The Butcher

Today I killed a chicken.

Yet another of many firsts for me here in Morocco.

I have wanted to kill a chicken for a long time. This has not been a dream based on a desire to cause suffering or pain to any creature, but rather a desire based on a personal conviction that if I eat meat, I should be ready to complete the necessary steps to change an animal into a meal.



As it turns out, I can do it. And to be honest, without making myself out to be a budding serial killer or a cold-blooded SOB, it was not all that hard.

I bought two chickens from the shop, as in this way I could be instructed on the first and practice on the second. The process is simple. I was told to place the chicken on the ground, and using my feet, pin the wings and feet to the floor. Then, after giving thanks to God (Bismillah) and placing the forefinger of my left hand in the chickens mouth (thus supporting the neck), I was to draw the knife across the chicken's neck twice.

As it turned out, the knife was quite dull, and I don't think that I even cut the feathers on the first few swipes. Once I realized this, however, I finished the job in what I believe was a relatively painless operation for the chicken. The shopkeeper and my instructor told me that I did a very good job, though I think that I nearly cut off my fingertip in the process.

After the chicken has been killed, it is placed in a plastic container (basically a garbage can) to hold it during the infamous post-mortem convulsions. From these convulsions, I know understand, comes the expression, "running around like a chicken with its head cut off".

I have included a video below, though I imagine that many will not have any interest in watching it. Watch if you will, though you have been warned of the content. It is, however, a much less traumatic viewing than you might think.



I have also been meaning to discuss Moroccan hygiene for some time, and so I think that I will take this opportunity to do so.

First, Muslims as a whole, as far as I can tell, are very clean. There are, of course, exceptions, but in a religion in which one is meant to wash one's self five times daily before prayer, it should not be surprising that cleanliness is a common virtue.

Nonetheless, the hygienic infrastructure can be somewhat difficult to accept for a foreign visitor from the first world. In Driss's house, for example, there is one small room with a crooked wooden door that is reserved for all one's daily hygienic needs. In that tiny room, all of the normal toilet activities take place, as well as the process of the Moroccan "shower".

Most toilets here are what are called "Turkish toilets", which are basically holes in the ground connected to a plumbing system. There are often foot-shaped areas in the general depression of the toilet. These, quite obviously, indicate where one should put one's feet. Below is a picture of a basic Turkish toilet, though they vary greatly in quality and luxury. Some are much more "rustic", to use a gentle term.



Now, without going into too much detail, for fear of making this the most off-putting post I have written, Moroccans (like much of the world) do not generally use toilet paper. Thus the "right-hand rule" for eating, touching of others, etc. The left hand is the dirty hand, and not to be used for many other purposes than cleaning one's self.

In addition, to supplement the lack of toilet paper, every toilet room is equipped with a water faucet, and generally a small bucket. Ideally, though this is most common only in houses, there is a bar of soap.

So, that is the toilet. In general, though many are shocked by these practices, this seems to be a very clean process, and people are very careful to wash their hands and other body parts with great attention and care.

As for "showering", the American shower that I have always known and loved, is not very common in most of Morocco. The only exception, I believe, is hotels, which often have showers, and the homes of very wealthy Moroccans, where showers and Western-style toilets are both common.

Rather than shower, Moroccans use either the "hammam" (a traditional, communal bathing house) or heat up water in their homes to use for the purpose of cleaning themeselves. In Driss's house the process is as follows:

First, I tell Driss's sisters that I wish to take a shower. They heat up water and prepare the bathroom, placing a towel, soap, and a small stool in the bathroom. Once the water is hot, they place two large buckets of water in the bathroom, and let me know that I can enter. What follows is truly a pleasure.

I sit on the stool, and using a smaller bucket, pour warm water on myself. I soap up, rinse off with buckets of the water, and repeat. What is amazing is that I have honestly come to love this Moroccan version of the shower more than an American shower. There is something nice about the whole affair, though I imagine that this is aided by the fact that I am not allowed to play any role in the preparations for this process, and that everything is provided for me.

Okay, well that is it for today. I am off to relax with my friends Radwane and Driss at the vegetable shop / butcher where Radwane works. We are preparing a delicious tagine to eat outside the store before heading off the large town souq.

More soon. Sorry if anyone found this blog's content less than enjoyable today.