Last Saturday, August 20th, marked the one-year anniversary of my
arrival in Cameroon. Feeling both blessed and accomplished, I decided to
throw a small party for myself on Wednesday after school. I invited a
motley assortment of friends: my boss, neighbor, and close friend Lois;
the Korean PE teacher who recently moved to my area of town; the new
Bible teacher at RFIS; and a good friend from Cameroon who coaches
basketball at RFIS. Only after making these plans did I realize that I
was the only U.S. citizen who would be there; my two Canadian colleagues
formed the majority.
I look forward to coming home from school on Wednesdays to a kitchen
full of fresh fruits and vegetables, purchased at the market and cleaned
by my very efficient househelp, Doris. This week, I added chicken to my
usual items including papayas, carrots, onions, and tomatoes.
Cameroonians often serve chicken at celebrations, as it's more expensive
than fish or beef, so I decided that I would follow that cultural norm.
However, this was the first time I had asked Doris to buy a whole
chicken in the market, and I wasn't sure what to expect. I've been to
the main market a few times and smiled at the vendors gripping docile
chickens by their feet. My stomach is strong, but I still didn't want to
deal with feathers, so I wrote "1 whole chicken, cleaned" on my list and
hoped for the best.
When I came home from school, the chicken was in Ziploc bag in my
freezer because I still haven't explained the difference between the
fridge and the freezer to Doris. Immediately, I shook my head-it still
had its feet. "Okay," I calmed myself, "There's a lot of meat on the
feet. Maybe I can boil them for broth." I pulled the chicken out, hoping
it wasn't too solid yet, and started thawing it in the sink while I
chopped and liquefied chiles for its sauce.
With the sauce ready, I steeled myself to hack the chicken into chunks
that would fit into my frying pan. While maneuvering the bird so that I
could chop off the feet, I flipped it over and jumped back, yelling to
no one in particular, "It still has a head!" Only slightly disturbed, I
continued my dismemberment, discovering along the way that the organs
had been left in along with the head and the feet. I slipped them into a
plastic bag with the head and feet and left Doris a note that she could
take them home if she wanted them. It wouldn't be that hard to learn how
to prepare and eat them, but sometimes I don't have the energy for such
undertakings.
With the most unpleasant task over, I browned and simmered the bird,
boiled rice with herbs, sliced an avocado and set out the table for my
friends. Bursting with Mexican flavor, the chicken was a hit--one friend
who doesn't even usually like chicken complimented me on it. It looks
like this little adventure may need to be repeated.
