Iran: they slaughter a chicken for me (and I’m a vegetarian)

Majid runs away from the other chickens, while firmly holding their struggling siblings. Do they know what fate awaits them? With Patrick right behind me, I slowly follow our host. It’s really going to happen. “I’m scared,” I whisper to Patrick. As if Majid could understand a word we’re saying. He exchanges one of the chickens for the knife his mother is holding and presses the other bird down onto the ground firmly. He puts his left foot on the wings and grabs the chicken by her neck. We know it. She seems to know it. This is it. They slaughter a chicken for me.

A vegetarian in Iran

I haven’t eaten meat in years. Not particularly because I don’t like the taste of it, but mainly because I care about the environment and prefer not to contribute to the bio-industry. I’ve always said that I won’t say no if during one of my long journeys I find myself in a situation where a chicken is slaughtered especially for me. What are the chances of that happening? Well, let me say I never believed it would happen. Until today. I spend two days with a nomad family in Iran, far away from supermarkets and restaurants. ‘Vegetarian’ is not in the nomadic dictionary and tonight, fresh chicken is served.

Chickens and goats

Nomadic life is simple. Majid and his parents live on a piece of land in the mountains under a cloth of goat hair. Dozens of chickens scavenge in the surrounding fields, more than a hundred goats graze a bit further on and behind the hill there are about twenty beehives. Mother Manighe fills her days making all kinds of food: goat’s cheese, goat’s milk, goat’s butter, goat’s yoghurt, honey and eggs. From the remains of the yoghurt, she makes sweets and from the moisture, in the cheese, she boils jam. Every single drop and crumb is used. The only thing they buy is flour for the bread and big bags of rice.

Take, take

It’s not often that tourists stay with Majid and his family. It’s a special occasion and that calls for a special diner. The whole day Patrick and I have been served tea, sweets, rice and bread. “Take, take!” This is one of the few English words that mother Manighe knows. I blow up my cheeks and rub my belly to indicate that I’ve had more than enough. “Take, take!”, is her only response.

They slaughter a chicken for me as a surprise

We’ve only just finished lunch when Majid tells us we’re eating something special tonight. For a moment I hope he will let us choose what we want. Do they have any vegetables here? I wonder. In the distance, I hear cheerful cackling when Majid reveals the surprise: chicken!

The shock is not so bad. For days I have been preparing for the fact that I will have to eat meat every now and then in Iran, although so far I haven’t gotten into a situation where I had to. As long as the meat doesn’t come from the bio-industry and has a relatively small impact on the environment, I shouldn’t have so much trouble with it. But then Majid proudly says: I’m going to slaughter the chicken myself. What?

Factory farmed chicken

The sun disappears behind the mountains and the landscape turns blue. It’s time to prepare dinner before it’s too dark to see anything. Majid and his mother walk towards the chickens. Patrick and I follow. Now they are still happily hopping around in their abundance of space. They are certainly not factory chickens. “What animal do you slaughter back home?” Majid asks ignorantly. I would like to answer that “at home people would hate me if I slaughtered an animal, but the supermarket shelves are full of meat”. Instead, I admit that I’ve never killed an animal before.

Meanwhile, mother Manighe sprinkles some food to attract the chickens. Enthusiastically the birds come running towards her and start pecking frantically. She squats and quickly grabs the two fattiest chickens by their tails. Majid nods approvingly and grabs the unlucky animals.

Chicken without a head

Majid puts the knife against the little chicken neck. I want to close my eyes, turn around to miss the fatal moment. But I don’t want to be a coward. I think anyone who eats meat should see what it’s like when an animal is slaughtered. Even though I gave it up years ago, I’d better start with myself. There it goes. The chicken doesn’t make a sound when the knife slides through her neck. I hardly see any blood. Majid places the head next to him and lets go of the body. The wings start to flap violently and the beheaded chicken runs around, through the grass. It’s a terrible scene to watch. After a minute or two, the body stops running and falls to the ground. Stiff. Dead.

Pillow filling

The tasks are traditionally divided; the man kills the chicken, the woman prepares the animal for dinner. Manighe takes the chickens with her in her cooking tent. With a lot of respect and calm movements, she pulls the feathers out of the lifeless body. Manighe keeps the little feathers separate from the big ones. She will use it to fill her pillows, she explains by gesturing her hands against her ear. When the first bald spots become visible I recognize the chicken wings, as they are sold in our supermarket. Slowly the chicken transforms from a dead creature into a piece of meat.

Barbecue

Majid assures us that no one prepares the chicken better than his father Alimohamed. The old man carefully strings the legs and wings to a skewer. The heart, the kidneys and the stomach will also be part of the meal. In the end, he completely cuts open the chicken on one side before it goes on the barbecue in its entirety. While on the fire, he smears the meat with melted goat butter and salt. “Very tasty!” He explains.

Enjoy your meal

Sitting on the floor, we gather around a plastic rug in the middle of the tent. Manighe divides the rice and serves some bread on the rug. “Good?” Alimohamed shows us the brown-baked meat from the barbecue. The chicken is ready. Patrick and I get a whole, roasted chicken for ourselves. “Take! Take!” Carefully taste my first piece of meat in years. I think back to this afternoon when my meal still happily picked for sweet apples and was excitedly chasing her family. Enjoy your meal.

Video: a day in the life of the Bakhtiari nomads

Are you curious what it’s like to live with a nomad family for two days after reading They slaughter a chicken for me (and I’m a vegetarian)? I made this video of our unforgettable stay with Majid and his family.