The Life and Death of Po-Po: A Goat's Story

WARNING: This is a sensitive topic and the images in this entry are graphic at times. Please be aware as you read ahead and do try to read the entry in its entirety.

Most of you know that when in the U.S., I am a strict vegetarian, very strong in my beliefs and set in my ways. As I have mentioned in a previous entry, I have abandoned my vegetarian ways while living in Niger because I came to recognize that the process of raising, slaughtering, and consuming of meat in Niger is nothing like the meat industry in the U.S. – an industry that disgusts and appalls me.

To give a little background as to why I feel the way I do, I’ll give a very brief history of the practices of the meat industry (focusing on beef cattle) and contrast it with the process typical to Niger. Cattle are what is known as ruminants. They are one of very few animals that are capable of breaking down grasses and turning them into nutrients. They have evolved as grazers and serve a very important role in the sustainability of grasslands. That being said, cattle are not meant to eat anything other than grasses. Their digestive system was built to break down grasses and it serves them well. In the States, beef cattle are kept on crowded, filthy farms and they are fed corn as it has been proved to bring cattle to slaughter weight significantly faster than grazing. Not to mention, corn is so widely produced in the U.S. that it is cheaper to feed the cattle corn than grass. Because cattle are not designed to break down corn, they are prone to illness and are pumped full of antibiotics on a daily basis. In short, the piece of meat that makes it to your dinner table is dirty, as it often finds its way past USDA inspections, and ridden with antibiotics. Not only does the meat industry mistreat the animals and muddle with an evolutionary path, they are extremely wasteful in their practices.

Niger essentially conducts itself in a completely opposite manner. That’s not to say that their methods are perfect; there are still sickly and underfed animals in Niger, but the process here is much more natural and small-scale. Each Nigerien family, finances permitting, often has 2-3 sheep or goats that they raise and breed. Their animals are either taken out to graze in the fields or are fed grasses and grains at the home. They are not pumped full of hormones or antibiotics and while they are kept in confinement, they are given the space to move and are not forced to sleep in multiple layers of their own excrement. The animals are valuable to the families, serving as both food or profit if sold.

Because I carry the beliefs I do, I have always thought it necessary for me to truly experience the process of slaughtering, preparing, and eating an animal. As Niger is a Muslim country, I am not able to actually have a hand in the slaughter of an animal because the religion states that only a Muslim man is to take part in the slaughter of animals. However, given the opportunity, I took part in and documented the slaughter of a friend’s goat for her going-away party as she completed her service in Niger. The experience was difficult and left me trembling and in tears, but I learned a lot both about the process and about myself. The slaughtering of animals is never a pleasant experience, but I truly believe that the process here in Niger is one that is natural and respectable.

In the next portion of this entry, I will share with you both in writing and through images, the process of slaughtering, preparing, and eating a goat in Niger. As I mentioned at the opening of this entry, the images can be somewhat graphic at times. I have tried to use this opportunity not only as a learning experience, but as an opportunity to explore some of my creativity in writing and in photography. It is my hope that this portion not only serves as a cross-cultural learning opportunity for my readers, but as an exhibition of art. As you read ahead, I ask that you keep those things in mind and look at this as a chance to learn more about Niger and Muslim culture.

Meet Po-Po, a three-year-old male goat. He was purchased in early 2008 with the intention of fattening him up to be slaughtered in celebration of the closing of a fellow volunteer's service. Until his death, Po-Po lived a wonderful life. He had friends, was well-fed, and given plenty of space to move about and stretch his limbs. He was never given any medications and he lived out his days in the warmth of the sun.

Islam strictly states that an animal to be slaughtered must be done so in the name of God by a Muslim man. Therefore, prior to killing the animal, a prayer and blessing are given. It is also stated that if multiple animals are to be killed, no animal should ever see the killing of a fellow animal. In my opinion, this practice creates a human-animal connection and promotes a true appreciation for the sacrifice of the animal and its ability to meet many daily human needs.

This is in contrast to the Concentrated Animal Feeding Operations (CAFOs) common in the United States. These CAFOs hold large numbers of animals, often inside and at high concentrations, with the goal of producing as much meat as possible at the lowest possible cost. These animals are placed on conveyor belts at slaughter time and are moved through the process in rapid succession. Mistakes are often made, animals suffer as a result, and there is little accountability among CAFO empoyees.

