I had high hopes that White Banano (the try out name of our car) would curb last year's buffalo sacrifice downstairs in the parking area of our little apartment building of six families. But my hopes were dashed yesterday when I queried a young neighbor.
Why? (you may or may not be asking) Well unbeknownst to me a slaughtered beast smells rather dramatically. I knew the slaughterhouse up the way to a frequented village reeked but sometimes large capacity factories of sorts don't translate on a smaller scale. A whole large buffalo being sacrificed below our home at 8:35 in the morning brings a waft of pungent smell. And the sacrifice is not all. There is the butcher and his peons who squat around with their sharpened knives cutting up the buffalo who the Religious Leader has just sacrificed. The stomach takes up half the space of our car oozing out over the marble. Since they pump the blood they run water to wash it out into the small alley area. Because the water tank is full our noses and ears are ringing. After the low lowing of the tipped over buffalo, comes the excited shout of "God is Great" from a dozen plus men downstairs. Then the blood is let. With it pipes, in the shrillest of tones, London Bridges Falling Down then Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and lastly in the never ending repeating trill trio, And Bingo was His Name play. It gives me the giggles. I love this place and usually the Tank IS Full warning whistle in its preschool glory sets my teeth on edge but today it just makes me shake my head in happy acceptance.
Since seven widows have been sitting outside our house hoping to get scraps. While they sat the buffalo ate its last meal. At ten when I walked through the crowd of men on my way to play group the ladies were still there wafting around our red gate, waiting for meat. The piles of meat were being divided up and while our landlord reclined above on the seat of a scooter and the Mulvi watched from the stairs and little clusters chattered a group of butchers hacked and chopped. The sound imprinted on my mind with Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
It has been a day here in the city.
Why? (you may or may not be asking) Well unbeknownst to me a slaughtered beast smells rather dramatically. I knew the slaughterhouse up the way to a frequented village reeked but sometimes large capacity factories of sorts don't translate on a smaller scale. A whole large buffalo being sacrificed below our home at 8:35 in the morning brings a waft of pungent smell. And the sacrifice is not all. There is the butcher and his peons who squat around with their sharpened knives cutting up the buffalo who the Religious Leader has just sacrificed. The stomach takes up half the space of our car oozing out over the marble. Since they pump the blood they run water to wash it out into the small alley area. Because the water tank is full our noses and ears are ringing. After the low lowing of the tipped over buffalo, comes the excited shout of "God is Great" from a dozen plus men downstairs. Then the blood is let. With it pipes, in the shrillest of tones, London Bridges Falling Down then Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, and lastly in the never ending repeating trill trio, And Bingo was His Name play. It gives me the giggles. I love this place and usually the Tank IS Full warning whistle in its preschool glory sets my teeth on edge but today it just makes me shake my head in happy acceptance.
Since seven widows have been sitting outside our house hoping to get scraps. While they sat the buffalo ate its last meal. At ten when I walked through the crowd of men on my way to play group the ladies were still there wafting around our red gate, waiting for meat. The piles of meat were being divided up and while our landlord reclined above on the seat of a scooter and the Mulvi watched from the stairs and little clusters chattered a group of butchers hacked and chopped. The sound imprinted on my mind with Twinkle Twinkle Little Star.
It has been a day here in the city.
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