The Execution

On Sunday I saw a woman kill a chicken. She cut its head off. Depending on how you look at it I was either in the right place at the right time or the wrong place at the wrong time. Regardless, it all started with Mr. T. Yes, the guy with the mohawk. 

Last week I found out that our friend Gift is a huge fan of Mr. T.  Gift was born in 1980 in Zimbabwe. He grew up in a poor family and he and his siblings did not have a TV in their home. According to Gift, there were only two homes in the neighborhood that had televisions and those were small black and white sets, not the huge furniture-like TVs that many of us remember from the 80's in America. Somehow, Gift, his siblings and the other kids in the neighborhood became fans of the show the A-Team starring Mr. T. In Zimbabwe, the show aired on Saturday and Gift and the other kids would show up at the home of a TV-owning neighbor in hopes of being allowed to watch the program. The TV-owning neighbor, as you might imagine, was less than thrilled to have tons of kids appearing at his house every week. The neighbor would yell at the kids for tracking dirt into the house but would sometimes relent and let the kids crowd into the doorway of the house and watch the television from there. 

Deny a kid anything and it only becomes more magical and so to this day Gift thinks Mr. T. is "a cool American Black actor." Because Gift hasn't seen many movies and he doesn't own a computer, he was not familiar with Mr. T's full body of dramatic work. He had never seen or heard of Rocky III. I felt that he should see Rocky III, Mr. T's breakout performance, even though Mr. Deep pointed out Mr. T's loses the fight with Rocky at the end which could be a major disappointment. Regardless, Mr. Deep and I invited Gift over for dinner and to watch Rocky III with us. 

Unfortunately, we were not able to successfully download or stream Rocky III (thanks a lot Netflix.) Mr. Deep suggested another movie, DC Cab, but we had the same problem so instead we watched the A-Team movie, which starts Quinton Jackson as B.A., the role made famous by Mr. T. Not a bad substitute. 

But back to the chicken. 

I went to Gift's house at 5:00 to pick him up to bring him to our house for the movie viewing and dinner. When I got there, Isaac, Gift's brother-in-law, had just returned home with a chicken. A live chicken. This situation was like hundreds of others that I've faced since coming to live in South Africa. It is a situation where something is entirely foreign yet entirely relatable all at the same time. 

It is foreign, at least for me, to bring home or have someone bring into my home a live chicken with the intention that we will kill it, prep it, cook it and eat it. What was relatable was that neither Isaac, Gift or Beatrice wanted any part in killing the chicken. I am assuming that each of them have probably killed a chicken at one time or another, but all of them said they were now too scared to do it. They asked me if I wanted to kill the chicken but I declined. Gift's youngest sister, Loice, did not have a problem with it. It seems as though Loice is the designated chicken killer of the family.  As the chicken sat quietly in the doorway of their home, Loice sharpened her knife and created a little hole in the dirt out back so that she could position the chicken properly when she cut it's head off. 

Meanwhile, I knew Mr. Deep was waiting for Gift and me to arrive back at home. He was preparing the mashed potatoes and gearing up for a fun night of A-Team watching. But, for a reason that I can't describe I wanted to watch Loice kill the chicken and so we stayed a bit longer and I watched her do it and I video'd it. I knew Mr. Deep would understand the reason for my delay.

I'm not going to post the video because I know there are a large percentage of you who would freak out. There might even be a few people who have already stopped reading because they can't bear to read about the demise of the chicken. But for those of you who are still with me, let me tell you what it was like. 

First, though the chicken sat relaxed in the doorway for a while, as soon as Loice picked it up, the chicken knew what was up and did not go quietly or without a fight. Second, it did not die right away. There is a reason for the phrase "chicken with it's head cut off." Third, Loice is a total badass. As she killed it, some blood dripped on her feet but she didn't let it bother her. She is a pro.

It's now been over 24 hours since I witnessed the killing. I have not become a vegetarian and I have not stopped eating chicken. In fact, I went to Nando's on Monday and ate some chicken without pause. But watching the chicken get killed did impact me.

First, some might chalk this experience up to hanging around with people who might be characterized as backward or third world. But I would disagree with that. I would argue that killing a chicken you are going to eat is actually more natural then going to the store to buy one. Just because most of us no longer have to kill our own chickens doesn't make it wrong if someone else finds it cheaper, fresher or tastier to do so. Just as we wouldn't think having a garden or going to a farmer's market to get the best and freshest produce is strange we should not be offended by or concerned with a person who chooses to kill his/her own chicken. I calculate that over the course of my life I've eaten chicken a minimum of 5,000 times and the number could be as high as 10,000. So how is it possible given my tremendous amount of chicken consumption that I've never seen a chicken die before? Isn't that a major disconnect? Obviously, I know that chickens and other animals are killed for food and if I see chicken on my plate I know intellectually that it was once alive, but now I really know. 

