The XXI century, 9.30 AM, one of Bucharest's neighbourhoods drowned in never ending hills of snow. Cars with scared drivers desperately watching through the windscreen, hoping to make through the big crossroad where a well dressed police man stands...doing nothing. I carefully step on the paths made through the snow by morning walkers. At the end of the final cross stray dogs can be heard barking. I can see one of them sacredly watching towards the loud hounds form across the street, and I thinking that the poor dog is an unwanted intruder. But I am so wrong. As a put the final step on what used to be a clearly marketed white cross, I see a confused pig. A large red skinned pig, waving his large years, seeking for the right direction. His formerly pink skin is carved by small cuts, making it look bloody red. His back legs have been tight together, to make sure he has no way to escape. Behind him, two man guiding his direction with a stick...
This officially opened the pig slaughtering season for me. Every year, my grandparents raise two pigs for Christmas. They've been going through this ritual since they were born. While most traditions were lost, this one is still vivid at the country side. This is also something I attend every year, until my grandparents will no longer be able to raise the pigs. Even if pork meat does not represent a necessity anymore, like it used to in the old days, this habit cannot be taken from them. It's cruel, but it's a tradition and an unwritten law of the people. Considering that other cultures still murder or torture people to satisfy traditions, or apply the rule of death to punish the ones that do wrong in their community in the XXI century, the pig slaughtering doesn't sound so cruel. It is though something that will disappear...
Traditions make culture, culture makes us different and unique...