Swine Times

We were quite anxious about going to stay with the Lisu Hilltribe, and weren't sure what to expect. We settled in to their guest room, and began to... learn.

I ventured towards a massage course with Susannon the Lisu matriarch of our host family. Her massage to me was nice, and then her brief instruction of "ok, now you do." Awkward, to say the least.

As I finsihed giving my massage to a 50-something Lisu woman, I hobbled down the stairs to find Mara hunched over a work table slaving away at what was to become a beautiful silver ring. Mara worked with Albert (Susannon's husband of 5 years). A 68 year-old American Expat, Albert brings his incredible skills as a psychotherapist, professional jewelry designer, yoga and meditation instructor, engineer, organic farmer, and business developer to the Lisu village. Of all his skills, speaking Lisu is not one of them. And Susannon, a mother of many, grandmother to even more, holistic healer, masseuse, clothing designer, rice farmer, cook and more doesn't speak English.
I guess with all those skills who needs a common language???

So Albert comes to us, and says "hey, you're in luck!" We were, to say the least, cautious of what was to come out of his mouth next. "Tomorrow there's going to be a party... They're celebrating the birth of a new baby." "Great," we feigned enthusiasm. Albert caught the glimpse on our faces, which said pretty much 'so what does that mean for us'? "Well, of course we won't be able to do any workshops, but everyone will be here for the slaughter." Slaughter?!? Yes, of course, the central focus of our two-day stay with the Lisu would be on the slaughter of two massive pigs, their butchering, preparation and finally, feast.

Over a nice breakfast of fruit and tea the next morning, we all watched as a bunch of Lisu men gathered around the edge of the pig-pen. Mara retreated to our room to avoid what was coming. I thought I'd stick around for a while.
The men schmoozed for a while, and then very non-chalantly approached the wooden fence of the pen. A younger man entered and lured the pigs over to the corner when "the executioner," a spear-handed Lisu, lifted the 3 meter spear over the fence and jabbed into the heart of pig #1.
The pigs fled to the other side of the pen, and after about 5 minutes, pig #1 made his last dive into the mud. Blood spurting from his punctured side, he gasped his last breath and expired, falling sacrifice to the village and the birth of a new baby.

I had to stop for a second and take in the scene. In all my days of vegetarianism, and working at Ken's Diner, I never had the misfortune of watching a live slaughter. I have seen it on the internet with all the scandals of the kosher slaughter houses, but truth is, it really seemed relatively painless. I mean the pig was dead in a matter of minutes. Then I slapped myself, and thought, what could be painless about getting stabbed in the heart by a 3m spear in front of your two best friends?!?!

They then tied it's feet and tried to carry it out through the mud. (I couldn't help but be reminded of the scene from the movie Kippur where four soldiers unsuccessfully carried an injured soldier on a stretcher through the Golan heights mud).

Now relocated outside the pen, more guys came, with a home-made broom torch and began brushing the corpse with the flames. (I'll spare you the visuals)

BBQ? I thought. No no, just the way to get all the hair and skin off, Albert explained now standing by my side. Ahh, yes of course.

Now, the air filled with smoke, ash, and pigskin I raced off to check on Mara. She was busily weaving a cool belt, and had a growing audience of young and old Lisu, visibly amused by her discomfort. I made my way back, to find no less than thirty ceremonially dressed Lisu women, who had butchered and dissected the sacrifice and were now busy carving, roasting, boiling and frying different pork parts leaving nothing to waste. Impressive.
Not too long afterwards, lunch was served. Pork stirfry, chili, grizzle, stew, and soup spread the smorgasbord. Like Woody Allen at Thanksgiving dinner in Annie Hall, we walked through the suare mustering up all of our strength to feel excited. Getting increasingly more difficult to decline the continuous bowls shoved in our face of unidentifiable pieces of pig #1 (and yes, pig #2 was decidedly done in as well), we setted for a bowl of rice, a Laotian "Leo" 40oz beer with ice and some pineapple. "I guess there's not really a veggie option today," offered Albert not too sympathietically. "I guess not," I replied.

Later that night, Mara and I tried to remeber what non-pork smelling air smelled like, began to debreif.
We were disgusted, reaffirmed our vegetarianism and Kashrut, yet thought that Barbara Kingsolver would have approved of the whole thing. Despite the gross understatement of this not being for us, the food was local, no waste, no factory processing, and basically no carbon footprint for a feast of over 60 people. I have to say that if few people who eat meat, actually have the stomach to kill it themselves. The Lisu, like many 3rd world cultures have a little to teach us all. Don't get me wrong, I am avidly against eating animals or killing them. The day long pig slaughter and pork-fest was one of my worst experiences ever, but did give me food for thought (as I didn't really eat anything else) about the importance of what we eat.