Animals in Niger are killed by slicing the throat and allowing the blood to drain from the animal. While the process is not necessarily quick, it is done in such a way so as not to cause the animal any distress. In watching the slaughter of Po-Po and subsequent killings for Tabaski, the Muslim holiday that follows the end of Ramadan, it was clear to me that the animal was calm prior to its death and there was very little struggle on the part of the animal. There were no cries of protest from the animals, nor did they fight the men keeping them still. While the animals undoubtedly felt some pain, a fact unavoidable in the killing of animals, they were not distressed or combative which allows for an easier passing.

Once the animal is clearly dead, the men begin to skin the animal. This is done by first cutting into the skin at the base of one hind leg and separating the skin from the flesh and bone. The men then begin to blow into the hole, which pushes air between the skin and flesh throughout the animals body (picture this as a giant animal balloon). They then remove the animals genitallia and discard it as it is considered dirty. The skin is then cut away from the body and set aside for other uses.

The process used in the slaughter and preparation of animals in Nigerien culture encourages that people be held accountable for their actions and does not allow people to use the "out of sight, out of mind" thinking to justify the practices of its people - a state of mind widely accepted in the United States.

After skinning the animal, it is then gutted. The skinning and gutting of the animal is not bloody or disgusting as the method they use to slaughter the animal allows the blood to fully drain before proceeding. The entrails are set aside to be washed, diced, and placed onto skewers to be cooked at a later time. The head and hooves are also set aside to be cooked the following day in a goat head stew. The carcass is then laid flat and two five-foot-long sticks are pierced through the skin in the shape of an X (see below).

A spit of sorts is constructed and the carcass is propped up against it. A fire is then lit about four feet away from the meat. The meat is slow cooked for about six hours and I can't even begin to tell you just how tender and tastey it turns out. Many of the following pictures document the cooking process and some I took in an attempt to create art out of an unfortunate situation.

The following day, Po-Po's head and feet were boiled and then placed ina sauce to be served over pounded millet. I made it a point to participate in every aspect of Po-Po's slaughter and wanted to experience all that he had to give to the community. That being said, I ate some of Po-Po's brain, tongue, and other mystery parts. I didn't enjoy it one bit, but I do have an appreciation for the fact that not a single part of Po-Po's body was wasted. Every piece of his body had a specific use and there was absolutely no waste in this process.

I write this entry not because I wish for everyone to become vegetarians. On the contrary, I simply hope to open people’s minds to other ways of doing things and to inspire people to think more about what they eat and the systems they support in their consumerism. I am not against the eating of meat; what I am against is the maltreatment of animals and the diversion away from the human-animal connection. Challenging the meat industry in the U.S. is my way of standing up for what I believe in. I do not expect everyone to feel the same way as me. I challenge you to find what it is you stand for and start taking action to insight change – whether it be the welfare system, the lack of programs for the homeless in San Francisco, or the rights of people with developmental disabilities. Whatever it is that you believe strongly in, I hope that this entry inspires you to think about it and how you might start to aid in that cause.

Suggested Reading: If you are at all interested in finding out more about the food we eat in America, I strongly suggest reading The Omnivore’s Dilemma, by Michael Pollan, if you haven’t already. It will begin to give you insight into what it is that makes it onto your dinnertable in the evening and into your digestive system without being judgmental or invasive. I found it to be a great introduction to the world of food and how it is used and misused in the U.S. And, as an added plug, it was written by an author from Berkeley, California – shout out to Cali!

6 Down...20 To Go!

Where Does the Time Go?: As of today, January 10, 2009, I have been living in Niger for six months. This is not only the longest I have ever been away from home, it is the longest I have ever gone without being able to see and touch the people I love. These sixth months have presented me with challenges that I never thought I could possibly face and while this has been one of the most difficult experiences in my life, it has undoubtedly made me a stronger, wiser, and more compassionate person. For that, I am truly grateful and will continue to fight through the homesickness, language frustrations, and cultural struggles in order to successfully finish my service in Niger.

