My best friend is a vegan, and she tells me the worst kind of meat to eat often comes perfectly packaged.

"You have no idea where it comes from," she says. "We all know that steak comes from cows and that wings comes from chickens. But, do you really know what happens to an animal before it turns up on a plate?"

I am no animal-rights fanatic, but I understand her point. It becomes too easy to forget that humans are a part of life's natural cycle. If we disregard where our food comes from, we begin to exploit resources. In many ways, we already have.

So, today my Ghanaian friend, Paddy, plans to slaughter a goat for this evening's meal of goat light soup and fufu, a thick paste or porridge that's a staple food in West and Central Africa. It's a meal I've had previously only in restaurants. I tell Paddy I want to watch the entire process from the cage to the bowl.

I figure if this experience doesn't compel me to turn vegetarian, at least it would be an interesting story.

Paddy goes into town to buy a goat, and with nothing to do, I start climbing a mango tree. It doesn't take long until children gather below me. To humor them, I knock down mangoes for them to catch and eat. Within 10 minutes a mini mango party forms. Most of these children don't speak English, but the common language of laughter connects us. We poke fun at each other's sticky faces and throw mango seeds as if they are footballs. It's

almost disgusting how messy we are. We start cleaning up only when Paddy returns with the goat on his shoulders.

The goat is small and black, almost cute. I can't help but think that its squeals sound like a baby's cries.

After washing a few knives and placing an empty bucket nearby, Paddy tells his friend to hold the goat's back legs as he holds the front two. The goat's screams are now deafening, and I am tempted to walk away. Paddy takes the knife and slits the underside of the goat's neck, and suddenly, all is silent.

Now comes the cleaning and cooking. Over a fire, Paddy burns off the goat's hair, which also kills anything that may have been living on its skin. Next, he cuts the goat into pieces, starting with the head and ending with the belly.

Surprisingly, the process is incredibly fascinating; it's much like watching an animal dissection in physiology class.

Paddy rinses the goat's windpipe and lungs. Just for show, he brings the top of the windpipe to his mouth and blows, causing the lungs to expand and shrink as if the goat were still alive and breathing. The look of disgust on my face makes him laugh, and I can only muster a meek smile in response.

The cleaning is done, and Paddy gives the meat to his mother to prepare soup. A few feet away, cassava and yam are being pounded with water for the fufu.

Within an hour, the entire house is thick with intense savory and spicy aromas. Paddy's mother walks in with three huge bowls, and before I know it, hands are plunging into them. We all pull the fufu into two-inch chunks and dip the gooey mush into the soup.

I can tell the goat is delicious; it's tender, succulent, and pungent. Still, I have trouble enjoying it to its fullest because of today's experience. Regardless, I finish the bowl because nothing makes a Ghanaian family happier than knowing their guests enjoyed the meal they were served. I may not have become vegetarian, but let's just say that I will think twice before reaching for a second serving of meat.

Nguồn:  The Argus Newspaper