Childhood nightmares and tasty chicken..

There are childhood stories, and there are childhood experiences. Here's one experience I'm going to share with you.

I was about 13 years old, and I had my first real encounter of the production process of how that lovely pot of chicken starts from this:


to this:

Now, before I go any further, a word of caution to readers out there who are either members of PETA, Vegetarians or those who are in complete denial as to how and where the meat they eat comes from, Please Do not Read Any Further!

Now that I've put a warning in place, back to the story. So, my old man comes up to my younger brother and I and tells us to get ready to make dinner. He takes us to the backyard where we have chickens free-ranging. Dad points out to a big black cockerel with a huge red comb on its head, and tells us that "that's dinner tonight. Get it ready."

Now, most of the time, when your a kid and you're being taught certain skills, you rarely think that they will be useful at a young age. Hah! Did we get it wrong or what? So, I took the massive kitchen knife, sharpened it, and made sure I hid the knife and bowl of water from the chickens. Now, if you ever thought that poultry and livestock are dumb animals, think again. They can sense when one of their own is off to the 'Open Field in the Sky'. If you've ever seen the opening sequence to the movie 'City of God' (Citede de Deus), you can sympathise with chickens.

After 45 minutes of fluttering wings and sideway chasing, we finally catch up with 'Black King', the cockerel we had affectionately named. (Point to note: Never, ever name an animal that's going to end up as your dinner! You get emotionally attached!) So, we take him by the legs and wings, and hold him down. We (and by 'We', I mean 'I') then proceeded to finish the job. Now, once you've finished the 'job', the trick is to hold the chicken down until it becomes lifeless. That's what you're suppossed to do. By this time, I was already freaked out killing my first chicken in the first instance, so I had let go. I then understood the saying 'running around like a headless chicken'. The cockrel's headless body began flapping madly from spasms and started running in one direction, my brother and I screaming in the other. All that commotion got my dad out, who eventually restored 'normality' to things. I was so put off by what I had done, that I decided chicken or any other kind of meat was off the menu. So I thought, until the aroma of the chicken being cooked by my sisters and mum changed my views there and then. And when your 13, your perpetually hungry.

I did have a couple of nightmares afterwards of a huge, black headless chicken with its head under its wing chasing after me with a sharp knife!

I wish I could end this blog saying that I never took the role of executioner for dinner again after experience, but the reality tells us otherwise. The choice of either having vegetables for dinner (Gari and shoko vegetable but without the beef, anyone?) or sweet, succulant meat is a no-brainer! Never was a vegetarian then, and I'm not starting now. I'm a Nigerian, for God's sake.