In the past two months, I have been to visit friends in their villages, had some time to let loose a bit in the capitol, and have developed a much stronger bond with my community. Much like the rest of my time in Niger, I have been riding the emotional rollercoaster for the last couple months, and let’s just say, it’s a good thing I like rollercoasters. I have been hit with some intense bouts of homesickness and had to turn to friends for support – the friend I chose at the peak of my emotional rollercoaster ride doesn’t quite know what to do with crying people, so we were a pretty comical pair. But, without her support and willingness to just let me cry, I would probably be back in California searching for jobs that just don’t exist right now (Thanks T-Dub!).

I continue to face daily struggles, but with each passing day, I grow a little bit stronger and a little better equipped to face these challenges head on. As of today, there are only 20 months left of my service in Niger…

My “Piece” of Mind: Writing this blog has been one of the most rewarding and beneficial elements of my service in Niger thus far. Not only is this blog a means for me to accomplish one of the three primary goals of Peace Corps – helping promote a better understanding of Nigerien culture on the part of Americans – it is a way for me to clear my mind and express myself.

There are things about living in Niger that are so very different from life in America that it is often hard for others to even fathom what it is that I am experiencing. I am often only able to turn to my fellow volunteers, the people who are living and experiencing the same things as me, for support as they are the only people who will understand what I am dealing with and won’t look at me as if I am crazy. It is through this blog that I hope to share some of these differences in the hopes that my friends and family will have a better understanding of the daily challenges I face.

I also want this blog to serve as a medium for me to reach more than just my circle of friends and family. I have heard from many people that they have shared my blog with their circles friends and family and I couldn’t ask for anything better than that. There are people that I have never been acquainted with who follow my blog and sometimes it’s hard for me to believe that I have the opportunity to reach so many people through the simple act of posting my writing to this page.

While writing this blog every chance I get is a part of my work here in Niger, it has also provided me with an outlet for my thoughts, pains, and struggles. I take great joy and pride in writing these entries and feel a sense of relief at knowing that the people I look to for support in the States have a little bit better understanding of my experiences. Writing has become a sort of therapy for me and has opened a window to a kind of creativity that I have never tapped into before.

So, thank you for continuing to read my blog and please continue to share it with your family, friends, co-workers, etc.

“To whom much is given, much is expected”: With a great deal of time for thought and reflection, I have found myself thinking a lot about the American culture of giving, or the lack thereof. Here in Niger, as it is largely a Muslim country, people are very giving. If a struggling family with little money cooks a meal that will barely feed their own children and you show up to the house at dinnertime, they will gladly feed you despite the fact that they may go hungry themselves. This kind of generosity is not shown only to me being that I am American. In Niger, this kind of generosity is shown to all people regardless of their color, religion, socioeconomic status, etc.

One afternoon in my village, I read a newsletter from the organization that I used to work for in San Francisco. There was a piece on a woman who volunteers for the organization in which she offered insight into the reasons behind her desire to volunteer with adults with developmental disabilities. She mentioned having heard the quote, “To whom much is given, much is expected,” and how much it resonated with her.

After reading the piece, I found that I was also very struck by this quote. I began to think about the life that I have been blessed with and the opportunities available to me. I am one to whom much has been given and I do believe that as a person who has been lucky enough to lead such a privileged life, I am obligated to give back to those who were not dealt the same hand as me.

I am trying to apply this way of thinking to all that I do here in Niger. I am trying to be a more giving person – I want to adopt the Nigerien idea that when you give to another, something positive will eventually come back to you. I want to be less concerned with how my giving something away will affect me, but how it is going to improve the life of those who are on the receiving end. I find that when I am asked for money, I immediately think about the fact that if I give my money away, I won’t have it anymore and I think of all the things I can no longer buy with that money. When asked for something I own, I deny the request as if what I have is irreplaceable or absolutely necessary to my survival, when the truth is whatever they have asked for is available in abundance in the U.S.

