MAFIA ISLAND, TANZANIA- Four months into my contract I examined myself and found that my current state of mental stability was at an all-time low. I was living in the middle of nowhere. I was surrounded by a culture which was completely foreign to me, a language which I didn't speak, and a religion that I didn't understand. I was in need of a visit from The Voice Of Reason. I needed for someone to help me rationalize this place. Someone to tell me that I am not completely fucking crazy and that everything around me is. And even if it is me that has gone completely sideways I need to convince The Voice Of Reason that it is the island.
Jon, whom you have read about in the Jon Is Discreet blog, has purchased a ticket and will be on the island for about two weeks. I was enthused to say the least to get this news. It will be my first visitor from home in three years of contractual chef work in some pretty remote places.
So I am now put to the task of entertaining Jon and making his safari a memorable one. It is imperative that he has a vast array of stories to return home with with regards to life on the Swahili Coast. I send a message over to the Maasai who are selling trinkets, beef, paintings, carvings, marijuana, clothing, lion poison (story to come), and beadwork up the beach from me. I need them to come sing, dance, and jump around for a formal welcome. I also need them to find me a goat. Cause it wouldn't be a proper welcome if we didn't slaughter a goat.
Jon arrives with all sorts of goodies that I bought online and shipped to him. Cigars. Photo gear. Cookbooks. My new goat killin' knife. Clothes. Sandals. Multi-tools. Water purifier. Sunglasses. And eight million other oddities that I bought in a drunken haze the week before his departure. The fiesta is on.
I told him that I ordered a goat and that it should arrive by boat on the resort's beach. We have to keep an eye out because we don't want the guests seeing where their meat comes from and if it is left up to the Africans to sort out then surely it will be paraded through the dining room at high-noon. Jon is a bit excited about the goat and I offer him the honours which he gladly accepts.
The next day our goat arrives at the back gate. Don't ask how the goat got from the beach to the back gate. These things just happen. And after a while you learn that it is better off not to ask. Unless of course you have tossed back a few bottles of Tusker and you want to listen to something humourous.
Jon is pumped about taking down the goat. I bring out one of the Muslims from the kitchen so he can show Jon the correct way to kill a goat according to the Koran. I learned early on that the staff won't eat the meat if it is not done in this tradition. I killed a goat in the beginning of the season and didn't face it in the right direction so the meat was deemed unclean and nobody wanted to taste it before it went out into the dining room. So my goat killin' days are over and I have been relegated to training.
Salim, my Muslim assistant, gets the goat situated for Jon and then gives him the instructions and the knife. Jon whispers in the animals ear. Chants his pre-rehearsed Muslim lines. And at first, Jon starts running the knife against the neck in delicate slits. I abrubtly interrupt and say something like "Jon, you need to vigrously saw the fuck out of that with a lot more of a viscious frenzy". It works. Jon digs in and the goat dies a quick, all be it loud, death.
Afterwards I ask Jon what he thought of the experience. "It was not anything like I thought it would be, but I am glad I did it." I tell Jon, "you have just earned your right to eat goat. So, let's go gut it."
Jon skins and guts the goat and then we hang the goat in an air conditioned room overnight and retire from the carnage. I introduce Jon to Konyagi dawas, Tanzania's equivalent to a gin and tonic.
The next day I show Jon how to make East African curry and we recruit the rest of the staff to help with the preparation of the goat. A few hours later and we have a crowd of Swahili staff gathered around giant bowl of ugali (Swahili polenta) and curried goat. Jon has the balls to try the mchuzi, a Swahili stew made with all the innards and near gags. The rest goes down smooth and the carcass is reduced to bones.
My mission is accomplished and Jon now has the first of many crazy tales to trumpet on his return.
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