Fourth of July!! Part One: Preparation

This is a long one, but worth reading. (Then again, all of them are long ones so this is nothing new.)

SO. We woke up late. Eight Thirty. Of course. And by the way, I've learned the drawback to having my bed right by the window. Everyone wakes me up because they cant reach George or Neesha in the back rooms. Plus George has figured out that he can take things like sticks, or his hand, or a flashlight, and poke me with it really hard to wake me up in the mornings. This is why I've taken to getting up before him. But anyway.

So we frantically assembled ourselves to get to the market so we could buy the chickens early. Jerome held us up for a bit because he wanted to copy a Phil Collins cd (yes. seriously.) so by the time we got going it was about nine. I had forgotten to tell Father Amiyo (who is THE head guy here, really just incredible, but more on him later) that we were having a party, so I dance over to him saying "we are going to the market to buy food for the party!" and he looks blankly at me and goes "What party?" and then i feel like an idiot.

We get into the market (with Lucy and Jerome) and for some reason decide to drive down all of these really tiny roads not meant for cars that are lined with stalls on either side. I'm kind of looking at Jerome quizzically about this, and he assures me he knows a great place to park. And then he pulls onto the main road. And it is, Literally, covered with giant ditches. As deep as our car. (and we are driving Father Amiyo's Prado-which has a dvd player! and three amps! and eight remote controls! and air conditioning! but its also huge.) so then we have to attempt this ridiculously complicated k-turn that almost flattens a group of school children and a market stall selling baskets of rice and what appears to be gasoline, and then we drive back down the skinny, not-made-for-car roads and Jerome parks in a random spot and we wander off looking for chickens.

First, we buy three kilos (or about 7ish pounds) of beef. We were not savvy about this the first time around. (we bought more later-I'll get to it) The guy was loading meat cuts into our bag and we are going "yeah! hes giving us extra! alright!) and he ties it up and we pay and walk off. We had been assured by Emmanual that there was a grinder at the Bishop's house (there wasn't, which we found out later) so we were going to grind it there. Next we tried to find chickens. No chickens. No chickens, anywhere. This is a reoccurring problem-apparently chickens are fairly rare in Sudan (?) so we stomped all over creation and couldn't find any. Finally Jerome asked his friend Apollo who told us that the Toposa boys who normally bring them would come at eleven (we woke up early, why exactly?) and he would buy four for us to come and pick up. Fine.

Next we buy tomatoes, rice, onions, cooking oil, a crate full of beers and a crate full of sodas, and some mango juice and some bread. We load them all up in the car and go to the Bishop's house, where we discover the lack of meat grinder, so then we go BACK to the market, find a guy, drop the meat off with him, and go back home.

At around eleven, we go to pick up the meat (and hopefully, the chickens). I've learned my lesson. I'm doing party preparation in Sudan a day earlier. We get to the guy and he tells us that you have to boil the meat before you can grind it. We tell him no, that's not how you make hamburgers, and he looks at us as if we have lost our mind and tells us that he couldn't get it to grind, and shows us why.

It was all bones. Bones and fat and muscle. Strong muscle. Gross. BUT, by this time we have discovered that WE have the grinder in our kitchen, in the compound (infuriating but true) so we go and buy MORE meat (all steak-George spent a lot of time patting the back of his thigh on this particular trip to the market and saying, "STEAK. STEAK" and we go to pick up the chickens.....which aren't there.

So we head back home. Once at home, Neesha retreats from the bag of meat (understandably) and George and I and two other guys and Jerome set about cutting and grinding up the beef.

This was so cool guys. We attached the meat grinder to a priest table (that's what I call it, its an improvised desk but for priestly things) and I learn how to cut the muscle sheath off the meat (its not easy-I ended up tearing a lot of it with my hands) and then slicing the meat into cubes. (also not easy. Sharp knives are a rarity in peace loving places like the mission compound). Then we stick a tray under the grinder, and I put the meat in and George starts cranking away. And it oozed out. Bloody juice was stuck in the main part of it (until we learned how to fix that) and I just kept thinking about Sweeney Todd and being kind of horribly fascinated.

It turns out the extra kilo of pure steak we bought was not entirely necessary, because by the time our two friends got finished cutting up all the meat that I had thought was impossible to separate from the fat and gristle (they know meat here, I'm telling you) we had an entire bucket full of ground up meat. Unfortunately, we had neglected to tell Abby that it was for dinner, so we made some trial ones for lunch. They.....were bad. This, I think, can be excused for a couple of reasons.

