Monday 12 September 2016

False Friends

I wrote this a little while ago, it was meant to be used in a course book, but I don't think it ever was. So I thought I'd publish it here. It's based on a true story. 

For audio click here

It was my first day of my nine-month contract in Prague, and already I was regretting my decision to come. I stood aghast outside a butcher’s shop, staring at the special offer displayed on the chalkboard. I couldn’t believe my eyes. Part of being an English teacher is opening your mind to the differences in culture and habits you experience in the different countries you choose to live in. In Portugal I’d had to contend with their lack of understanding of the concept of time. “I’ll be there at ten,” they’d say to me. So, innocently I’d get there on time and would sit alone for anything up to two hours. Just as I was about to give up and leave, they’d turn up as nonchalant as you like; no apology, not even acknowledging that there was a problem. In Japan, I’d had to experience the spectacle of a live fish being brought to the table, pinned to a board and sliced alive, right there in front of me. How I didn’t go running to the toilet I will never know.

But this, this seemed worse to me. This was unacceptable. I’d been led to believe the Czechs were a civilised nation, a little reserved, but generally a friendly, progressive bunch. But the evidence before me suggested I had come to a land of savages.

Now, I’m no vegetarian. Quite the reverse in fact. I am the kind of person who complains in a vegetarian restaurant that there is no meat option. I’ll eat almost any meat without qualms, I’ve no problem with veal or rabbit, no worries eating liver, can’t get enough black pudding, but even I draw the line at endangered species. I looked at the board again, my eyesight was not playing tricks, it was true. The board really said ZEBRA 65Kc / Kg.

The thought haunted me all the way to work. I wasn’t sure what perturbed me the most; the idea of eating zebra or the fact it was so cheap. Sixty-five crowns was about one pound twenty five, that meant you could get a kilo of zebra meat for less than a copy of a Sunday newspaper in the UK; it just didn't seem right.

Once in work I sought out the pretty, young, Czech receptionist, I had to find out if Czech’s really did eat zebra.
“What is Czech for zebra?” I asked, as coolly as I could muster; preying she wouldn’t say zebra.
“Zebra. Why?”
So it was true, the colour drained from my cheeks.
“And it’s a Czech delicacy?”
“No, of course not. Why?”
“Outside my butcher’s, it said zebra 65Kc / kg.”
Lenka smiled knowingly. “Did the Z have a haček?”
“A what?”
“A  haček, a little hook, like this.” She drew a z with a small v above it.
I couldn’t remember, I shrugged my shoulders. “Maybe.”
“Zebra is Czech for zebra but žebra means ribs.” She pointed at her midrift to illustrate the point.
The relief was palpable even if I did feel rather foolish. The Czechs are indeed a civilised bunch, so much so that I stayed for the most part of the next twenty years. 


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