On the way to chicken
market we saw this mutton shop that sells halal goat meat.
This butcher wanted
to sell the entire leg quarter to us
Part Twelve
How to get halal meat without ever sweating?
By A.H. Jaffor Ullah
Wednesday, June 27, 2001
It was a typical hot and muggy day
in Dhaka. The monsoon cloud enveloped the sky from the morning.
It was threatening to rain any time. My host in Dhaka asked me whether
I would be interested in accompanying him to chicken market in Gulshan
Chokkor (circle) Number Two. My host lives practically walking distance
from the market but he insisted that we should go there in the air-conditioned
car. The head servant was summoned to ask the driver to prepare the
car. Among Dhaka’s upper crust, everything is formal. The driver
will be summoned by one of the servants. The shahib can’t call the
driver. It is out of etiquette. I was warned beforehand not
to talk to the driver excepting for giving specific instruction.
On the way to chicken
market we saw this mutton shop that sells halal goat meat.
This butcher wanted
to sell the entire leg quarter to us
The fifty-ish looking bearded driver who was once a proud freedom fighter during 1971 (he told me one day when ‘bara shahib’ was not there) brought the car to the doorstep and off we went to Gulshan Chokkor Number Two. Swear to God, it took us only minutes by car to get there; the A/C did not do any good to cool us off because of the time constraint. But our shahib was happy because the vent was blowing some "cool" air. As we got off the car, beggars and coolie swarmed us like locust came asking for money and job to haul the merchandise from shop to the car.
Our destination was the chicken bazaar. However, we had to go through a meat market and on the way we saw a fish and vegetable vendors too. It was above 90 degrees Fahrenheit even in the shade but when we stepped inside the covered bazaar the temperature there had risen a few degrees. The humidity was unbearable. However, the vendors selling assorted vegetables, meat, or fish were nonchalant. The high heat and humidity did not bother them a bit. Things were very normal for them. After we pushed trough the narrow ally that was filled with shoppers, we finally reached the chicken bazaar. Upon seeing my host the chicken seller in lungi came straight to him bowing his head and saying salam obsequiously to both of us. He quickly called for his assistants. Two younger looking apprentice showed up from nowhere. He said, "Show our shahebs some good murghis."
The assistants scampered to the
corner of the large room where I saw covered chicken coup. There
was a net that covered the coup where there were at least 20-25 chickens
packed like a sardine in a can on a bamboo basket. As the assistant
put his hand inside the coup, the chickens started making noise.
Some chickens were flapping their wings, some started crowing. My
thirteen year-old son who was born and raised in America was puzzled by
all this commotion. The assistant was able to grab two healthy looking
chicken, he pooled them out, brought the chickens by holding them
by their toes. Their heads were hanging down. Occasionally,
their wing would flap. The chicken seller grabbed one of the chickens
and held it upright. He said in deshi Bangla that this is a fine
specimen of our domesticated fowl. He said these are healthy chickens
whose meat will be very tender. My host whispered to my ear that
deshi murgi is much tastier than the farm raised chicken that we get in
the West. It was his usual bragging session. I decided not
to say a word.
A bamboo basket
carrying domestic fowl. Over crowding is a normal phenomenon!
There is no bird
lover society in Bangladesh to protest this torture the birds endure
The other assistant in the meantime got two more chickens from another coup. My host told them only to get three medium sized chickens at this time. Now comes the negotiation time for fixing the price. After about 30 seconds fast-paced negotiation, which was fierce, it was decided that each would cost about 120 taka ($2.00), which is about the same price in the US. However, this is not a good comparison. The per capita income of an average Bangalees is about few hundred dollars as opposed to $ 8,000 -10,000 for an American. Roughly speaking, an American makes 10-15 fold more money than an average Bangalee. Therefore, to buy a chicken in Bangladesh is 10-15 times costlier than it is in America. Well, so much for this comparative cost analysis. I am in company of very rich Bangalees. They don’t count their pennies while they shop. So, what is the big deal?
I saw the two assistants taking the chickens to the next room. I asked my host what is going on here. He replied, "They will sacrifice the birds and then dress them here so that we will only take back home meat only." This must be a new development. I was not aware of this innovative method of selling chicken. And I also thought it would take a long time. Why should we stand here in this sweltering heat? Seeing my reaction, my host said, "It won’t take them long." He suggested that I step next door to see the entire operation.
With trepidation, I stepped into the next room. By this time they have sacrificed one chicken, which they placed into one covered plastic container, which resembled more lika a plastic garbage can we have in the West. The rubber made container was light. It was shaking very vigorously. The headless chicken was jumping inside the container few more times and then there was no more sound coming from inside the container. As I stood there, the assistants beheaded two more chickens nochalantly. Blood was dripping all over and the beheaded chickens were doing their final dance inside the small container. My thirteen year old kid could not believe what this commotion is all about. He never thought he would see anything grotesque like this. I told him not to look at the container. My son left the room immediately. He probably was thinking that Bangalees are very cruel folks as he left the room. One of the assistants then removed the skin with his deft hand. Then they took the intestine out with one sharp pool. Then the meat was chopped and put inside a plastic bag. The entire operation took less than 5 minutes. I then stepped into the room where my host was handing the chicken seller few 100 taka bills. The transaction was made and meat was taken to the car by one of the assistants.
As I exited the bazaar, I told my host that these guys are very efficient. My host looked very proud hearing what I said. I whispered to his ear, "I only wished the other segment of our society could be as efficient as the chicken dresser."
My host did not appreciate my terse
comment from the look I got.
---------------------------
A.H. Jaffor Ullah writes from New
Orleans, USA. His e-mail address is - Jaffor@netscape.net
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