The Tanzanian villagers had invited me to a welcome celebration three days
hence.

    As the honored guest, I would have the privilege of killing the cow for the
feast.  My brother, Father Steve Brown, told the villagers I would be honored to
do so.  But, later, I protested: "I can’t kill a cow!"  Over the next two nights
of my three-week visit to Tanzania, I had bad dreams.  In one I was holding a
screaming, pecking chicken while trying to chop off its head with a rusty ax. 
In another I was chasing a big spotted cow.  The Tanzanian villagers were
laughing at me.  I was scared.  I had never killed a cow, goat or even a
chicken. I was afraid that the village people would 1 see me as a coward.  If
only I could start with a chicken.

    The dreaded day came.  As we drove the long, bumpy dirt road to the village, I
had only one thought in mind: "How do I get out of this."  As we approached,
several people ran alongside the truck cheering and yelling.  When we got there
I met the chief who said many things to me, none of which I understood.  The
translator explained that the chief was very privileged to have a brave and
strong white person to celebrate with him. The chief then asked me to come and
pick the cow that most appealed to me.  I picked a scrawny black one that looked
almost dead anyway.  As the cow was held down by five men, the chief offered me
an old rusty 12-inch knife.

    At that moment, I
got a flash of inspiration.  Turning to the translator, I said: "I am honored,
but I would much rather learn from the master."  That made the chief’s day —
and mine!