The Chicken Witness

Chickens make the world go round and eggs ensure the course remains constant.  Where would the human race be without the chicken and the egg?  

I was recently at a wedding and noticed the great contributions made by the chickens to our enjoyment.  We ate chicken, jollof rice and cakes made with eggs.  It made me reflect on my long relationship with eggs.  As a child, I had my boiled eggs in my special egg cup holders and life was sweet.  With age I moved onto chicken oblivious to how the chicken made its way to my plate.  The day I saw a chicken being killed in the flesh for the first time was a life changing experience.  Its two legs were trod upon and its neck was slit as it gave its last cry. This  gave me a phobia for seeing the knife put to any throat but I still eat chicken.

At this wedding with medical colleagues in attendance there was a clear difference in the way each physician related to the chicken on the plate depending on their specialty.

Paediatricians

‘This chicken is too big for our ward’.  Refer to the adult ward.  Need I say more?

Orthopaedic surgeon

Every profession has its tough guys who love to play with tools and toys.  Orthopaedic surgeons are the area boys of medicine - bone setters with a love for ‘Black and Decker’ and ‘plastering’.  These are the ones who grab the chicken and bite into it like a great white shark - they disarticulate the femoral head from the acetabulum with spicy juices flying everywhere yet they leave their eyes wide open.  They eat bone and sinew with jaws that look like they were manufactured in a Russian Steel plant.

The Haematologist

These ones ignore the rice, dodo, moin moin and fish and go straight for the drum sticks.  They peel away the flesh; crack the thigh bone open and start to suck on the bone marrow.

Psychiatrists

I saw this at close quarters.  When the steward served my colleague his plate of delicious food, he beamed with joy, grabbed his cutlery and suddenly a dark harmanttan cloud descended on his face.  Then he dropped his cutlery and said to the lady who served him his food, ‘this chicken looks tense on the plate’. She looked bemused as did most people on the table, all except his wife who kept on eating.  I suppose after thirty years of marriage one accepts two things - all men dey craze smol smol and why change your man?  You will only change the type of craziness you live with but the crae=ze always remains.

Our psychiatrist told the table he suspects the chicken had a rough childhood.  Perhaps, a separation anxiety occurred when its mother was abducted and taken to the local KFC.  He asked the waitress if she knew if there was any family history of psychiatric illness in the chicken’s family.  She replied that she never had the pleasure of meeting the chicken while alive.

As I write this, I fear I have developed auditory hallucinations.  Maybe it is that song the DJ was playing.  I keep hearing voices asking me, ‘what is your baby’s name?’ and before I can answer, the same voice tells me the answer is Panya.  I must remember to ask my wife if she has acquired a new nickname.

Neurologist

They served him jerk chicken and he postulated that the chicken died from Status Epilepticus

Rheumatologist.

One look at his chicken and he asked for a slender knife with which to take a muscle biopsy for further studies for he noted wasting on the chicken’s Quads.  He put the tissue on his mouth which also doubled as a histopathology lab and declared the muscle was normal.

Gynaecologist

He refused point blank to have a piece of chicken.  He asked for a whole chicken served in the lithotomy position on a platter.  He shouted at the waitress as she walked away, ‘I need size 7 gloves’.  The manager of the hotel was told about this unusual request.  He obliged as he figured that today’s rich guest might be tomorrow’s client.  Soon after, a full chicken appeared with its bum in Lokoja, its belly facing the sky and one leg up the Niger while the other one was up the Benue.  Our gynae star donned his gloves and began to molest the poor chicken.

General Practitioner

The GP told the chicken it had to be eaten in ten minutes and politely asked it if it had any strange ideas, concerns or expectations.  Met without a reply, the GP asked for an interpreter for he thought a language problem existed.  Soon a waitress who was an expert in talking to the dead was found and she communicated with the spirit of the chicken.  She said the chicken was in Chicken heaven and hated being disturbed this way.  However, it expressed concern that part of its carcass was at a wedding but its legs were at the indoor market on sale.  This it found disrespectful.  The GP asked if the spirit of the chicken wanted a referral for psychological therapy and the rude reply was, ‘shut up and eat my remains’.

Anatomist

He cut through the skin of his chicken and asked the wedding photographer to capture his beautiful dissections on film.  He kept calling the photographer back and forth as he beautifully carved up the carcass of the chicken exposing nerves and blood vessels much to the delight of himself alone.

The dentist

Asked for the head and neck of the chicken and threw a tantrum when the request was not granted then he said, ‘I am unfamiliar with anything neck down’.

Plastic Surgeon

Drew diagrams on napkins plotting how to make the chicken look prettier

Chemical Pathologist

He just kept on tasting every item on the menu.  He was saying something about salt and potassium content but by now everybody was singing that their baby’s name was Panya and no one took any notice.