I have been trying for a while to be more conscious of not letting food go to waste. It seems like it should be easy...just don't buy it or don't order it if you are not going to eat it. However, most of us know it's not easy for those of us who have plenty of food not to waste it on occasion. Now, I really want to re-double my efforts on this and try to consume the food that I purchase so as to not let it go to waste. And if I can't use it, I will give it away. There is no shortage of people here to give it to. Don't worry, I am not going to start making chicken stock from all of my chicken bones or constructing pillows out of chicken feathers. I have not lost my mind.  But if an animal gives its life for us, we, at a minimum, should try not to waste it. And Netflix should do something about their severe lack of Mr. T movie streaming options.

The chicken after the fact.

Don't Go Chasing Waterfalls

If I had to describe our trip to Victoria Falls Zimbabwe in one word that word would be wet. Mr. Deep and I spent most of the trip in a soggy state.  It's a good thing that we had a four poster bed in our hotel room because the posters came in handy as we were constantly hanging up our clothes in an effort to dry them. We got so wet during the weekend that two pieces of electronic equipment became too wet to function. More on that later. 

Looking soggy

The day we arrived we walked to the falls from the hotel. This time of year the falls are very full and the spray was intense.  We were soaked by the time we returned to our hotel. 

The bridge between Zimbabwe and Zambia and water on our camera lens.

The next day, we went whitewater rafting on the Zambezi. Rafting is something that we both enjoy and we returned to the falls in large part to go rafting. Our guide's name was Gordon and in addition to Mr. Deep and me there were four male German tourists in our raft. The safety briefing included information about how to paddle as well as an overview of various commands that our guide would give us as we headed down river. The briefing also included information about what do if we fell out of the raft or if the raft flipped over. It is during safety briefings that one begins to wonder if rafting is a good idea. Fortunately our raft did not tip but we did see another raft flip. 

As rafting is a wet endeavor it is recommended that guests not bring phones or cameras on the trip. One person in our party, whose name rhymes with Kister Bleep did bring his phone because he thought it would be safe wrapped in a zip lock bag. The phone got wet and did not work for the rest of the trip (or ever.) Luckily, the rafting company provided a camera man who videotaped the event and took still photos. Gordon was also wearing a Go-Pro. For $55 Mr. Deep and I walked away with a thumb drive that included photos and a video of our rafting adventure. The next seven photos are courtesy of Shearwater, the company that we used for the rafting and all of our activities throughout the weekend.

Our crew. That's me in the back middle.

Maybe our raft didn't flip but we were submerged!

Mr. Deep is the rare mix between a rule follower who loves to be prepared for any situation and a rebellious teenager. The rebellious teen behaviour is evidenced by some of the still photos that we reviewed days later when we returned to Joburg. You can see that Mr. Deep did not follow instructions when told by Gordon to "get down." Instead, he thought it a good idea to stand up and smile for the camera. In one hundred years it would never occur to me NOT to follow the guide's instructions. Largely because I prefer not to die. I asked Mr. Deep if he did not think it was important to follow the safety commands and he said he did, but that he thought it was more important to get some really funny photos.  

At one point, the raft tipped in such a way that both Mr. Deep and I fell out (the German's remained intact.) I think this was likely the nail in the coffin for the phone as well.  Thankfully it was easy to grab on to rope on the side of the boat and we were pulled out quickly. The German guy who pulled me out said he couldn't wait to go home and tell everyone that he "rescued a woman who fell into the Zambezi."

The next day was Sunday and it was Mr. Deep's turn to try again (and for the last time) to catch a tiger fish.  I was still sleeping when the phone rang early in the morning. It was the fishing guide calling to say that it was raining and did Mr. Deep still want to go out? I assured him that he did and was already in the lobby waiting to go.

Mr. Deep said it was pouring with thunder and lightning when he and his guide left the hotel. Because of the weather at first they could only fish from shore. Eventually the lightning stopped and they were able to go out in the boat. Regardless of being completely drenched Mr. Deep had great success!

The guide was so excited about Mr. Deep's catch that on the way back to town they stopped to show the fish to the guide's brother and also to his boss. Mr. Deep gave the fish to the guide. 

Sunday afternoon the weather cleared up but Mr. Deep and I still found a way to get soaking wet while simultaneously pondering the fact that we might be insane. We swam (or more accurately sat) in Angel's Pool which is situated on the edge of Victoria Falls. And by pool I don't mean a relaxing swimming pool near the falls. I mean a pool of water that forms right before it cascades with massive force over the giant cliff that is Vic Falls. 

The rain made the water in the falls even stronger and higher than it had been the day before. If you're familiar with the falls you might wonder why we didn't swim in Devil's Pool which is the pool where this activity of risking your life normally takes place. It's because the water was too high and Devil's Pool was closed. 

