On gory slaughtering, going vegan and goat testicle delicacies

Once when I was in primary school, our standard two classes went on a trip to BMC in Lobatse.

The idea was to teach us about the parastatal, which was the backbone of the economy of the small town.

The trip included a tour of the facility right to the abattoir. The excitement went out the window when we saw the meat being sliced and packed. The sight of blood and raw flesh was quite gory.

I actually recall that some of our Muslim classmates had not gone on the trip as per the request of their parents who did not want their children to be in an abattoir and all.

Although I found the slaughterhouse

horrid, I would continue to eat meat but went through “meat politics” time and again, particularly when I reached my teens and started “discovering” myself.

In fact, at some point I dabbled with the Rastafarian religion and went vegan for about two years. But like most phases it blew over and I reverted to my notorious ways that have come with a jiggling girth and thunder thighs but that is a story for another day.

I am as African and black as it gets but as much as I enjoy meat, I don’t like to partake in the slaughtering process. Like in most African families, we slaughtered at home, usually to appease the ancestors or mark an important occasion such as Christmas. We would either slaughter a goat or a sheep.

I recall this one, a goat was slaughtered at home. Unbeknown to everyone, it was a mad rebellious goat that did not want to be killed. From the time it was brought to the yard tied at the back of the bakkie until it was finally slaughtered, the damn thing bleated like crazy! Heela, podi ele e ne e sa batle go jewa.

There was just something about that goat. I felt sorry for it and nearly cried when I watched the fear in its eyes; it was deep. I did not even eat the meat.

About three men were summoned to help slaughter it. I was given a bowl to collect the insides. I stood at a far corner, scared to come closer. As soon as one man tried to position the knife, the goat managed to break free and bolted at lightening speed. Tlogela go tabogiwe

hoo. Wait. It came charging at me! My dear reader, you were not there… I dropped the bowl and screeched, with my hands in the air. The goat appeared to panic and turned around but that was the same direction that I was running towards and for a split of a second I came face to face with it and the sight of its horns terrified me so much that I could have fainted at that very moment as I imagined it flinging me to the top of a nearby tree. The men eventually captured the goat and went on to slaughter it.

I was embarrassed and upset, and shut myself indoors. I was convinced that the goat was chasing me. It was not funny then but I laugh about it now. And I am now convinced that the poor goat was just as terrified as I was!

That incident became one of the many inside family jokes. I am not going vegan again anytime soon but goat meat can miss me. I have heard that goat testicles are a delicacy in some parts of the world but as much as I am a foodie, that is a dish I would never sample.

Ke sharp ka podi!