I am trying to consciously change my thought patterns so that I am no longer concerned with what I will or will not be able to purchase with that money (and undoubtedly, what I would want to buy is nothing that I absolutely need). I truly have all that I need, especially in the material sense, and I know that I have the ability to help those who are in need and don’t have access to all of the things that they need to survive. I hope that in these next two years, this way of thinking becomes second nature and no longer requires an extra thought from me. If I can achieve this, then I believe I can bring the giving spirit of Niger home to America and perhaps it will lead others through example to the benefits of giving even in times of hardship.

“Ay man faham.” – Language Barriers: Learning two new languages, switching between the two (sometimes within the same conversation), trying desperately to understand what’s being said to me, and trying to make myself understood is a daily struggle for me. It gets easier with every passing day as I get more and more comfortable with both French and Zarma, but there have definitely been moments full of miscommunication.

One afternoon during my first month at post, I went to the main road to search out some street food for a snack. I went to my favorite Solani (yogurt in a bag) guy and bought a couple bags of Solani. As I was walking back to my house, a group of men starting calling out to me. I heard them yelling “wundiya” (Zarma word for young woman), Madame, and making the “Pssst” noise that is perfectly acceptable in Niger when you wish to get a person’s attention. I thought that this group of men was just trying to get my attention because they wanted to talk to the Annasara (Zarma word for stranger/white person) and I was not interested in dealing with all of the marriage proposals that were inevitable in this situation. That being said, I ignored the men and kept walking. Of the few words that I could actually understand, I heard them saying Solani amidst the rapid flow of Zarma coming from these men. At this point, I thought without a doubt that they were just interested in harassing me and wanted nothing more than for me to give them the Solanis I was carrying. I continued walking with my head held high and walked with a purpose, determined not to let these men get to me. They continued to yell to me until I was out of ear shot. I was irritated and wished that I had the language to tell them that they were disrespectful and should be ashamed of themselves.

I was nearing the end of my walk back to my house when I looked down at the bag I was carrying with my Solanis in it. I noticed that I didn’t have a good hold on the bag and my Solanis were dangling precariously from the bag, about to fall to the ground. I realized in that moment that the group of men was not yelling at me to harass me and ask for my Solanis, they were calling out to me to tell me that I was about to lose my Solanis. I instantly felt horrible and recognized that I was too quick to assume the worst in this group of men.

When you’re in a new culture, learning a new language, and trying desperately to figure out how to integrate, these things are bound to happen. I definitely learned that even though I stick out like a sore thumb here and everyone is interested in me, that everyone is not out to get me. In fact, here in Niger, it is quite the opposite. The people of Niger are so welcoming and understand how important it is to treat their guests with warmth and kindness. Another lesson learned…

Le Lézard et le Savon: As you all may know, I have the luxury of an indoor bucket bath area in my house. It was painted dark blue by the previous volunteer and provides a great haven for those unsavory creatures that abhor the light and wish to torment me with their presence. Among the menagerie of insects that wish to call my “bathroom” their home exists one pleasant inhabitant: a gecko. He is about four inches from nose to the tip of his tail, his coloring is a mixture of neon greens and pinks, and I have named him Jack.

I enjoy having this little guy around – he’s cute, tiny, and he helps in my quest to control the insects in my house. Although I do love Jack, he has one slightly irritating habit – he has an affinity for soap and habitually expresses his love for soap at four in the morning.

The previous volunteer left behind a small blue soap dish and two pieces of old, petrified, Nigerien soap. I have neglected to dispose of this soap as a direct result of laziness and no real need to get rid of it. I first learned of Jack’s love of soap one morning when I happened to be awake at 4am because I was making frequent trips to the latrine due to a case of food poisoning. I had just laid down after an episode of flushing out whatever toxins had found their way into my system and began to hear the sound of something banging around in my bathroom for about five minutes. I was a little unsettled by the noise and unsure of its cause, but too sick to care that much.

The next morning, after recovering from the food poisoning, I decided to see if I could find out what had taken place in the bathroom the night before. I wasn’t entirely sure I would like what I was going to find, so I made sure to arm myself with a flip-flop before entering the bathroom. I flipped the light switch on and walked into the bathroom, arm cocked with flip-flop in hand poised for the kill. Luckily, there were no unsavory creatures to speak of and I was able to relax and survey the scene. I looked around and didn’t see anything out of the ordinary right off the bat, but then I noticed that a piece of petrified soap was missing from the soap dish. I glanced around the bath area and found the missing piece of soap lying next to the drain hole of my bath area. I immediately connected all of the dots and realized that it must have been Jack who had made all of the racket the night before.

