The Fresh Fried Liver

It must have been somewhere between 1991-1993: I had slept very well, knowing that tomorrow I would enjoy the fresh fried liver. Just after the 7 o’clock news – by Justice Gaolekwe, my father sent me to my aunty’s house (his sister); about 800 meters from home. She had moved away from the kgotla, because of marriage. She must have missed kgomodimetsing. I happily obliged and sprinted on the dusty gravel road, slightly rocky just when approaching her house.

“A o Nkgooo-si!” He always seems to greet me first, to my constantly concealed smile. I would later narrate our encounter to my brother, as usual; mimicking him, we would chuckle to my father’s annoyance around 20:30: the nightly praying time. ”Dumelang, papa is asking for your help in the slaughtering of the pudi,” I happily reported to my auntie’s husband. Right away, he went in the house, for his sharp okapi knife –  I presumed. Three minutes later,  we both marched back the 800 meters.

My father’s cousin had left at the crack of dawn; I was told he looked after a couple of my fathers’ goats, at his masimo. My brother (already at school) and I had tied him the previous maitseboa; with one of my father’s ropes to a lemon tree; one of many, ropes and trees. Of course – my father retied him, to our amusement.

As soon as we untied him,”mbeee! mbee! mbee!,” he bleated; I would be lying to say I felt any compassion, the fresh fried liver was more important. I was with the professionals! About 15 minutes later I cleaned the pluck and intestines, which I was never good at, the lack of our own masimo and cattle post maybe? It was with sadness since I  had to go, immediately:  because I started motshegare that day. School was already boring and long the moment I left the professionals; with the meat – especially the fresh, to be fried liver….