The chicken was looking at me, and she knew what was coming. She tucked her head down as far as she could into her shoulders. And just looked at me.
Backtrack two or three weeks and I am a shiny, new Peace Corps Trainee just arrived in my country of service ready to get down and dirty to work, live, and 'make a difference' here in Vanuatu. The first thing you do when you get to country is to enter a 10 week or so training program to orientate you to the life, culture, and language of your new home. You may or may not get sworn in as a volunteer at the end. I was determined to get sworn in. Which meant I was determined to do everything that was asked of me the best I could.
To help us with training we had a Passport to Culture activities book that covered culture items such as washing clothes, working in the garden, how to solve disputes like land disputes, and yup - killing, preparing, and cooking a chicken.
I can do this, I tell myself. I've been hunting in the woods of Vermont at the tender age of 12. I was a US Marine with a rifle name David of which I have trained with for many hours under many conditions. I can shoot hand guns, rifles, machine guns, and grenade launchers. I can hit the target in center mass. I can hit stationary and moving targets. Hell I can hit a moving target with a gas mask on with David at 150 yards. At least, 20 years ago I could when I was active duty - lol. Killing and preparing a chicken is the most normal human function that you can possibly name as it transcends culture and time. I can do this, I tell myself, again.
When I got my Passport to Culture activity book I showed it to my host mom. I told her it was my to-do list to help me learn all things Vanuatu so I can become wan woman lo Vanuatu. My host mom was on it like white on rice. She was like, okay lets do this. And the next day when I came home from class, she had a chicken ready for me to kill. Why she picked that activity out of all of them to try first, I will never know.
Now the Peace Corps training staff are sensitive to the fact that this method of preparing your dinner is outside of the norm and comfort zone for a lot of Americans. So they have a spot in the schedule set up, much later on, when we do this as a group. And yes, even the vegetarians have to participate at least in part. Because you will be exposed to chicken killings quite a bit at site and processing it in training is best for you.
But I didn't have that cozy, safe place for my first chicken killing. No, I had an enthusiastic host mom who was being helpful. With a live chicken in her hand ready for me to take and kill. So I took the chicken by her feet and holding the wingtips. Following my host mom's directions I laid it on the ground and took a sturdy branch in my other hand. Then I was to bash in the head. And the chicken was looking at me.
I let the chicken go.
To date I have yet to kill a chicken though I have witnessed the act numerous times.
But I wasn't off the hook just yet. My host brother re-caught the chicken and killed it. Then I had to pluck it. It was still warm from the body head while I'm pulling out it's feathers!!! My host dad decided to take a video of this on his phone - which I didn't get a copy of. Sadness! It was basically a lot of me going "OOOOHHHH MMMYYYYY GGGOOOODDD! EEEWWWWW!!!" But I plucked the whole thing.
After there was the dressing of the chicken which wasn't that bad since I am a cook and dealing with dead meat is not an issue for me. It has been a long time since I've had to deal with offal. And I've never had to deal with a still warm body. That is just so damn icky.
Towards the end of training we got our site assignments and went to go check them out for a week, our walk-about week. While I was gone the youngest, Sonya, apparently missed me. My host mom said that when Sonya would say that she was missing me she went and got the video of me plucking the chicken, laughed her ass off, and then felt better. Ummm, good?
So there we are. I didn't kill the chicken. And by-the-by. During walk-about week I went on an over night trip with my new host family to one of their gardens. The young fellas caught a green pigeon, a tiny tropical baby bird that fit in my hand. They caught it to eat. I set the green pigeon free into the bush. But alas, my walk-about mentor, Charlie, says that the green pigeon was recaptured and eaten. By him. Oi vey.
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