I left for the capitol that day, so I wasn’t able to figure out if it was truly Jack that had been playing with the soap. However, when I returned to my village, my suspicions were confirmed when I was awoken again (on multiple occasions) in the early morning by the same silly behavior and came to find the soap in new location the following day.

Jack is an excellent addition to my home, but I can’t help but wish, especially at four in the morning, that he preferred my soft, noiseless loofa to soap. Then perhaps I could at least sleep soundly until the first call to prayer at five in the morning. But, if soap keeps Jack around, I suppose I can learn to live with it.

Hincinizey (Baby Goats) – My Babies:

John Henry: He was the first-born, a strapping young man with his white fur speckled in tiny brown spots just like his mother. He was obviously eager to greet the world as it only took about ten minutes for him to make his entrance. He learned to stand and walk within an hour of his birth and had a very healthy appetite.

Now, nearly 3 ½ months later, John Henry is growing fast – his belly widening with every passing day. Although he was the first born, and the larger of the two born that evening, he is a timid fellow and doesn’t like to venture too far from his mother’s side. In all honesty, he’s a “Mama’s Boy.” Even though he is too weary to really explore his curiosities, I love him dearly and hope that with age and maturity, he gains the bravado to leave his mother’s side and make his own way.

John Henry is center and that's his mama to the right.

Eating...as usual.

He's a bit camera shy.

Just hangin' out.

Jacco: As the second-born, he was significantly smaller than his big brother and had his work cut out for him. He was wide-eyed and curious from the start, but he simply couldn’t get his legs to cooperate and couldn’t get moving as quickly as he obviously hoped to. Eventually, he found his legs, and just like John Henry, he had a very healthy appetite.

He was my favorite from the moment he entered this world. He is solid brown with a small white blaze on his head. He looks nothing like his mother or brother, so I can only assume he got his father’s good looks. During his first few weeks of life, I would pick him up and pet him and he would often tuck his head between my shoulder and my neck and fall asleep. Unfortunately, I learned the hard way that one should not cuddle with baby goats – they give you rashes and ringworm. As my mother always told me, “Look with your eyes, not with your hands.” It’s taken 26 years, but I think I may have learned my lesson. However, he still comes to me for scratches from time to time and of course, I oblige.

In his fourth month of life, Jacco has grown into a strapping young lad. He is now equal in size to his brother and has got quite the belly these days. He remains curious and slightly mischievous – often encouraged by the third baby of the family whom I will introduce momentarily. If I had 100 CFA for every time I show up to my friend’s house to hear that my goats had eaten all of the food, I would be a wealthy woman.

This picture makes him look so big, but he's just a little guy.

He loves banana chips...and anything else edible for that matter.

I think he looks so regal in this photo. My handsome little guy!

Bella: The lone girl in the bunch, Bella was born to my friend’s other female goat. She was born two weeks following John Henry and Jacco and was born an only child. As an only child, Bella was able to develop into a sizable young lady and despite being born two weeks later, was the same size as John Henry and Jacco. Even though she is not related to John Henry and Jacco, she is a perfect mix of the two – a patchy brown and white beauty.

Bella holds a special place in my heart. She is no princess, in fact the best way to describe her is as a troublemaker. From day one, she has been an independent and brave little lady. She is definitely the most daring of the three and certainly leads the pack in mischievous behavior. She pushes the boundaries on everything and the boys can often be found following in her step. She is a leader by nature and continually makes her own way in this world.

That's the "I swear it wasn't me!" face.

I have her attention now, but give her two minutes and she'll be into something else.

She's a sweet little lady.

Jacco and Bella snacking together.

Shout Outs: I have to give this shout out to my bro! He has let me vent, even when I am simply overreacting to something trivial. He has picked me up in those moments when I feel so low that I can’t see even the slightest glimmer of a silver lining. He has encouraged me every step of the way through this adventure. And, he has reminded me on many occasions just how lucky I am to be here and how so many people would love to be in my place. Thank you Christopher – without you, I could never do this.