The First Time I Killed A Chicken, I Had a Dream About It - Part 1

Nico is an expressive person. And he never fails to show it, especially when he is around people who share the same vibe as him. So, the day he saw a goat slaughtered for the very first time he just couldn't hold his tongue. I wasn't there, but it happened in my compound.

Okay... I was in the house. But Nico's expression as he described the way the butcher carefully placed the sharp knife on the goat's neck that immediately sent thick bright red liquid gushing out was quite funny. It made me remember the first time I killed a chicken.

It wasn't Christmas, and there were no celebrations. My mum just wanted to change her diet from frozen meat to fresh meat. And this unfortunate chicken was the culprit. If it was when we had chickens in the compound I would have had to wait till nightfall when the chicken was in its cage resting from the day's struggles. Mum and I would need to tread lightly to not startle the sleeping future meal. Most times it ended in a chase.

This time was different, Mum bought the chicken. And this chicken was the most ridiculous one I have ever seen. Covered in white feathers except for its belly. Its feet were fat and did not look like that which belonged to this fellow's species of birds. The difference between the neck and the rest of its body was not evident. And this chicken could not run to save its life, because of its weight. 

If I were my friend, Queen, I would probably want to keep the chicken as a pet. Thankfully, I am nothing like Queen. But, mum decided to keep the chicken inside the house! INSIDE THE HOUSE!

The next day after the chicken moved in, I was at the dining table when Mum asked if I could slaughter a chicken. Now, if I had simply replied in the negative that would have been the end of it, but NO! Na man I be. So I told her yes, what is a chicken? ordinary chicken? Please, I am a serial chicken killer.

Did I say anything about the weight? This chicken weighed about 7kg (15lbs). But my pessimist self thought it was just fat which the dairy farmer had made the unfortunate ave eat with its chicken feed. How wrong was I?

When the evening of slaughter came, my mum called me up from my room indirectly telling me it was time to show what I was made of. To an ordinary chicken. PLEASE! But when I grabbed the wings of the animal, yes animal, it felt like I was holding something almost human. The speed at which I dropped the bird made Mum burst into laughter that rang throughout the house.

"Is this how I will disgrace my ancestors?" I thought. If I don't do this my grandchildren will not hear the end of it because my mum will tell my wife who will, in turn, tell my kids who will then tell their kids. "Naaa, I'm overthinking this. it's just a chicken," still in my thoughts.

I like making my mum smile and making her laugh hard tops it. But not to my detriment and not like this, please. I managed to grab the chicken again and took it out. This time I must be a man.

Outside, I placed the chicken on the ground while Mum dug the point where the blood would go. She then showed me how to hold the chicken's head in a way that makes it easier to find the neck. Oh boy!

The moment of truth had arrived. But the way the chicken breathed and moved made me realise there was a life in my hand and I was about to put an end to it. I let go again. Mum burst into laughter, again. And I joined her in laughing at myself.

I had two options at this point, tell mum I couldn't do it or actually kill the chicken. I could have avoided this by simply admitting that I couldn't take the life of the chicken. This was the chicken that shared the roof of the house with us. One I had to realign whenever it turned on its side and couldn't get up because of its weight. One I had fed many times. I had a decision to make.

Continue here...