To Eat or Not to Eat: Meat

When I made the choice to serve as a Peace Corps volunteer in Morocco, I knew that certain sacrifices would have to be made. Giving up being a vegan was one of those sacrifices. Living in a small rural village there is no access to soy milk or tofu, or health food stores stocked full of veggie burgers. I determined early on that eggs and milk would be necessary to stay healthy during my service and I have had no qualms about switching to being a vegetarian.

While I made the choice to eat eggs and milk during my service, it was very important to me to stay vegetarian. I haven’t eaten meat since I was four years old, and my concern for the treatment of animals is a big part of who I am. Since coming to Morocco I’ve made changes in my appearance and behavior to show respect for my community and have embraced many aspects of Moroccan culture. Being a vegetarian was one very important piece of me that I could maintain.

While not eating meat has been met with surprise or confusion in many cases, Moroccans have been overall very understanding of this difference. Some people even make vegetarian dishes if I’m coming over now. We were warned during training about the possibility of it being culturally offensive not to eat meat but after several months of benign reactions to my vegetarianism, I became confident that it wasn’t a big deal. I maintained this confidence until a few weeks ago.

It was a cold, rainy day and I was hiking over the mountains with another Peace Corps volunteer to a very remote part of my site. I’m hoping to do some work there and have been trying to establish relationships with people. After about three hours of hiking we were cold and very muddy. From the distance we heard a man yelling for us to come inside and drink tea. We veered off the path towards the man and gladly accepted the offer.

We were taken into a small one-room home with a miniature wood burning stove stationed in the middle. The house was warm and comfortable and we sat down gratefully in front of the fire. We spent time with two men and two women drinking hot, sugary tea. When they heard that I’m involved in health work one of the couples shared that they had lost a young child recently. I took the opportunity to discuss some aspects of maternal and child health with them and ways to stay healthy during pregnancy, delivery, and post-delivery that I have been teaching in a Maternal and Child Health class. Afterwards they told me, “You are always welcome here; we are family now.” It was a perfect situation in my mind. I made new contacts, did some impromptu health education, and had a highly enjoyable afternoon with some great Moroccans.

A little while later one of the women left the room and went outside. Before I knew it there were feathers flying in the air outside of the door. I covered my face with my hands; I knew exactly what was happening.

The family had killed one of their chickens for me, a hugely generous gesture. My heart started beating faster. I thought I was just coming in for tea, and these people had no idea I didn’t eat meat, what was I going to do? It was already dead and there was no way to leave. The woman proceeded to pluck the feathers and brought the chicken inside to prepare. I turned away to avoid the bloody process. Thoughts were racing through my head. Being a vegetarian is who I am, and if I eat meat now they’ll expect me to eat it again when I come back, I don’t want to do that. If I eat meat after being a vegetarian for such a long time I’ll probably get sick, how will I hike back over the mountains if I’m sick? These people killed a chicken to welcome me into their home and to show their respect for me, how can I disrespect them by not eating it? It was the first time in 20 years that I contemplated eating meat.

We waited as the chicken cooked. Back and forth I went in my mind. Finally the chicken was served in the traditional communal fashion. A loaf of bread was torn and distributed. While the others dove into the chicken, I began eating the bread plain, knowing full-well that it wouldn’t go unnoticed for long.

“Eat!” They told me. “Why aren’t you eating? Eat!” I hesitated. “I don’t eat meat,” I finally said. “What do you mean you don’t eat meat? Eat!” I explained that I’m a vegetarian in the US and that I’m a vegetarian in Morocco. There was clear disapproval and disappointment. The chicken was finished in silence as I tried to eat as much as I could of the bread. Suddenly one of the men declared, “You ate nothing!” I tried to explain that I had eaten a lot of bread and drank a lot of tea, but I was interrupted. “No, you ate nothing.” I felt guilt wash over me like a wave. I had been afraid that not eating the meat would be offensive and it was.

When it was finally time to hike back, the family again emphasized that I was welcome in their home and that I was a part of their family. I felt relieved that they still had a positive image of me but the guilt continued to weigh heavily. Since that day I have gone back over that experience in my mind many times, and I still don’t know if I made the right choice. While under most circumstances here it’s acceptable to abstain, in those situations where it can be offensive not to graciously accept a kind gesture, the question remains: To eat or not to eat meat?