Slaughter House 3

While I was gone last time, a restaurant moved in below our office. It is actually a nice change, since there was a stereo and speaker shop there previously and there were times I thought I might suffer vitriol fibrillations (I say that like I know what the hell I’m talking about) just from the bass thumping in my chest, and other times when the desk was vibrating so much I couldn’t concentrate.

So now, all we have are halfway decent aromas wafting up from below and occasional bouts of too much barbeque smoke. Except for the other weekend when there must have been some sort of special occasion or event – maybe they were catering a wedding or funeral or something. Anyway, suddenly there were three goats tied up down below our back stairs. When they weren’t eating scraps of corn husks and plantain stems, they were bleating and crying and making a bit of a racket.

They did quiet down at night and in the morning, as I was having my coffee on the back step, Precious (who is six) came up to visit. She looked over the rail and in her rapidly increasing vocabulary, she said, “Goat”. I agreed that, indeed, they were goats and then had to choose between my jaw dropping to the ground and busting a gut laughing at the absurdity of a six year old animatedly rattling off a sentence or two in Twi with the word goat tossed in here and there - and drawing her finger under her throat from ear to ear.
XO