FINGER CLUCKING GOOD

The fate of our eunuch rooster was finally decided. We’d been considering turning him into a Sunday lunch for some time, and Philen assured us that slaughtering a hen was old hat to him. Theo had previously been indecisive, claiming that he wasn’t prepared to do all the dirty work while I profess to be an animal lover yet am quite prepared to eat the meal so long as I don’t get my hands dirty. I have no qualms about keeping animals for meat so long as they are respected and cared for during their time on earth. In fact I support eating chickens that roam the yard as apposed to those kept in a cage no bigger than their body for the short duration of their life. Clearly Theo was not listening as usual or perhaps he needed time to figure out how to catch the rooster.

So Philen’s visit brought the dispute to an end and our longing for some delicious tasting Xhosa chicken sealed the deal.

The eunuch rooster, who, I’ll now refer to as “Curry” surveyed us with one beady eye but he seemed much more aware of the red rooster, who I’ll call Cocky Locky for now. Cocky Locky came sprinting across the yard to chase Curry away from little Henny Penny who pecked daintily at some mielies. Her alluring tail fluff had long been the cause of Cocky Locky and Curry’s conflict. Curry, even though he was 3 times the size of Cocky Locky, was very wary of his adversary and clearly had no balls, pardon the pun.

Theo and Philen plotted their attack by arming themselves with weapons of mass destruction. I grabbed the camera. Curry was way too clever for the boy’s initial attempt to lure him with their Hansel and Gretel mielie trail so they tried a more direct approach. Philen stalked Curry with his rope lasso and a towel at the ready which he planned to through over the rooster, confuse him and then pounce.

Theo in the meantime had positioned himself behind my dangly door thingie with his bow and arrow drawn and ready. The hunt was on. (I’ll elaborate on Theo’s home made bow and arrow at a later time). I stood between Curry’s retreat pathway with my camera poised while inconspicuously trying to heard Cocky Locky and Henny Penny out of Theo’s target range in case of a stray arrow. Curry sensed there was fowl play at hand.

After a half an hour we eventually gave up to regroup and re-evaluate our situation. We were hungry and tired of being out manoeuvred by a sharp-eyed chicken. Luckily, just then, a friend phoned and invited us to join him for a chicken potjie and a bottle of whiskey. We welcomed the drinks so the three of us squeezed onto the XT and headed down the road to Marius’s house. I haven’t mentioned him before, although he is an unusual character; an ex rekkie who has been hiding out from the SWAPO team since he left South West Africa in a big hurry a number of years ago and has been hiding in the hills here in Transkei ever since. His extraordinary life story, washed down with a couple of whiskeys, always captivates his audience and on this day, he recounted his Rekkie training days. By the time we left, we were all revved up and rearing to go. We raced home the 3 km’s on the bike, and jumped into action within seconds of arriving home. Theo and Philen marched over, had the rooster down, slit its throat and minutes later I was plucking it.

By the time the adrenalin and whiskey wore off, the bird was ready for the pot and looked just like the chickens you buy from the supermarket all cleaned up and ready to eat. Well almost, the feet, still attached and quite a delicacy here, was the only visible tell tale sign that it wasn’t a watered down, hormone injected, bland tasting excuse for meat.

The bird weighed 3 kg’s and was more than enough for 2 cookings. Philen made a delicious curry, feet, giblets and all which simmered a few hours that day and Theo made another yummy curry the next day with the other half.

I still have a bag of feathers to stuff a pillow or do something useful with. In fact ive just thought of a damn good idea – we can stick them on owl masks next project day at the centre.

Another Year Of Eunuch Life In Transkei

I find it hard to believe that we have been living here in Qolora for a year already. What have I learnt during that time you might ask? Well something interesting is that many roosters get castrated. It’s a special skill, practised by a couple of trained grandmothers or old men who know which part of the internal bits to remove. They turn the bird over, deftly slice under the ribs, pop out the goonies and slice off the unwanted bits. Where I come from, people take their poor cats and dogs to the vet where they leave their testicles and their dignity behind and return home docile and less likely to roam the neighbourhood. Loosing your manliness would take the wind out of your bag I guess. Anyway here in Qolora, all the dogs are brown, scrawny, hungry and from the same stock. Having more than one cock on your property is more of an issue though as they will fight each other to the death to put claim to their roost of hens. Turns out our hen, the one who doesn't lay eggs, but occasionally squawks a pathetic sort of crow and doesn't partake in any recreational fowl play around the yard other than an occasional dash, isn't who we thought she was. After she grew tail feathers, I asked a Xhosa woman who probably thought I was as thick as a plank for not knowing the basic facts of life, to identify our unique fowl. Turns out our eunuch chicken has been under the knife which explains his behaviour and why he’s getting so fat. He is meant for the pot but Theo doesn't seem to be making a move to slaughter it as he’s too busy figuring out what to do with only one egg per day. Meanwhile the eunuch rooster doesn't know where it fits in, the functional rooster is getting cockier every day and the hen is getting laid more often than she is laying eggs.

