How to buy a cow…and kill a pig

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So you meet a girl. Let’s say you meet her in some bash along Ngong road. She is sitting at a corner, nursing a drink in a plastic cup. Legs crossed. 3 Doors Down’s It’s not my time is thumping in the background. Her body language screams, “Talk to the hand,” but her eyes say, “I’m dying for some originality.” So after taking a large gulp of your drink to calm your jelly nerves you strut over, the hell with 3 Doors Down, it could be your time. You introduce yourself. She looks at you like you work in a morgue. You have nothing up your sleeve but you dig in your oars nonetheless. You don’t tell her she’s pretty or that that there is a way she holds the air around her captive with her silent charisma. None of that bullshit. You make vague statements like “Can you believe Besigye, trying to get onto YouTube by trying to catch a bullet?” There is a chance she might ask “kwani who is Besigye?” which is fine because that means participation, and participation is okay in these scenarios. You give current affairs a wide berth. Then you lob a joke. She laughs, once, twice, thrice. You have a foot in the door. The only way you can mess this up is if you told her that you love her. Or if you playfully stuck a paper plane in her cleavage. The evening is yours.

You fetch her another drink. More jokes, more laughter. At some point she touches your arm lightly. Yes, 3 Doors Down, did you see that? Whose time is it now? Huh? The night ends with her throwing you a lifejacket; “Let’s get together sometime for a drink,” she says. You tap it three weeks later. Er, two weeks if you work in an advertising agency. Bastards. But here is what you don’t know all this time. You don’t know she’s from Kapsoit. Or Kutus. Hell, or Kamagambo. You don’t know because you didn’t ask. And why would you anyway? It’s not like you wanted to marry her. Only as it turned out you do. You fall in love like a mad man and you want her to give you children who look just like her. So you have to jump through hoops and go to Kutus or Keroka- a distant land- to meet her stubborn uncle who is in a pre-historic coat. Or you go to Kakemega as my brothers and I did late last week to take cows. My brother was taking the cows.

Kakamega is far from Kenyatta Avenue. My sister-in-Law is from a place called Kabras. I’m not going to poke fun at Luhyas here because my brother is the touchy type. Plus he has never found Churchill funny, and anyone who has never found Churchill funny is not someone you want to make fun of. Anyway, last Thursday at 6.45am we were standing at this market center called Lubao -6kms from Kakamega town – waiting for a middleman to help us buy cows. It was my two brothers, myself, my old man my uncle and one of my smart-ass grandfathers who had the uncanny gift of the gab. He would later do most of the talking during the negotiations, a man heavily skilled in the art of telling you to “eff” off but in a way that makes you like him. A lesson in diplomacy. Lubao market was originally as the dog market. Yes, they sold dogs here. Still do. We saw a bunch of hounds tethered to the ground; mangy looking mutts being sold for a prayer. Most were gaunt, but all were miserable. Asking price, 600 bob a pop. I wandered over to one of the sellers and asked him how you would tell a dog was good and he fed me some cock and bull about looking at how the dog rested, if the dog rested with its head on its front legs then it was a kali dog. Anything else was uncivilized.

One guy confided to me that what the owners did was to whip the dogs the morning of the market such that when he pointed at the dog with his bakora to a buyer the dog would bare its teeth and growl menacingly anticipating another beating. The buyer would imagine the dog is real kali one and buy it. Smart. Every market has a mad man they say, but every market also has a smart-ass. A quick talking hustler. The tenth rule of journalism is how to spot this guy who is normally called a fixer. A fixer is someone who holds your hand in the deep end when you search for a story in a foreign territory like this one. Like a facilitator? My fixer was called Felix; a stout, powerful Luhya man with a massive jaw and a cinderblock neck. Very intimidating chap. My kid brother- our last born- plays rugby, he’s a cocky 24yr old ripped guy who feels and acts tough and invincible, but he saw this guy and admitted that yes, Felix was from another league. But in the grand scheme of things, Felix wasn’t the baddest ass in that market as it turned out. Here is what cut. There was a point when I started taking pictures and shortly these three lads showed up at my elbow. They looked skinny, ragged but with determined jaws. Violence leaped in their eyes like flames. They didn’t look like guys who squeezed toothpaste tubs from the bottom. They told me to stop taking pictures. Note, they didn’t ask me, they told me.