For this adventure we had to cross the border from Zim into Zam. We had one driver take us to the border. Then, another driver met us, got our passports stamped and drove us across the bridge (same bridge as in the photo above) to Zam. We were then taken to the Royal Livingstone Hotel where we meet a third guide who took us and several others by a short (five minute) boat ride to Livingstone Island. Livingstone Island is a small island in the middle of the Zambezi just upstream from the falls. It is from this island that Dr. David Livingstone first viewed the falls and named them for Queen Victoria. 

While Angel's Pool sounds lovely and tranquil as compared to Devil's Pool, it was still quite a shock and a thrill to sit so close to the falls. By the way, of our group of eight, only three of us sat in Angel's Pool. The rest declined. 

Livingstone Island

Walking to Angel's Pool

The photos below were taken by our guide. He used our camera because at this point we were down to one working phone. As he was taking photos the guide told us our camera battery had died. But, when we returned to the hotel and put in a new battery the camera still would not work. Once back in Joburg I had to take the camera in for a dry out at the camera shop. Luckily the guide was able to take the photos below before the camera became too wet from all of the spray as there is NO POINT in sitting in Angel's Pool if it's not being captured on film!

I'm pretty sure here that I was whispering "what the F%&@ are we doing?" in Mr. Deep's ear. 

Zim!

You may think it's strange, when you have limited time to enjoy a corner of the world to choose to revisit a place you have already been. If given the choice, why not go somewhere new instead? Even though I pondered this question myself, recently Mr. Deep and I returned to Victoria Falls. 

This time instead of staying on the Zambia side of the falls, we stayed on the Zimbabwe side. And by the way, Mr. Deep and I like to refer to neighboring African countries by their first syllable only so we use the names Zam, Zim, Bots and Moz. In the future I'll also be writing about Tanz and Nam. But I digress. 

When we visited the falls previously we enjoyed boat cruises on the Zambezi, flew in a helicopter over the falls and walked with rhinos protected by armed guards. This time, our plan to was to whitewater raft, swim near the edge of the falls (really) and give Mr. Deep one last chance to try to catch a tiger fish.

We stayed at the beautiful and historic Victoria Falls Hotel located within walking distance to the falls and situated to provide amazing views of the the mist rising from the falls. 

The Victoria Falls hotel was built by the British in 1904. I have stayed in a lot of hotels in my life and I can tell you that old is not always the best characteristic for a hotel but in this case it was a positive. Even though the age is obvious and not everything is perfect and shiny as a new hotel might be, while there you feel as if you have gone back in time. It is easy to imagine being a distinguished European visitor enjoying wild Africa but with all of the fancy amenities that you are accustomed to. Numerous dignitaries have stayed at the Victoria Falls Hotel including Henry Kissinger, Hillary Clinton and Oprah. I am not a lover of antiques or traditional decor but being in the hotel made me want to decorate my next house in a mix of colonial and African style.

Anytime a hotel has its own china you know you're in some fancy digs

If you're offended by animal heads this may not be the hotel for you.

By far, my favorite feature of this hotel was the service. South Africans smile a lot and often bend over backwards to be friendly and helpful but Zimbabweans take it to a whole different level and yes, I think this is part of the Zimbabwean spirit and not just a function of a great hotel. Even though the hotel is very large and there were numerous guests the staff acted like we were the only people there. They referred to Mr. Deep as "Mr. Stephen" and they seemed to remember what activities we were doing each day saying things such as "did you enjoy your rafting today?" or "how was the fishing Mr. Stephen?" or "I know you were enjoying red wine before dinner" (granted on this one maybe our mouths were stained red?) These were not the managers or the concierges asking...this was the waiter, the housekeeper and the bellman. 

One of several "infographics" to remind you what resources came from each British colony.

It rained a few times while we were in Zim. Sometimes rain is unpleasant during a hotel stay/holiday but the Victoria Falls Hotel has so many areas inside and out to explore that you almost wish for a rainy day.

The first day we arrived we walked down to the falls, a short walk on a dirt path. A security guard accompanied us. He said he was there to protect us from wild animals but Mr. Deep and I think it was to protect us from the significant number of aggressive hawkers trying to sell us things as we walked. Not that these hawkers are dangerous, I don't think they are. But they are desperate and persistent. First, the hawkers would try to sell us something, say a wooden bowl or a carved elephant. When we would politely decline, they would lower the price or offer us a two for one special. When we declined they would ask us if we had anything to trade for the item like old shoes or clothes. When we declined they would ask for money or a loaf of bread. The whole thing was very sad and both Mr. Deep and I ended up giving away our sneakers over the course of the weekend.

There is a lot of discussion about which side of the falls (Zim or Zam) offers the best viewing and I think some of it has to do with competition for tourist dollars between the two countries.I thought the views from Zim were magnificent but I also really enjoyed the views from Zam so I think it's hard to go wrong assuming you are visiting when the water is high. During the dry season much of the falls dry up completely. I will post more photos of the falls soon but in the meantime, below is a teaser.