1. George hates seasonings-so it was pure beef, no salt, no spices, no flavorings


2. We baked it in a bread oven, in a pan with no holes in it, so it pretty much boiled-it was difficult to explain the concept of outdoor grilling in patty form and consequently they were somehow soggy and chewy at the same time.


3. They didn't cook all the way through. So it tasted exactly like it had smelled when we were grinding it-like very raw, very fresh meat. Which isn't my preferred taste of beef

We called it meatloaf for lunch so that no one would get chased away from our dinner by the incredibly pathetic opening act of lunch. Everyone was chewing on them silently, and then loading up their plates with the stew Abby had made on the fly when she realized how badly our burgers were about to come out. It was hilarious, but pathetic.

After lunch, Lucy, Neesha and I collected firewood. This took some time, as it is the start of the rainy season, so everything is wet. First we got some very dusty termite eaten logs. Then I stepped on a bunch of thorn bushes that went through my shoe and into my foot (I've got about eight prick marks and an embedded thorn in the bottom of my foot this morning) which just proved that I need to actually wear the good shoes I bought. Next, I wandered off into the brush and found a huge tree branch with dried leaves on it. So i found a rusty machete, and started hacking away at it. Less that successful-it was wet on the inside. Totally cool-hacking things with rusty machetes. And this by the way, proved to be my solution to everything, that day. (How do you cut a chicken? Hack at it with a huge knife. How do you make a grill? Hack at it with a huge knife. How do you open a bread oven covered in termites? Release the clip and then Hack at it with a huge knife. )

We got lots of firewood (plus!) but unfortunately (for me) it was all thorn firewood (negative). Then, Lucy sent me for water, which I failed spectacularly at and flooded the bathroom in the process of getting, and then I attempted to carry it on my head back to the kitchen, which was way harder than it looked and made me look like an idiot-of course, on the day that everyone had a camera.

Then we set out for the chickens. Again. Jerome, Neesha and I drove back to Apollos. He was in the middle of a pool game. I was jealous. The pool balls were only two colors (yellow and red) and the white ball was tiny. Also no one thinks about their shots here. They just shoot. And they were pretty bad. But we watched them finish. Apollo gestures to us and we follow him out and he starts leading us into the "ghetto" as Jerome called it, which was actually just the back alleys of the market. In about three turns I was totally lost. He led us deeper and deeper into the maze of shacks, turning this way, skirting sewage, hopping over washing tubs, until he finally got to the other end of the market (I think) where there was a guy with Ugandan chickens shoved in a huge basket. These were not Toposa chickens. These things were HUGE. (not American huge. Huge by Sudanese-and consequently my-standards) He pulled out about six of them to test the weight, and Jerome handed me two squawking, struggling birds, each held tightly by the wing joint/shoulder blade area. They calmed down once they were held like this for a while (except the one in my left hand, which periodically would FREAK OUT and just start flapping and trying to wiggle its legs up towards my hand to kick me with its devil claws). We bought four at 25 SPs each (fifty bucks total for four chickens-expensive but worth it-and by the way, now that I know the price of a chicken, its the only reference tool i am ever using again to determine if something is expensive-"What? You want how much for this mocha chocolate iced grande frappachino with whipped cream? I could buy an entire chicken for that much!")

Neesha took the money out of my pocket and paid, because she didn't want to touch the birds, and then we gave five pounds to Apollo so he could buy a beer or two, and then we headed back to the car, Jerome and I swinging these chickens back and forth in both hands. As proof of how rare these chickens were, people everywhere kept shouting "Give me on! Where did you get it!" and I started to understand why this guy was hidden away in the middle of the market.

Jerome threw them in the back of the car-incidentally right next to me-and Neesha hopped up front and we drove home. Three of the birds sat nicely down on the ground and fell asleep. The slashy claws from hell one (which George and I nicknamed Death From Above and wanted to keep alive to use for cock-fighting-with knives) got feisty. So I spent most of the ride home cowering next to the door, hand on the latch, ready to throw myself out of the car if it leapt at me, while Jerome, (oh so thoughtfully) told me stories of how chicken bites are rare but always fatal and this feisty chicken looked at me through slitted eyes with its mouth open, panting and huffing and looking generally ill-tempered. It made for a tense ride.