I looked at Felix who sort of feebly protested that I was harmless. No, he isn’t, one of the Kakamega Sopranos hissed, “Yeye, ni wa CID.” I wanted to laugh. CID? I was with the bleeding Criminal Investigation Department? I’m sorry, which year is this again, 1989? CI bloody D? I was flattered; I mean what was I looking for, a cow who had committed a crime? Or perhaps someone who had gotten my goat? (Just so you know I’m very proud of that wordplay right there hehe) But I wondered, if indeed I was the CID who gave them – these ragtag vigilantes – the power to stop a government agent from doing his job? Who really was the law there? Was there a law? Felix embarrassedly asked me to keep away my camera. Can you believe Felix!? You would think a 100 bob would get you protection in Lubao market! But the way those fellows spoke and the chilling finality in their voices I had no choice but to return my camera in the car and that’s the reason why this post has no pictures. Blame Felix. Or the CID.

We all shopped for a cow with my grandfather leading the search. How do you tell a good cow? This might be useless information to you city sleekers, but you can tell a good cow by first its hide. A smooth healthy hide is a good cow. Also a cow that chews cud is a good cow. A cow that drools all over the place is not a good cow. A cow that looks like it’s having a hangie is also not a good cow. My grandfather also looked into the mouth of cows to determine if they were healthy. He had the owner pry open their mouths and then delicately perched his spectacle on his nose and peered into it their mouths. We also peered over his shoulders hoping to see a gold tooth. That’s another thing, a cow that has a gold teeth is a not a good cow, that’s a pimp cow. But seriously a chipped tooth or missing teeth means the cow won’t be able to feed well and consequently won’t be able to grow big. Interesting eh? I got bored with checking cows teeth and wandered out, trailed closely by Felix who was now trying to redeem his street, er, market cred after that tasteless CID debacle. “Have you ever seen a pig being slaughtered?” Felix asked. I said I hadn’t. He motioned me to follow him.

There is an expression I use once in a while, but one that made sense that day. It goes something like, “You are going to need a stronger stomach if you are going be at the back of the kitchen watching how a sausage is made.” I read that in a Nick Hornby book. In Lubao market pigs are slaughtered in a small wooden structure, just big enough to swing a cat in. The man to which this great responsibility lies is called Wicky. Wicky is one of the reasons you eat sausages in the morning. Curiously Wicky doesn’t remember the last time he had a sausage. Must have been 12 years ago in a hotel in Kisumu, he confided in me. I told him I wanted to watch him kill a pig. He shrugged; I guess my request to him was like someone telling me he wants to watch me save a word document. A pig is herded into the enclosure. I try not to look into its eyes. Of course I’m being foolish but still I avoid any eye contact, I don’t want to see something in the eyes of an animal that is about to meet its violent death. In the wooden structure the pig’s front leg is tied to this metal hook imbedded in the floor. Then one of the hind legs is stretched and tied to another hook. The pig is now doing a 180 degree split and since it’s not been attending aerobics class lately it’s in pain and is snorting and making a racket. Wicky stands over the pig; fateful and cold. The final destiny. Then like a comedian picks his hat he carefully reaches for his knife from the window sill.

Now allow me to tell you about the knife Wicky uses for the kill. In his business a man is only as good as his knife. In fact a man is his knife. A man respects his knife because although his knife takes away life it brings life to his family, it feeds them. In the slaughter house there is a general rule; you don’t share knives. Never. So in essence your knife is like your manhood; no other man is allowed to touch it apart from you. And perhaps your woman. The amount of respect the men accord their knives are admirable. Wicky told me that part of the rule is never to take the knives home at the end of the day. Yes, at Lubao men don’t carry work home. Either that or they don’t want to expose their families to such instruments of death, even though they feed off the edge of those knives. Wicky’s knife is an arm’s length, he’s had it for ten years now, of course it was longer, the knife, because initially it used to be a slasher, but years of sharpening turned it into a long knife. This is the only knife Wicky uses, he is loyal to it. But it’s an ugly knife, this knife. It’s a crude knife. At its base is wound sisal to give it grip. The rest of it is dull cold, angry steel. Wicky never washes this knife; he runs water over it and stores it in the open when finished. Nobody touches Wicky’s knife and Wicky never touches anyone’s knife. That’s the rule of the slaughterhouse and these men abide by it. That’s honor right there folks.

