Omamas Abathengisa Inthloko - The Mothers That Sell Sheep Heads

Her name is Patricia and I remember the first time I saw her very well. It was a warm day and I was driving pass all the leaning shacks and shebeens when I saw smoke columns on the blue township sky. The road turned and behind the corner appeared a most remarkable sight; in a pile of raffle next to burning fires sat six women with hats, painted faces and what appears to be swords in their hands. I couldn't believe my eyes, a squad of amazon warriors from a post-apocalyptic movie in the middle of Langa - what was going on? I asked my friend behind the steering-wheel; “who are these women and what are they doing?” He smiled at me and said; “that my man, that is the omamas abathengisa intloko - the mothers that sell sheep heads”.

When I return to the spot a few weeks later, there are only three women left in the raffle. Patricia is telling me that the rest went for holidays to the Eastern Cape, the rural area many people in Langa root from and where many people still have friends and family living. This is where Patricia was born and raised herself, but in the 70's she moved to Langa with her mom that wanted a better job and education possibilities for her children. In fact, her mom was also an omama abathengisa intloko until 10 years ago when Patricia decided to take over and let her mom rest and take care of her children. At first Patricia worked as a domestic worker, and I ask her what made her change occupation. She throws a sheep head into the fire and explains that employers started to demand more qualifications and a lot of paperwork in the 90's, and she didn't have any of those two. I nod my head to signalize that I understand but I'm not as sure that I actually do. This story is far more complex than a meal.

Every morning at seven Patricia is at the butcher to purchase the heads. At ten she arrives to the stump that is her working chair and starts the process required in order to prepare the perfect sheep head. The first step is to dry the head from blood. After that all the wool and hair needs to be burned away by using a glowing metal tool. She's showing me how this is done, the smoke is rising, and I am looking into the dead sheep eyes that appears to be so alive, its like I expect some kind of complaining sound, a cry of sorrow, a sheep's lament, even though I know it's just a head without a body. Nothing wailing is coming out, at least not from the mouth. When all the hair is gone it's time to wash the smooth face clean from burned particles. This is the first time I've seen a newly shaved sheep face in my whole life and it looks even more polite and humble than it did with all the facial hair. But Patricia doesn't have any sympathy and I can understand her. It's the sheep or her. The next step is brutal; first she slices the head open with an axe and then she removes the brain that most people don't like to eat. After that the remaining parts have to boil for two hours without any spices, and then it's finally ready to be served. Bon appetite! Patricia says that her favourite part is the ears or the eyes, the parts that consists of most fat, but she's advising me to try the tongue – the part that most people think is most delicious. My mouth goes dry and my tongue roll up in the palate in an instinctive manoeuvre of self-defence. It takes a second or two for me two convince it that everything's fine, it uncoils slowly and I'm able to ask my next question. In 2 hours she's able to prepare 10 heads, and if everything goes as planned every head comes with a profit of 20 rands each. The price for a whole head is 40 rands and for half of a head you have to pay 20. I realize that I actually have to buy something,  but I am bit careful and decide to be fine with just one half. There are already prepared ones wrapped in the Daily Sun and I open the paper. I'm actually too young for festivities such as these, in Xhosa culture it's only the elders that are allowed to eat from the head. This is part of Patricia's business idea and most customers are younger boys that wants to find out what's so special with the ntloko yegusha - the ceremonial sheep head. I am not so sure I am one of them so I grab a tiny bite with a lot of barbecue spice. Chew, chew, chew. Swallow and smile. I decide to ask for take-away.