Markets from Cairo to China

 

Cairo, in 1997, was primitive in so many ways, especially in what we would call grocery stores. It wasn’t until about ten years later that a big European supermarket opened up. While there was a store that had frozen chicken, that was what I was on the hunt for, I could tell the meat had been thawed and refrozen numerous times. Often the dirty sliding casing door was left open for who knows how long, coupled with frequent power cuts, guaranteed to melt everything in any freezer.

Asking around, I learned of an area that had fresh chicken, so off I went with my minimal Arabic to buy a fresh bird. When I asked for a fresh chicken, the proud shop owner reached behind the counter, pulling out a live chicken, squawking like crazy. I just nodded my head and, in my terrible Arabic, said I would come back when it was ready, the butcher just grinned at me. Thirty minutes later, I picked up my fresh chicken, holding it gingerly at my side. While crossing the street, I touched it and almost dropped the bag, it was still warm! When I got home, looking in the bag, it still had its head and feet. I almost threw up. Someone else took the head and feet off for me.

One day some of us went on a stroll through the neighborhood and came upon a butcher shop with entire sides of beef hanging outside. When a customer came, the butcher just cut off what they wanted. We were repulsed by the flies on the meet, which the owner would occasionally fling his dirty rag at to briefly disburse them.  Later telling our Egyptian colleagues about this, we were told, “Don't ever buy meat from where there are no flies; that means it has been sprayed with poison.” Many times the sheep, goats, and cows are just waiting behind the shop for their turn. Not a place for those who expect USDA certification.  But I never got sick.

Living in so many developing and vastly different cultures definitely can be challenging as each country is unique. I just learned not to ask too many questions.

When I moved to Nanjing, China, in 2010, a city of over nine million people, I was in for another round of shocks when it came to grocery shopping. Not too far from my house was a “wet” market that operated on the weekends. Farmers would bring in fresh produce, and there was a section dedicated to individual butchers as well as fishmongers. To say it was a bloody, barbaric sight does not begin to adequately describe the scene. One had to descend a steep slope into the dark bowels of a building with concrete floors interlaced with troughs of murky, foul water. And, of course, hordes of Chinese with a sprinkling of white faces. Much has been speculated about COVID originating from these “wet” markets, but never any concrete conclusions.

There was a major supermarket across the street from the school, but it was scarcely better than what I saw in Cairo. Because the store served so many people, meat was often in huge, unrecognizable piles, but none was more stomach-turning for me than the tables holding literally mountains of chicken paws.  I never, ever touched or ate one,  but at every fancy staff party, they were on the buffet line and enjoyed by many.

So now, here in Mexico,  when I see a pickup truck with half a cow hanging out being delivered to a butcher shop, I don’t even blink.

Ajijic, MX September 5, 2022