He slowly weighs the knife in his hand, turning it over absentmindedly as one of the guys secures the pig. They are conversing about something I’m not listening to. I’m standing at the door not sure whether I want to see the end. He briefly glimpses at me, Wicky, and then without warning and in one swift fluid motion he bends over and finds one of his guys has pulled back the pig’s neck exposing its chest. He plunges the ugly knife inside the pig’s chest. It happens too fast that I don’t have time to process what just happened. The gutting scream of the pig is unmistakable though; the scream of death. It’s ghoulish as it is macabre. When an animal dies from pain, it doesn’t matter what animal it is, pig, cow, man, their scream sound the same. And this pig screamed like a man I swear. A most hounding cry, the final cry and it stirs something in you. It shakes the foundation onto which you have so far built your deceptive mortality on. A foundation made of clay. Was I scared? No. Was I disgusted? Hardly, I don’t eat sausages. Was I impressed? No. I was bewildered at the choked screams of the pig as one of the guys held it firmly for the few seconds it thrashed about, Wicky still holding the knife in its chest. Then it ended. There was blood all over. Wicky pulled out the knife and looked at me like he expected an applause, like I was supposed to be impressed. And I was, but at his disassociation. At how detached he seemed from it all. And I was a bit scared of him if you want to know the truth.

The great British writer AA Gill last year wrote in UK’s Sunday Times how he came to Africa to kill a baboon so that he “could see how it feels like to kill a man.” It was a morbid piece that caused a storm with rights groups. So in Wicky’s eyes I searched for a man who was capable of killing another man. But there was no indication; his eyes –disappointingly – were of a guy who was doing a job. He wasn’t different from me and you. I mean he sticks knives in pigs’ hearts while you tweet and poke people on Facebook. It all levels out. Later – while scrapping off hair off another pig’s charred snout- he mentioned that he had killed more than 10,000 pigs in the years he has been in business. Those are many sausages! And much later when while he shared a cigarette with Felix I asked him if he would kill a man, a dumb and uncomfortable question no less, but I just had to know. I was curious as hell to hear his answer. He thoughtfully took a drag at his cigarette then passed it over to Felix as he pondered my question for a second. He then looked over at Felix and asked him if he- Felix- would kill a man to which Felix said, “Ah, mara moja!” But Felix’s had to say that to redeem his tattered image, to earn his undeserved 100bob. But Wicky never answered me, that question eventually went up in smoke, cigarette smoke.

Ps. Have a happy Easter gang! And for chrissake don’t drink and drive, it’s not worth it.

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89 Comments
  1. You hadn’t taken any pictures before the Sopranos stopped you?

    I always thought they slaughtered pigs/cows/goats by cutting off the head, not by piercing the heart? I’m one of those who feels for a chicken when it’s being slaughtered, though I relish the meal afterwards.

    I think Wicky would kill a man if he had to. Only if he had to.

  2. i used to be told that they would smash the head of the pigs because cutting them up was too much work, such a stiff neck and all, strangely this plunging of knife into heart is much more comforting.

    “They didn’t look like guys who squeezed toothpaste tubs from the bottom.”-this line was priceless.

  3. ‘I guess my request to him was like someone telling me he wants to watch me save a word document.’ Heh heh…

  4. You guy are a phenomenon, making a normal occurrence create a lot of thinking. I always say men should be reading this post.

    Wicky can kill a man, like ALL men can. But i feel he can do it for the same reason he kills pigs-for his family. He is a real man.

  5. I have heard it said that a good number of murderers worked in slaughterhouses.

    That everyday killing desensitizes the soul..

  6. It took me forever to read the part about killing the pig… and I skimmed over it too… the poor pig, I thought there was a more humane way of killing them…

    I’ve seen it done actually, where its clobbered between its eyes and it passes out… so when its killed, its not nearly as painful.

    Enjoy your easter too… I love your lines, you’d have had me at ‘holding the air captive with my silent charisma’

  7. When taking back the camera to the car did you feel like a small boy whose lunch had been taken by the school bully? You know, did you feel small?