We got back and put the chickens inside the kitchen where they stayed, mostly because their legs were hobbled together but also because we had the foresight to close the door. I went and got changed (I was in a white tank top for all of this) and let a man named Desire slaughter the chicken for us. (how hilarious is that?? I know a man named Desire. So many jokes can come out of that! Especially since he is very skilled at meat cutting, killing chickens and dancing soulfully. I mean come on. This is stuff you only find in books. It does help that he is french-they would name their kids something like Desire.)

Next, we boiled water. This was more of an issue than it should have been because our water pump shut off. For real. So i ferried water back and forth from really far away so that we could stick the dead chickens in the boiling water to make plucking them easier. Only the chicken's weren't dead yet. And of course, not wanting to die without a fight, they unleashed hell on us.

Here is how it happened. Lucy went into the kitchen to get a pot to boil the water in. All of a sudden, from outside, we hear "EMMA. GET A ROPE. GET A ROPE." and then a very loud squawk and the sound of wings flapping against the door and Lucy cursing under her breath. The last thing I want to do is go into a kitchen were Death From Above has managed to untie is legs, but, being loyal to Lucy (and sensing hilarity) I eased my way into the kitchen with what i could find to tie it up (a plastic bag. not ideal). I found Lucy holding a very balefully looking chicken upside down by its legs, with it's head smushed up against the floor. She was glaring at it and she goes "What idiot didn't tie up the chicken's legs?" (lets be honest, the blame lies with a couple of people-one being me, who said "Hey look, these chickens are barely tied up. Oh well" and threw them in the kitchen) We tie up the chicken. It scratches Lucy. Lucy yells at it. We throw it on a sack of rice in the corner and it sulks.

Unfortunately the other chickens were emboldened by the first chicken's quasi success, and they revolt. At the same time. So all of a sudden, two very motivated, angry chickens hurl themselves at us. (The third one is just sitting there, watching it all go by) All George and Neesha can hear is "GET US ROPE. GET US ROPE" and the sound of a lot of flapping, squawking, angry clucking and verbal insults being hurled around. George is laughing hysterically and being generally unhelpful-but he hands us a plastic bag. (Seriously, is there NO ROPE?) and we manage to tie up one while I keep the other one at bay with my foot (logistically, this was challenging, as my shoes have already demonstrated themselves to be flimsy and easily punctured, and that chicken was waving around its foot as if ready to blind me. But i edged it into a corner, banked on the fact that this wasn't the one flying chicken I saw a couple days ago (really!) and just kept kicking in its direction every time it livened up. ) Then we advanced on the second one-my corner chicken. Sensing our intentions it attempted to fly-which did not work but got its legs (and thus claws) uncomfortably close to my arms. We finally managed to hog tie it basically, and threw it in the corner, where it hid, looking mutinously up at us from behind a bucket.

The fourth chicken, which we never tied because it never demonstrated any desire to escape, ultimately made a mad dash for freedom when Desire opened the door, and consequently was the first to be slaughtered. Oh well. You win some you lose some.

So Desire kills three of them (cuts off their heads, which I stumbled upon later-ew) and puts them in the boiling water. This is where George and I come in. George and Desire worked on one chicken, while I worked on the other. And we plucked it. And it was so cool. Plucking chickens might be my new favorite thing to do. Its so satisfying. You do have to pluck certain indelicate places which....isn't so fun, and also your hands get really bloody from the neck stump, and your fingers get covered in down that you cant really get off, but its so cool! The best part is that the second you pluck the feathers, new ones start growing, so you kind of have to pluck it twice, or just really be efficient. And the quills that come out can sometimes be squeezed from the chicken so they fall out on their own. And chicken carcasses have hair on them, long white grey hair, so you have to heat the bodies on an open fire to burn it off.

George got a terrifying photo of me pretending to bite the chicken's head off (I was susceptible to suggestions, clearly) and then a highly embarrassing video of me making the chicken dance and high kick it's legs, wherein I look a bit like I am mentally retarded-actually- but we plucked them! Desire killed the fourth one right next to us while we were plucking the third, which was sad because A. it was Death From Above and b. It wasn't quick. Just like the goat. They really need sharp knives here. It took a while and was quite bloody and George and I, being softies, averted our eyes and talked really loudly about Patriotism.

