Mthatha, Ahoy!: INKUKU: The Chicken

Meat is not something that is eaten on a daily basis by most people in the Transkei. It is expensive for one and most people don’t have a way of storing it (ie, a refrigerator). Because meat is a rare treat, there is lots of celebration and ceremony surrounding the consumption of it and it is a big part of any kind of special occasion. In the rural areas, when it comes time to slaughter an animal (especially something large like a cow), you HAVE to have lots of people because the meat has to be cooked and consumed immediately. Thus, meat = a party. There are also certain animals/meats that are traditionally used for certain occasions, though I won’t claim to be any kind of expert on what all of those are. What I do know is that, when you succeed in a task that you have been working on and pouring your heart into for a long time, it is customary to celebrate by slaughtering a white hen and sharing the meat with your friends and family. This is exactly what Nonzuzo and I did last week to celebrate the excellent grades she got last semester.

It was like any regular Sunday afternoon, hanging out with Nonzuzo and the gang at WeeMama’s house. That day, we were watching wrestling (kind of in love with John Cena) and one of the young men that lives there walked by the window carrying a chicken. I didn’t think much about it; people walk around with live chickens all the time. (My favorite mode of chicken transport is the chicken in a bag with the head sticking out perched on top of a woman’s head). When wrestling was over, Nonzuzo turned to me and said, “So, should we go kill that chicken now?” I wasn’t even really given an option of “No,” even though she phrased it as a question. So we did. Along the way, she explained the significance of the chicken to me and why things were done this way or that. The women ate the uterus after it was cooked for fertility and the eggs that the hen had yet to lay were cooked and reserved for the women, as well. We also cleaned and fried all of the gizzards (which was not my favorite part). The head and the feet were also cooked for consumption (and are eaten here quite commonly). There’s also evidently a piece of meat that is ‘the Man’s piece’ and is always given to the head of the house. This is the piece between the two thighs on the upper side ie, the butt of the chicken. The only part of the chicken that wasn’t used was the gallbladder which, evidently, you have to be really careful when removing because it will make everything very bitter if it bursts.

The entire experience was informative, fascinating, gross, and natural at the same time. I have eaten countless amounts of chicken in my life and never once even held a live chicken, much less killed, cleaned, cooked, and eaten one from start to finish. I found the entire process much less gory and much more intriguing than I thought I might. It was like being back in science lab when you have to dissect a frog; that moment when the entire things turns from being slimy and disgusting to being really, really interesting. I felt like I was observing (because, let’s be honest, I didn’t actually DO much – mostly just watched and asked questions) something more than just killing an animal. It was this vital piece of the human condition and history that I’d missed out on until now and something that billions of people over the history of this earth have partaken in. Having this experience, I somehow feel a little more connected with people that live/have lived that way their whole lives. There’s something that makes your value and appreciate your food much more when you live with it, whether that be livestock or a garden. Being involved in the production of your food makes it something more because you have to invest more into it. But I guess that is true with all things in life. The outcome is always more satisfying when you’ve really worked for it.