In celebration of Raphael’s birth, the family will slaughter and eat seven goats from their herd. On Saturday we were invited to attend the roast. Mmmm Goat.
Everyone at this boma calls me mama Raphael. I feel almost embarrassed by this, but honored as well. I love the welcoming feeling of home I find here. Ester's bed has become my new favorite hang out. It is a small frame of sticks and wood covered in dried goat skins on which she sleeps. Her and Raphael spend their days in this small room and will remain here over the next few months. When I visit, the three of us lay together, quiet with a lack of common language, but content and happy. After spending an hour with the two, I am summoned by Esther’s mother-in-law, my new Maasai mother. She brings me to her kitchen where she is preparing goat intestine soup. She wants to teach me the tricks of the trade. We work together emptying the intestines of the… poop… so that it will be good to eat. Nothing goes to waste. Every bit of the goat is cooked and used for something. Though I have a bit of trouble stifling my gag reflex when it comes to the intestine, I admire this. I think I like goat.
Goat heart. Surprisingly tasty.
Goat leg. tastes exactly like I imagine it would if I were to lick a goat.
Goat intestine soup. Not surprisingly, really disgusting.
 |
| My sweet mama cooking up a feast |
 |
| Goat Intestines Soup |
 |
 |
| the girls grinding wheat |
 |
| Raphael's Grandfather |
No comments:
Post a Comment