  8. A man respects his knife because although his knife takes away life it brings life to his family, it feeds them. profound depth right there, just like the rest of the piece. Would he kill a man you ask? I think we all know the answer to that question Biko. Anyone, I being in the forefront, would easily take a guys life if doing so meant stopping him from taking mine, or of the people i hold dear. Evolution Biko is survival for the strongest, evolution is not a necessity of life but a need occasioned by circumstance.

  9. Wicky would be grateful to you for glamorizing his profession of dispatching pigs. But I doubt he will ever read this post. He has obviously over the years become averse to the compunction attendant with taking away a life by the knife and killing a man probably sounds less horrific to him than to your average reader. Not to say that Wicky the Swine Slayer is wicked, no. What I am putting to you is that his nonchalant deportment suggests a heightened tolerance for bloody murder lol. Perhaps the good folks at CID might want to pay him a visit.

  10. Stabbing sounds brutal like savvy said I thought they cut off the head? (off with his head! hehe) my brother once told me he saw some catering guys get imaginative faced with the thought of slaughtering about 100 chicken, they grabbed them by the neck and flicked them round and round over their heads till the chicken’s head broke off…yikes!

    Anyway as a very quiet passive reader of your blog i’d like to (finally) say I always love reading about your adventures, you must have a sharp memory to recall all the fine details of your escapades! I don’t imagine that you walk about with a notebook during these moments…or do you?

    1. Thanks for “coming out”. And no, no notebook….or rather, once in a while I jot something on the notepad on my phone.

  11. This literary work came in handy after writing some excruciating paper…a relaxing read.

    …I like the tone of it. 🙂

  12. Wicked Wicky! Is that the short form of Wycliffe…got an uncle whose name has been remixed to Wichy

  13. Biko you have all you got brother’s sense of humour gene!!!!
    “The only way you can mess this up is if you told her that you love her. Or if you playfully stuck a paper plane in her cleavage.”

  14. Always thought pigs are electrocuted first before being slaughtered bt then again there are several ways to kill a cat

  15. Or she could be from the far end of Mfangano Island, you can imagine having to take cows there! Anyway, I thought that was a cruel way to kill a pig, I have always heard that that they use a blunt object to knock it out cold first but what do I know…and thanks for the tip on Felix, next time I meet him…

  16. Next time they stop you from taking photos, I hope your phone has a camera thats good enough to do that..anyway nice article.

  17. Oh, i toooootally love ur intro!!! it got me all excited and zhuzhed up!!!

    “Kwani who is besigye”….gosh!!! i love swa. i really do!! but i hate hate hate how nairobi girls have to speak with that “Kwani”. ok, maybe dudes do too, but in my experience nai chics have a higher tendency of that. maybe it’s just me, but i always think it’s best that u either speak swa, or english. this swanglish….sasa Biko…what will ur kid speak by the time she’s in class 5??? A “barbie” me n my peeps shall be, provided we can fluently express ourselves in either language together with mother tongue.

    Anyhoo, now, who is Besigye?? hehehe. (n don’t tell me to google.)

    “Er, two weeks if you work in advertising agency” umm…meaning? Pls explain… 😀

  18. Biko, did u finally manage to get a good cow? did it have some pimp named slick-back gold teeth, a nose ring, padded hooves and a matching shawl on its hump?

  19. Really Biko? a pimp cow? you have me picturing a cow with a “left hooves please do not step infront of the right hooves” kinda swag!!!!

  20. “I guess my request to him was like someone telling me he wants to watch me save a word document…” <—— priceless. Walalala! Biko, when I grow up I wanna write like you!

  21. Hi Biko,
    I’m an avid reader though i have never commented before. I look forward to reading your articles every week and i just wanted to thank you this week for putting my home town on map.
    I agree with you that the dogs there are a sight for sore eyes. I’ve always wondered where KSPCA are when you need them most.

    Our Lubao market place is like a town in itself-KCB Bank is just a stone throw away. Golf Country Club is right across the street, the bus station is right there. And our roads aren’t that bad at all.

    A fun fact is that every luhya has a cousin or relative called Wicki! More importantly its refreshing to know atleast we’re famous for something other than the bench at Muliro Gardens.

