I prefer mystery meat

Here in Tanzania, there is no mystery to what you're having for dinner. So much so, that I've literally stared my dinner in the eye, both dead and alive.

The first encounter with this lack-of-mystery was back in Kunduchi. We arrived at our usual lunch spot, greeted with the news that we were having fish! After days of rice and sauce, this was exciting news for some of us. However, as the dish began to come out, some people became last minute, no-fish-vegetarians. The fish's eyes, still perfectly intact, glowered at me as I made a face back at it. The fin made me feel like my meal might swim away at any minute. To top it off, this delicacy was expected to be eaten by hand.

Now that I've moved to Kilwa, I don't have too many run ins with any fishy friends. Rather, my dinner pretty much lives in my front yard. All over our our community, chickens run free. I've assumed they are for laying eggs and what not. However, yesterday as our house cook prepared dinner, I found a chicken staring at me from the "pantry" (a small closet that stores coal... And chickens). It was shaking, hiding in its little basket as the house cook tried corning our two male housemates to be the temporary butchers. However, as it turns out, our Tanzanian roommates are city boys, and had to recruit a local teenager to do the dirty work. As I heard the chicken's final screech, I felt big time remorse for emphasizing that chicken was the only meat I would eat.

I'll have rice, please!