behind the curtain.
The execution was about to take place. I grabbed a chador(large shawl) and with grotesque excitement, was ready to watch my first sacrifice. No one stirred inside the bedroom. I threw the chador over my head and around my body and bravely stepped out on the balcony again. Neighborhood cats were standing near the gate to the carpark. I imagined in animal world that the word was put out that Buckaa and Buckoo were about to meet their Maker. The butcher tied them both to a post and carefully took his machete out of its case. He looked up again. Great, he knew he had an audience. I wondered if he would put on a show like the neighbour did when my daughter was videotaping. Instinctively I stepped back again and then came back like it was some peep show. Now I will be the first to admit that I did not have the stomach to watch but somehow I was intrigued to see the Islamically humane practice of sacrifice. With the words of God invoked, the butcher took his knife and sliced into the jugular vein of, hmm...not sure if it was Buckaa or Buckoo. This practice allows the least amount of pain to the animal and immediately cuts off the supply of blood to the vital organs. The goat was incredibly quiet before and after the knife went in. I, on the other hand, let out a huge gasp. The butcher looked up, smiled and asked if he did a good job. I pulled the chador around my mouth and nose and quickly stepped back into the bedroom without replying. Ok, I realized I could not watch the whole thing.
I washed up and went downstairs. As I passed a window on the staircase, I saw the emptied carcass of one goat, with the head balancing precariously near the wall. I was about to puke. As I rounded the kitchen, the cook asked me if I wanted liver for breakfast!
Squeeze me?? I exclaimed to her, "Did you see what is going on outside?!" She smiled and replied, "Yes, and the goat's liver is for breakfast." She laughed and then went back into the kitchen. Again, and I don't know why, I returned back to the window and saw remnants of limbs, meat, and intestines spewn across a sheet on the carpark. Thank God the girls were still sleeping. But it was only an hour later when I heard my budding veternarian crying upstairs. She had seen the blood flowing down the carpark and realized then that the deed had been done.
Again, as the master storyteller, I lied and told them that all the meat was going to the poor. All the cousins had gathered around me in the foyer between the bedrooms. They looked like an angry mob. I ignored them and turned to my daughter asking her how could she be a vet if she couldn't see the sight of blood?
Little did they know that they would encounter Buckaa and Buckoo tomorrow, but in a completely different form...
No comments:
Post a Comment