After plucking them all, we went on to gutting them. George wandered off to get in a fight with Emmanual (who was being infuriating) and Jerome came and worked with Desire and me. Desire has one way of cutting open a chicken-actually cutting it open down the center and removing the insides. His way is less lazy, and much more efficient. Jerome has a different way-slitting the chicken open at the leg/butt section and then just reaching in a scooping it all out.

I did it Jerome's way because I was having difficulty keeping my grip on the chicken long enough to cut it open. Drawbacks: There is a huge muscle sack that houses all the organs that you have to detach from the rest of the chicken-which is hard to do when you are just doing it by feel. Also, if you rupture the liver (which you are more likely to do this way) the whole chicken will become sour. Also the bones are REALLY SHARP. I have cuts all over my hand, which are so helpfully right at my joints, so they break open when I use my hands.

We brought a bowl over to put all the chicken parts in. Next to us, the collection of feathers was swarming with ants. Disgusting. I stuck my hand into the chicken and started trying to work the sack away from the walls of the rib cage. It was slippery but not bloody. A long trail of intestines snaked down to the bowl, where the contents of one chicken was already lying there, collecting flies. When I got stuck, I worked my way down the neck stump, under the skin and pried it away from there. It took a long time. The organs kept lowering further and further towards the bowl but never quite making it free from the chicken. But what was so cool was that I was able to figure out all the parts! I could see the lungs (bright red, soft and porous), the heart (big and knot like), the gizzard, the intestines, the kidneys. Everything. And when we split the stomach open, whole kernels of corn fell into the bucket. I dont know why they don't dissect chickens in biology classes. They are really interesting. Not so complicated, but definately interesting. Did I mention i cut off its legs? Hacking away with a knife. My solution to everything.

Next, we cut the chicken up. More hacking with a knife. Father Amiyo showed me how to break the legs, and cut the wings off and split it down the middle (hack when you get to bone, cut when you encounter skin), take out the rib cage and separate the breasts. I even cut the neck away from the rest of the body (they cooked that too). Then we washed them and stuck two chickens to "fry"-which turned into cook with tomato paste, and two in to roast over the fire we had built for the burgers.

A mention about this grill: it took a lot of work to make. We had to cut pieces of wire off of the larger piece and then fasten it over the larger piece to make smaller holes in hopes that the burgers wouldn't fall through. And then Father Amiyo made the whole point moot by coming over with mesh chicken wire and sticking that on top. This worked perfectly with the chicken, but not so well with the burgers. We got about five burgers stuck in the mesh before discovering the wonders of cooking oil. This did not improve the taste of the burgers, but made cooking them significantly easier. Desire proved, yet again, that he is good at everything, by manning the grill like a true American.

Once the chicken was cooked, and the burgers grilled and the bread cut and the tomatoes and onions ready and the pasta on the table and the beers very much flowing (we kept rewarding ourselves for even the tiniest of tasks by having a beer. "Oh wow! You carried that firewood from that dusty barren piece of ground, to that other dusty barren piece of ground. BEER!"), we started trying to build the bonfire.

This was, without a doubt, the least successful endeavor of the whole day. It was an unqualified disaster. We decided to pile the cooking fire with more wood to make the bonfire. It seemed like a good idea at the time. Unfortunately, the wood we collected was HUGE. And more than that, broad, and covered with sharp spikes. I handled it in the usual way of hacking away at it with a machete, but it didnt get me very far. So we just fanned it until it caught on fire. But it was a little fire and it remained a little fire. Until we poured diesel on it about two hours later. (I have never seen Jerome faster than he did when he saw us headed off towards the car with a burning ember-probably because our car is leaking diesel yet again and this could have set off a huge explosion-but I swear we were not going to put the ember anywhere near the gas tank.) Once the diesel was on it burned like hell. And smoked. A lot. And what was most hilarious about it was that we had seen a huge diesel fire earlier in the day with a whole bunch of kids playing by it and had concluded they were all idiots who were going to get burned. Fast foward 10 hours and we are lighting our own diesel fire and eating our words.

Father Amiyo told us that his car could play MP3s but that he had never tested it out, and George and I spent about 45 minutes sitting in the Prado, trying two different methods to get it to play American music, and getting increasingly frustrated, before giving up. So we had Ugandan Reggae for 4th of July.

And then it was time for the CELEBRATION!