  22. I have witnessed a camel being killed/murdered. I cant narrate without raising in me the deepest, basest emotions…too tough. I will never eat a camel!

    Great post. Excuse me as i go through the raw sausage in my fridge.

  23. Lubao Market some time that evening.

    Felix : Sasa that jamaa, you slaughtered the pig for …. our guys thought he was a CID because he was taking photo’s.
    Wicki : Kweli? Did he take your picture….
    Felix : Errr… yes.
    Wicki : And then he asked us if we would kill someone?
    Felix : Ndio, but he was just inquisitive….
    Wicki : If they come for me, Utaona.
    Felix : Hey….

  24. Gosh, ur intro, was killer!!

    You love that particular word play…hahaha, nice!

    Coin, totally agree, could someone pls tell Nairobians to slow down on the Swanglish. Always gets on my nerves.

    Biko, pls educate…on the Besigye fellow and that advertising analogy. Pls pls pls. (Or anyone else…)

    Good read as always.

    1. You don’t know who Besigye is? Then you either don’t live in Africa or are just plain blonde. Goodle it.

      Biko is thumping his chest…he’s/was a copywriter.

  25. mesmerizing to say the least. the suspense rocks. this is awesome bt i got scared at sm points. killing the pig came out a bit barbaric…

  26. hahhahaahh an awesome read i tell you,that’s my rural home,i like the way you captured the activities of that animals market called lubao,very vivid i tell you. Biko there is one thing u have forgotten man..there is that mandatory cock your bro ate…its a ritual in those sides of Kenya and the wazees who are presiding over such a ceremony can take drastic measures like declaring the whole process or union null and void if that is not done..and am sure a lot of chicken was also served n you guys really enjoyed it..that’s kakamega for you,home of hospitality…and hey at long last i thought am the only one who doesn’t find Churchill funny n as an idea of what a stand up comedian is all about..but as they say mgala muue lakini mpe haki yake i must confess on radio he is very very good,in fact the best. This was an interesting read ,i must say.

    1. I agree Tony, Churchill’s good on radio not TV, infact, i don’t find even Eric Omondi funny, he’s jokes fall flat on their face for me.

  27. you read AA Gill?! ok you are officially a man with tonnes of credibility!!! nice piece, as always, i thing the pig-killer can can a man, that’s why he didn’t answer your question..

  28. hahahahaha that was intriguing Biko,as much as im now informed of the gross death of pigs,i dont think im becoming a vegeterian anytym xun,kip it up,u made my day

  29. Biko your answer to Wicky’s question is in the silence. God did not intend for us to kill anything but at the onset of sin, God himself kills an animal to clothe Adam and eve indicating the need for something, anything to die whenever there’s sin. That kind if killing Wicky does has seriously desensitized hime, he would kill a human being n doubt.

  30. I think the Eric Omiondi Luyha jokes are just to die for, though he tends to miss the punchline and goes on forever……..
    I always say to my homies that I will only take cows to a Luo or Giriama chick’s home since I know for sure I will be a very happy man for many many years. I have dated across the geograhical sphere and come close to utter disappointments from most.

  31. @ I couldn’t have agreed with you more on your comment. Just showed my workmates and we are laughing out loud like mad women. You rock Mike 🙂

  32. Biko do people still pay dowry at this day and time? Wonder whether Prince Wiliam paid Kate’s parents some pieces of Gold…..well I thought those days are long gone. Now my question is what happens a few yeras later when one realizes that what they paid for is not worth it, can they ask for your cows back? ;;)

  33. I don’t get it. The part about the goat. Meh.

    Plus like @kbaab and @braintatoo I’d heard they hit the pig’s head first to knock it out. Oh well.

    I like the way you bring things to life and get all philosophical about stuff, but I’ll still enjoy my sausages regardless 😉

  34. Biko you guy a just the one hilarious n catchy can’t miss reading this blog,You know your stuff man.Would you kill a man?

