Careful - Kind of Gruesome

I will have to say that last Thursday was one of the most emotional days I have spent here in Kenya. We woke up in the monastery just like every morning for the past two weeks, but this particular day we had the task of first slaughtering then preparing our own lunch. That meant that we started off with a white goat and six brownish chickens and ended up with a bucket full of nyama choma and a pot of chicken stew. Needless to say it was all of the steps in the middle that were difficult...
Here in Kenya, slaughtering a goat is a celebration. It is a time of joy and fellowship when communities come together to feast and give thanks for the gifts they have received, for us it was a challenge. Luckily,it is also a man's responsibility, so Stephen, Paul, and Kirk were elected for the task. This meant tying its legs together, laying it out on the concrete floor, and then slitting its throat. I have to admit that the scene was hard for me to watch, as a goat is a pretty fair-sized mammal, and it screamed in a way that was both chilling and nauseating at the same time. Once it was over and most of its blood had drained into the floor, they hung it up on a metal hook to begin the process of skinning and dismembering it. At this point it was time for us to take care of the chickens.
It felt more like a funeral procession as we walked from the butchery to the kitchen, and I think most of us were realizing how disconnected we are as Americans from the source of our food. Brother Sylvester caught one of the fastest chickens and demonstrated what we were supposed to do: first catch one, pin down its legs and wings with your feet, pluck the feathers from its throat, stretch the neck out over the drain, and cut. Kari went first and successfully slaughtered her bird, and I decided to go ahead and get it over with next. At no other point in my life have I picked up a living, breathing creature and put it back down a lifeless carcass. It was definitely a different feeling to cut through the skin and flesh of a live chicken and then continue holding it until it stopped flapping. I was more than a little shaky when I finished. From there we plucked the birds, emptied their organs, sawed off the legs and proceeded to slice them into a more familiar sight, similar to what we see on the grocery store shelf.
As I thought about our activities both during and after that day, I began to realize what little knowledge I have about life in most countries. Everything in the third world is more labor intensive and more connected to the earth than it is in my world. Children here are not surprised or disgusted by the concept of slaughtering animals for their food, whether it be goats, chickens, or cows. Theirs is an innate awareness of where things come from and what it takes to survive. As an American, I am able to separate myself from the realities of life that permeate every aspect of this and most cultures. In order to have meat, you must kill an animal, in order to have vegetables, someone must grow them. I have definitely been more thankful for each meal I have eaten since then, not only for the food, but for all of the effort that goes into harvesting and preparing it. I haven't actually been able to eat any meat since that day, but I am better able to appreciate the role that other animals play in our lives, and to see the inherent connections that exist between ourselves and our world.