Chicken

Today I want to talk to you about chicken.  Chicken has been playing a big part in my life here in Africa.  For several reasons.  Let me tell you how.

It all started when I did my community stay (the weekend where I lived with Thembo and Eric, you may recall) in a small village.  There are chickens everywhere in this village.  They are in most yards but are certainly not confined there.  They just seem to roam.  They cross the road (not sure why, ba-dum-dum!!) they hang out on the edges of the soccer field, in the school yard, they are literally everywhere you go.  Now, you could pretty much say the same about goats.  They seemed to wander around on their own, but only in the hills where there was grass.   I noticed that eventually someone came and herded them back to their home.  My guess is that they’re sent out to graze, which makes complete sense.   You can’t really raise a bunch of goats for too long in a yard with no grass.

But, does someone herd the chickens?  Do they know their way home?  I heard that chickens were dumb, like really dumb, stupider than a poodle.  However, nobody seems concerned with the situation so maybe they’re smarter than I think.

Anyway, it makes sense why everyone raises chickens in this village.  There are a total of about three “stores”, none of which sell fresh meat, to my knowledge.  The nearest real grocery store is 30 minutes by car, which virtually nobody owns, so if you have a hankering for some Shake n’ Bake, it makes sense that you gotta raise your own.

I think it’s because of this type of situation that chicken seems to be the meat of choice most places I’ve been.  People love chicken.  And not just the drumsticks or breasts.  They eat everything.  Like the gizzard, the liver, the intestines, the bones.  Even the heads and feet.  Which brings me to my next thing about chicken.

When I’m driving around the community, there are a few types of businesses that seem to be everywhere.  The first is just people selling fruit and veggies on the side of the road, usually women.  But as far as businesses, one common one is funeral services, unfortunately a reality when you’re living in a country with the most HIV positive people in the world.  Another is places that rent big tents and chairs, which I think is unfortunately often related to funerals.  Another is car washes, which I will discuss in a later blog.  I don’t mean like whirly ones attached to gas stations back home or the one where you drive into a bay and use the wand.  I’m talking, hand washing. Detailed, detailed, car washing by hand.  Like my Dad used to do with the 74 Buick Century.  South Africans are incredibly neat and tidy and their cars are no exception.  There are many, many budding protégés of my detailing demon friend Rick Fawcett so I’ve decided that anything involving Rick deserves its own blog.

Another sign I have often noticed is one advertising “Chicken Dust”.  Beside the sign is often a guy grilling meat.  I inquired what chicken dust was with my colleague Busie.  She said it’s chicken grilled on the side of the road.  Lots of dirt roads in the communities (gotta wash the car, right?) so hence the term “chicken dust”.  You get your chicken spiced with some honest road grit.  Curious, I did some of my own research (googled it).  None other than Wikipedia states that the term “chicken dust” comes from vendors who sell grilled chicken feet.  So, in this case, the term “chicken dust” is meant to refer solely to chicken feet, which at some point in their life, prior to being on a barbecue, kicked up some dust.  The other cool thing Wikipedia told me was that when grilled chicken feet are sold together with grilled chicken heads (another local favorite) they are called “Walkie Talkies”.  Outstanding!!

Now, I am a huge fan of street food.  I lived on bratwurst from the local “imbiss” when I was in Germany and in Palestine I subsisted on shawarma, falafel, kabobs, grilled corn on the cob, and whatever else was sold on a cart in downtown Ramallah.  However, when I went on a week long trip to Cairo, I was warned by many people to not eat the street food or doing so would lead to me forfeiting three days of being able to get out of bed and about 15 pounds.  Like Adam in the Garden of Eden, I could not obey this one and only limit on my freedom in Egypt.  An egg sandwich in a pita was my dark temptress and she punished me without mercy.  So, I have looked longingly at many a Chicken Dust stand the past few weeks but have, ‘til now, turned from this sin.

Today, I had plans to go to a local soccer game with my colleague Samuel.  I picked him up and we drove to town of Kabokweni.  Samuel explained that to do it right, we had to brai before the game.  So, we went to a butcher, picked out some meat, bought it, then grilled it right across from the butcher’s on a huge, communal grill alongside a bunch of locals who seemed to have been drinking since morning.  We had steaks and shared a boerwoer (sausage) but most of our meat’s neighbors on the grill were the aforementioned organs and so forth.  I kept asking Standley what stuff was.  Eventually, I told him I would try some beef intestine next time.

Anyway, my last chicken related tale has to do with my current accommodations.  Hands at Work was given an old farm lodge a few years ago.  It’s about 6 km up a dirt road from the Hands at Work village, where I was living before and where the offices are.  The main lodge is used for workshops and youth camps, which happen quite often on the weekends.  Right now there are about 50 teenagers who are up here.  I have suite in a smaller lodge.  It has a kitchen, living area, bathroom and bedroom.  I’ve got it all to myself right now, which is great.  Except for one thing.  There is a massive rooster who lives here.  Not a bid deal except he “cockle-doodle-doos” right outside my window every morning.  By morning, I mean starting at about 5:00 am. And then continuing until about 7:00.  This morning, he was givin’ it at around 10:00!!!  I always thought they just cockle-doodled once, kind of like a church bell.  You hear it, if you’re a farmer, you get out of bed and go to work, and that’s it.  But no, the thing goes on and on and on.  It is not as folksy and old-fashioned cool as I used to think.

Anyway, that’s enough poultry talk for now.  Catch you next time!