      1. now right there is the true sign of a man who’s never-ever gonna kill a man! the dude who blares how quickly he’d do it. it’s the whole “empty ndebe” stori… ;- )* now biko here is like that dude “Felix” … shish! nothing to fear. now the man to be afraid of is that dude who didn’t even bother to answer. best run for the hills if you meet that one! biko – i thought the story would be about taking ngombes. you stayed at the market instead. ai. but then again, with that description of your bro. i understand! ;- )*

  35. @Michelle, oooh yes you ought to but good manners demands that you let them stay in that homestead as it would be too tedious to drive back and face those old folks whose daughter has not met your long-term expectations.

  36. There Biko! You just got your writer’s block. I laughed out loud (really) through out the post. Refreshing. But I’m a little worried. My 4 year old son caused a poor little kitten to die. I’d never use the word ‘killed’. I hope he is not a Wicky in the making. It happened yesterday and to be very honest, I’m troubled. Well, maybe ‘boys will always be boys’ encompasses killing innocent little creatures. I shudder. A wonderful reas. You never dissapoint 🙂

    1. Two begging questions: 1. What does his father do for a living? and 2. How he killed this kitten? Did he flush it down a loo? Hit it over the head with a pan? Or perhaps sat on it? That young man is one to keep a keen eye on.

      1. 1. His father is a systems administrattor. And it’s not from me. The only thing I slaughter is figures. Yeah, accountants have been said to have dry jokes 🙂 2. He strangled the poor little thing. Held its throat and didn’t let go until it stopped moving. He’s at his grandfather’s for the school holidays. I wasn’t there and I’m wondering why whoever was with him didn’t stop him. I’ll be travelling tomorrow to shags and I plan to have a very serious talk with him. I’m a very worried mom 🙁

  37. My friend’s mum has a chicken farm.

    You should visit it on ‘harvest day’ when 3 guys come and slaughter over 200 hundred chicken ready for delivery at a chips place near you. The first guy yanks the head off – yes, he doesnt use a knife – the second one, dips the hen in boiling water then makes sure all feathers are gone, then the third guy removes the entrails and packs the finished good.

    These guys are renown for their work.

  38. @ Simon……cows back nothing like pride or respect….get the cows back guys if the woman is a lousy cook, untidy, is pathetic in bed or nags everyone and everything even the neighbour’s dogs complain about her.

  39. tihihi. I see you are outta the blues.
    Now, honestly Biko, who does not eat sausages??!!
    Btw the Slasher-turned-long knife just killed me:)

  40. so the sopranos thought you were CID?maybe you should have pretended to call for backup just to see their reaction (at a safe distance of course) hehehe..

  41. That opening paragraph was a beaut. 🙂 I keep wanting to scroll down and write my favorite bits. #practicingRestraint

    *ahem* last born brother, you say?… 😀

    Sleekers? SMH.

  42. Biko, its tuesday the 26th of April 2011…i havent seen your new post yet..so am just wondering…did u drink and drive?

  43. ‘Can you believe Besigye trying to get into Youtube by catching a bullet’? I love this, cause i live in UG and me and some friends were thinking along the same lines. But then again it’s a great line to use on a chick……with some good sense of humor and er..reading skills. Way to go Biko!!

  44. this is my first time here and i sure like your writing #he sticks knives in pigs’ hearts while you tweet and poke people on Facebook. It all levels out#that’s a killer

  45. That ’2 weeks if you work in an advertising agency’ line is laced with so much Mad Men innuendo. If it was intended, then this article just gained so many coolness points.

  46. The allegation that you are a CID should not be taken lightly. Perhaps it is a sign that you should make an application to join the forces.

    I have seen a pig die and I must admit facing the knife is a ‘humane’ way to die. Lovely piece Biko.

  47. The intro was grt, with all those jokes, the doors had to open. This Wicky the swine slayer, i bet he can kill, it’s so inhumane how he I sticks knives in pigs’ hearts, then again, the guy has a job to do and it levels out with tweeting and poking people on Facebook…lol

    You have a way with words, brilliant Biko!!, i have to ask, did u get good cows??

  48. I don’t want to leave an imprint of my face on your bum cheeks, but I have to say that this is really really good. One day…

  49. I had to comment. You were at my hometown!! Lubao. I agree. Those dogs are miserable; but then again _ the only dog market. I am so excited about this.

  50. I like the story line….my eyes are wet at the Acute sense of raw humor oozing from the words…..very descriptive piece of writing…