To fully understand something, you have to experience it.

Being told that a kilometer is 1,000 meters is no substitute for running it. Knowing that ice cream reacts pleasantly with taste buds is not the same as eating it. And reading that the universe is infinite isn’t quite as awe-inspiring as the experience of gazing up at a night sky full of stars.

It’s hard to fully understand the world, because there are so many things that we have not experienced. Most of us are far removed from origin of things. We interact daily with devices we do not understand, travel nonchalantly in machines which go frighteningly fast, and eat food from places we do not know.

One nice thing about living in Mozambique is that, generally speaking, the separation between a thing and its origin is slightly less than in Spain or the USA. Sweet potatoes come from the field down the road, bread comes from the baker downtown, and the news come from your neighbor (and not a talking head on a screen).

Then, there’s chicken. In Ramona’s world (and our’s), chicken comes from lots of places - waiters at restaurants, little glass pots of branded baby food, the tightly-wrapped plastic bag in the freezer, the supermarket, mom and dad’s plates. But where does chicken really come from? Well, chicken comes from chicken.

It’s a simple lesson, but not an easy one to learn.

(Video not for those who are faint of heart or vegetarian of diet)

(A special thanks to our neighbors for lending their expertise of all things chicken)