A Ugandan Thanksgiving Tragedy

Now I know I had a great excuse for not updating my blog for so long, but in true Bethy style I seem to have forgotten that likely pathetic explanation. As it stands, I thank you for your patience… 

 

…and speaking of thanks, this year was my first Thanksgiving away from home- and the first Thanksgiving where I personally met my dinner. Now the typical Caldwell Thanksgiving consists of the usual grocery shopping before the big day, buying all those necessary items: cranberry sauce, a huge bag of potatoes, all the fixins for pumpkin pie, and, of course, the turkey. After perusing the aisles of the local Checkers supermarket, I soon realized that this holiday would not be in that typical Caldwell fashion. Let‘s just say I have a new-found respect for turkey farmers in addition to a greater knowledge of the anatomy of poultry. 

 

 A few weeks before turkey day my American friends were discussing the phenomenon of Thanksgiving with a group of Ugandans who assured us they could find the best turkey in the country. Now the only turkey I had encountered prior to that conversation was one lone gobbler meandering down the middle of the highway as I zoomed by in a public taxi. The tale of the next Ugandan turkey I was lucky enough to meet will forever be etched in my mind as The Tragedy of Sophie.

 

 

 

Sophie arrives...

She (or he, not really sure) arrived in the afternoon three days before T-day. After our initial surprise that THE best turkey in Uganda was roaming around our back yard, I, being the animal lover that I am, immediately began to get a bit attached. It didn’t help that the neighborhood kids named her Sophie. And it didn’t help that Sophie was so loveable… well, as far as turkeys go. She would sit outside the front door all day, peaking in the bottom window as the day passed. If that same door was left open, Sophie didn’t hesitate to come inside and say hello. Thanksgiving Day Eve I was enjoying an afternoon nap (what else do you do on a rainy day?!) and awoke to find Sophie sleeping beside the couch on the floor. With each passing day her eyes became less beady, her nasty, red, hangy neck thing (my mother has informed me it’s called a “wattle”) became less grotesque.

An afternoon visit...

Unfortunately, as is the case of most tragedies, something tragic must occur. When the time came for Sophie to pass, she did so without a sound (well that’s what I was told… I was crouched in the bathroom plugging my ears). The color drained out of her nasty, red, hangy neck thing and her beady eyes clouded over. With the assistance of a Ugandan neighbor, feathers were plucked, organs were gutted, and feet were chopped. So was the end of Sophie… and the beginning of dinner. 

Turkey feet fun!

Without an oven, our dinner options were limited. Green bean casserole was cooked over an open fire, apple pie was purchased from a Ugandan baker, and the turkey was grilled. When it was time to sit down to dinner, the food was unlike any I’ve ever experienced for any Thanksgiving… as was the company: a mixture of Americans, Canadians, and Ugandans. After expressing what we were thankful for, a tradition the Ugandans really enjoyed, it was time to dig in. And boy did it suck! The purchased apple pie tasted like jolly ranchers; and the turkey was tough and incredibly dry (picture the Griswold’s turkey from Christmas vacation). But it is undoubtedly one of the best Thanksgivings I’ve ever experienced.

But it doesn’t end there. 

Two weeks after our mediocre feast the Ugandans that dropped off Sophie informed us that it wasn’t by coincidence that she loved sitting at our door, enjoyed our company, and liked sleeping inside. Sophie had been raised as a pet in the village and was, in fact, quite old (which might explain why our main course was so tough). Since she was nearing her time anyway, the owner must have been looking for a quick buck… well, Ugandan shilling. May she (or he) rest in peace. 

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