Humor The Feast

Imagine that you grew up in that sort of trusting farm village where you could just leave anything around without anyone nicking them and in return you were feasted with an old Friesian cow come every festive season.
That’s how Jacaranda farm’s Fasto rewarded his employees and their spouses and who,in their naivety, vehemently looked forward to this time,the only time of the year that feasting had been about as merry as it ever managed to be.
It was Isidoro,the farm manager’s duty to kill the cow with an air gun while Kimuri,who inseminated and attended to every sick cow as the farm’s “veterinarian”,was charged with the duty of overseeing the skinning and chopping up the meat so that every family got a chunk each the size of roughly two kilogrammes of meat.
The choicest cuts like the liver,the heart,tongue and kidneys were his besides his other share which was way twice bigger than what other people carried home.
As usual all the children would turn up to celebrate this rare happening,each with an aluminium bowl.Meanwhile,Kimuri would have a colleague fry for them blood,tripe and lungs in a half drum while ugali was prepared in yet another.
Still on another fire some meat for Kimuri and another two who helped him skin the cow sizzled on green wattle twigs.After about two hours of cooking the children would be asked to queue and after being served they would sit on the grass.
The very fast eaters would devour the cooked blood greedily,sop up the left over soup from their bowls with hunks of ugali and then lick their fingers.
Others would chew on the tripe and lungs balefully and gulp the pieces down,some with their eyes bulging out as they did so.The slowest,though,demolished their food with grim determination, crumbs of ugali clinging to their lips.
Almost at the same time Kimuri would make a prolonged deep belch,mop ineptly at his greasy mouth and by using a thin twig he would leisurely pick his teeth.
Meat was that rare at Jacaranda. Fatso’s instructions were that any cow that died of sickness had to be buried or burned. But Kimuri knew better and such carcasses would end up in the villagers’ stomachs. If his cat which he so named “doctor” tested the meat by eating a small piece the meat was deemed fit for human consumption.
I recall two incidences vividly. In one a naughty boy had bashed the cat with a big stone on its head moments after it had “tested” the meat and which had by then been shared amongst the villagers.The cat retched up the meat, convulsed and foamed at the mouth. After jerking and kicking its legs in the air it died,its poor legs stretched out stiff in the attitude of running from death.
The news of its death sent panic and anxiety through the village,the villagers themselves waiting for the worst just before someone explained the cause of the cat’s death.
In the second incident, there was something horribly wrong with the meat.Everyone was sick.Their stomachs were woozy and felt like they were fermenting. They lurched and churned, making weird noises.
People’s backsides cloaked like frogs and in the evening everybody started flouncing off to the only toilet in the village,lining up behind one another and scratching their stomachs with languorous, long fingered movements.
Some doubled over to vomit until there was nothing left to bring up the yellow bile-like stuff.Those that were lucky enough to reach the toilet and who swaddled themselves around their waists with old bath towels didn’t poo straight in the hole.Rather, they kind of sprayed.