early afternoon sacrifice

6-16
Today….

Waking up this morning, and heading off to mass, I don’t think I ever had the intention of later seeing a chickens throat slit and dripped all on my behalf towards the protector of this land. Benjamin, one of the guards at the catholic guest house, had offered to show me some interesting things today if I wanted to, as he had the day off. He seemed like a pleasant guy and while I figured I would have to give him money, he didn’t need to share with me some byline of friendship lasting while money leaves, as a segue for cheating me out of some money later on. The two that have been running across peoples lips lately have been “l’argent parte, mais l’amitie dure” and the other is “il mange pour aujourdhui, mais il ne mange pas pour demain.” Everyone needs to make a buck, and I certainly have been meeting quite a few people who are trying to make it off of me. If it is a mutually beneficial relationship, not a problem. If it is like this very nice guide who asked me for upwards thirty dollars for two hours, it doesn’t work.

Anyways, I went to the museum in the morning and told the other guards to let ben know where I was located. When ben arrived, we had to make our way back to the hotel, because I was wearing a red shirt. This is forbidden in the vicinity. The worker cleaning the room next door asked if I was going to have a sacrifice made so I could become president of the USA. I told him, I would far prefer a less stressful job like being ambassador. It did plant the seed in my mind of seeing this interesting cultural act. Just one minute away from the house, I asked ben to turn around so I could grab my camcorder. We set off then for his house, where we picked up so local beer. I also met his sister, who greeted me by calling me her husband, as her brother promised to bring home a white for her to marry. She was cute and I didn’t object to that, but told her, I couldn’t marry a woman who was already married (she was carrying a child on her back). We picked up the local beer, and headed off. The road was rough going on our little moto, but it was nice getting out of the city and into the landscape. As we arrived closer, we were stopped by a farmer. He was wearing a tattered shirt and pants that were rolled up to his shins. He also had flip flops on. Salif looked like he could have been 32 yrs old. We sat discussing for a long time what would happen next. He said that he had a chicken which could be sacrificed for us for 750 cfa. It was the filming that would be the issue. I had wanted to film in the first place because I thought I could film the sacrifice. What better way to remember Africa, eh? I made the mistake of offering quite a paltry contribution of 500 cfa to begin with, which put me out of the runnings for even making a discussion. I would have been better off to have had said something more reasonable like 3000 cfa. He finally settled on 10000 cfa, a considerable sum out here.

We set off, with him holding a young chicken in his hand. The landscape was beautiful. We had arrived at the top of a hill and were making our way down. There were stone chimneys dotting the land from former volcanic activity, and we passed numerous people returning from their own sacrifices. It was a problem at first that I was only coming with a chicken, for typically the first visit necessitates the sacrifice of a sheep. That would have been a little too much for me anyways, and I would have simply enjoyed seeing the fish. After about 20 minutes of walking, we finally started descending into a gully. The vegetation grew up around us and it became much darker. We entered a flat spread out area, that was bordered at the far end with a stream. There were men sitting across the far end in a line, and there was chicken feathers plucked and strewn about the ground and a small fire was in the middle for cooking the sacrifice.
This was a place of death.
Looking to my left, I could see that two trees that were covered with the skins of sheep who had been sacrificed here.
I was told to take of my shoes, and we waited there while salif found a calabash and began sharing the homebrew beer with a few in the crowd. I was then invited to come out for the sacrifice. We greeted each of the older men along the way, and I tried to be as amiable as possible, so as to be sure that should any toes be stepped on, I would at least look like an ignorant tourist and not an disrespectful one.
We approached near the water and were led over to the far canyon wall. All the sudden flies filled the air, as we approached the altar of sacrifice. The altar was set on the wall and by all means, but for the flies, the feathers and the dried bood, it could have just been a normal outcropping of the rock. There were bending tree trunks growing out of the ground, and I stepped on these to get to the place of sacrifice so as to avoid touching anything wet. It could afterall, be blood, and with open blisters on my feet, I wasn not interested in exposing them to the blood of dead animals. The altar itself was covered in feathers, and flies surrounded the whole thing. Not one flew towards me. They were feasting.
As we approached the altar, salif explained that it is here where I speak. Benjamin said that it is at this point that I ask for anything that I want, whether it be work or money or a wife. It would seem this sacrifice really was there for the most individual of needs. I asked whether I should say it in English or French, and they said it didn’t matter. Following my own little rant, which was more like a prayer than anything else (as you can understand I was a little weirded out by the whole thing and my involvement in it), Salif turned towards the wall, prayed in the local language with another man standing there who also poured milk over the altar, and salif took the knife and cut the throat of the chicken, dripping its blood across the altar. It was squawking still until he cut what seemed to be its voicebox. He plucked a handful of feathers off of it and strewed it also across the altar. He then tossed the chicken down to the ground and we looked at it. It fell and then throbbed onto its back. Salif told Ben, who translated for me, that this is a good sign that means that all that I asked for will happen, and I will live for a long time.
At this point, I am wondering what the heck I was thinking coming out here…
We then took the chicken and crossed back across the group of older men and down into the gulch were there is the sacred pools. These sacred pools are filled with giant cat fish. It was only at this point that I was allowed to bring out my camera and record. These fish were quite large, as one might understand since they are fed meat and milk almost every day. Salif further cleaned the chicken, yanking out its entrails and inner organs. He took the entrails and dangled them before the fish, who rose out of the water to eat them.

Overall, I must admit that I was shocked into inaction by the whole event. My own superstitious and catholic guilt ridden mind played tricks on me later through the day as I rested back in the room. Was what I just did a sin? Was it simply improper. These thoughts did not plague me so, but as I began to feel sick once more later that day, I did begin to wonder.

It is amazing to think of how mechanically the whole act was done. I shouldn’t be surprised, however, for killing a chicken is an everyday affair here. It is no more bizarre than peeling potatoes or boiling water at home. The prayers of the sacrifice, said in local tongue were beyond my comprehension, and ben was reluctant to explain in full as we went along. I guess one thing I can take away from the experience is a continued sense of confoundment of this whole African religious affair. I can see why a church could take the easier path of condemnation rather than exploration.