Road Kill Cafe

Part of what we love about Sudan is that things that shock your conscience under normal circumstances can happen at any time.

On a day that promised to be just like the previous two weeks of data collection in rural health units for my research, our team met a fortuitous bump in the road on the pre-dawn drive to the village of the day. Driving at break-neck speed along one of the very few improved roads here, both right tires of the fully-loaded landcruiser ran squarely over an unfortunate creature. Not thinking much of it, I was slightly surprised at the cacophonous eruption from the back of the vehicle when the rest of the team excitedly realized what we’d run over. Unfortunately, there’s no word in English for the animal, but it is best described as a cross between an armadillo and a dinosaur—about the size of a small dog, gray in color, plated with quarter inch armor scales, and with a thick tail and tiny head apparently designed for feeding on termites.

Now at break-neck speed in reverse to claim our trophy, I saw an alacrity in the team that had been strangely absent in our days of data collection. We quickly surrounded the armadillo-like dinosaur, which was curled into a tight ball, injured, yet very much still alive despite the double blow from our tires. After several ideas for finishing off the beast were discarded, eventually it was settled that a fire had to be built on top of it so that it would expose its’ head, at which point it could be disposed of quickly. With great enthusiasm we quickly gathered dry grass from the side of the road together with a single large, heavy stick for the fatal blow, and lit our impromptu bonfire in the right lane. After several minutes the deed was done and we were on our way with the now partially cooked meat tied on top of the car.

Dreaming of fresh meat all day, we gathered fire wood and the necessary condiments to supplement our meal in camp that night. I observed the proceedings with great interest in the event that I ever encountered such circumstances in the future. First, the entire animal was thrown into the fire, evidently the only way to loosen the body armor for plucking. After removing—and fastidiously saving for a stew to be prepared later—the scales, we decided to divide the animal in half, which was summarily achieved with some gruesome over-the-head machete blows. One half was smoked, while the other half was cut into small pieces, boiled then fried. While waiting for the main course, the liver was removed and roasted as an appetizer. Finally, after nearly two hours spent hovering around the campfire with boiling pot in vigorous and lively debate over the proper proportions of oil, salt, and water to achieve the perfect product, we were ready to eat our long-awaited prize.

I’ll admit, I was skeptical at first both of the claims that the meat was “most delicious” and of the wisdom of eating road kill that had subsequently ridden on top of our car, covered in flies, in the Sudan dry-season heat for 14 hours, but was very pleasantly surprised. As a lover of roasted pork, I have to say that this meat compared favorably and we all enjoyed our share—each according to the work they’d put in to make it possible.

There’s something new to learn around every corner here, and I have to say that I now have added incentive to drive too fast around most corners in the hopes of finding another piece of road kill to enjoy.

(To my great dismay, this event followed the theft of my camera so I don’t have any pictures to share, but if I ever feel a lump under the tires again . . . )