Besides learning about the schematics of our chickens, I've also learnt that facebook is addictive. I was probably one of the last people to succumb to its web of exploit. Now, every time someone has an epiphany or comes across a quote proclaiming peace and happiness it seems I'm also informed along with the rest of the world. I've joined an Anti Animal Cruelty group and I'm horrified at my response of being reminded daily that I belong to the same human race as those repulsive people who abuse animals, yet I do nothing about it. I've become bored with the window into other peoples lives but I still find myself scrolling down daily looking for something but goodness knows what it could be.

Naturally, the two most important things I've learnt while here in Transkei is the Xhosa culture (which is an ongoing quest) and the Transkei education system, the first being intriguing and the second being shocking. Here, the Xhosa style of cooking is not very imaginative and copious amounts of oil and Aromat are the only flavourants used. All cuts of meat are chopped into hunks and boiled in their own juice or braaied. Xhosa people share their food readily and when feeding visitors, the correct etiquette is to fill your guest’s cup and plate to the brim. People always carry left overs home. Xhosa women enjoy their tea or coffee very hot and use a tablespoon to sip from their cup. Umfino is a bitter leafy wild vegetable boiled with pap and oil. Vegetables can be chopped into minuscule pieces without using a chopping board or a mixer. Much less preservatives or additives are eaten in the Xhosa diet so people don’t suffer as much from cancer and other modern diseases.

I've learnt that getting my tongue to click at different angles in my mouth at the same time as pronouncing a bunch of syllables is difficult. I've learnt that Xhosa people are in no hurry to get anywhere and they love singing while doing chores, walking, visiting, partying or any occasion. Gospel tunes are favoured. Night time singing while walking home through the hills makes one feel braver in the dark. Ululating and repeatedly flicking out your hand towards someone is a show of appreciation and handshakes are a three part ritual which has nothing to do with rappers. The colour of the beautiful, beaded, traditional outfits of wraps, skirts, aprons and headgear worn by older women often vary from area to area. A new bride’s patience is tested as she is expected to serve her inlaws hand and foot for the first few weeks of her marriage. A man with a foreskin is still a boy. A medicine person treats patients without asking them to describe their ailments as opposed to a regular doctor who does, thereby exposing their incompetence for having to extract the ailment from the patient. A medicine person also treats cases of bad luck and psychological ailments.

Xhosa superstitions are different to western superstitions. Black cats, ladders, Friday the 13^th, 7 years of bad luck from broken mirrors, salt over your shoulder, lucky charms which keep one safe or help you rugby team win and number 3, 7, 13 or 666 are not considered. Sitting on your front step blocking your front door is considered unlucky because you are preventing a family member from returning from whatever place they have travelled to for a length of time. Dangling a needle over your pregnant friend’s stomach to find out if she’s carrying a boy or a girl isn’t practised but if you have twins it used to be recommended to plant a Euphorbia (Naboom) which is a hardy plant and as long as the plant grows strongly, so will the children be healthy.

I’ve learnt that funerals are a very big part of Xhosa life and that if a young man disrespects his tradition by not attending, (which also leaves less men to dig the hole) he can be fined as much as R500 by the elders. I’ve learnt that important family decisions are made based on people’s dreams and that even ancestors can get very jealous of each other. I’ve learnt that killing a cow sorts out a lot of issues.

The most important aspect of Xhosa culture is the traditional belief in ancestors. This is changing and unfortunately as younger people are drawn to a more modern lifestyle in cities, so their customs are being forgotten.

And then there’s the education system. Where to start. Well, the whole system sucks. Teachers, themselves struggling with the English language, ineffectively teaching in schools without sufficient desks, chairs, books, working toilets, jammed into overcrowded classrooms, regular absenteeism and led by principals without any management training is the norm. I’m learning to go with the flow but seeing the system fail the learners on a daily basis is frustrating.

I think the most important thing I’m learning is that the way I view my world determines my place in it. I’m here in Transkei to observe not to judge.