The Roadkill Chef

Arthur Boyt

By Christine Catlin: An 8th Grade True Story

          In South Africa everyone avoids strangers. A stranger could easily kidnap you, rob you, shoot you, or brutally murder you in any fashion. Unfortunately, my dad didn't seem to understand this concept. Despite the risks, my dad continued to pick up hitch-hikers and hand out cash to any man who looked poor. I was okay with this at first, until it went too far.

          It had been a long day in Africa. It was our fourth day and our luggage was still lost, and we'd just spent the whole day driving and looking at hyenas, crocodiles, rhinos, zebras, lions, baboons, ostriches, monkeys, buffalo, and almost every other African animal you can think of. That evening, however, my dad, a tall, gruff, dark-haired man, ran into an old, eccentric-looking, British man who could not find a room for the night. My dad, feeling sorry for him, of course, offered our spare room at the Guest House. I could not believe it.

          The old man was quite grateful and stammered with his British accent that his name was Arthur Boyt. He wore a large, scruffy, blue sweater over his wiry frame and his thinning gray hair stuck out at odd angles from the brim of his cap. He looked slightly frazzled, with glasses pushed to the bridge of his nose, and was probably in his late sixties. He was one of the last people you'd find out in the African Bush and I did not trust him. I promised to keep an eye on him at all times while he was in our spare guest room.

          We walked with Arthur to his car, I more reluctantly, and watched as he pulled out a ratty suitcase from a pile of highly odorous plastic bags. He and my dad talked while I hung back aways. Once he had grabbed his luggage we walked down the winding trail towards the guest house, the evening sounds of croaking hippos and snorting hyenas echoing in the dark. Opening the door for him we showed him where he could stay, and then headed off to our own room. However, it wasn't long before we heard a light rap on the door. It was Arthur Boyt.

          “Hello, I thought you might want to see some of my photographs I took today.” He stammered. “I have some lovely pictures of a lion and hyena fighting. They followed my jeep all the way down the road, you know, because they smelled some of the roadkill I had in my car.”

          I eyed him suspiciously, wondering briefly why exactly he had roadkill in his car. My dad, a much less cautious being, invited him in the room as he scrolled through the fuzzy images of birds and beasts.

          “I'm an avid birder.” Arthur explained after about the millionth picture we'd seen of the Southern Ground Hornbill. “I come from Cornwall, England, and we don't have many birds there. That's why I travel out here. I've been to America and Australia, too, because I enjoy biking and participating in Orienteering competitions.”

          I nodded keeping a careful eye on the eccentric man. He seemed harmless, but he was a retired entomologist, and I don't know what kind of normal person enjoys working with bugs.

          When Arthur went back to his own room I made sure to lock the door to my room. I had a restless sleep that night, and in the morning was relieved to find that he had left, leaving behind only a small thank you note. Days passed and I had nearly forgotten him completely, when, on a whim, I found a wi-fi and Googled his name. Immediately I was blown away by thousands of results. There were articles from the BBC, CNN, YouTube, and all major news sources. Slightly disbelievingly I clicked on one. I came face to face with his picture. Obviously, our British friend was famous!

          I felt slightly disbelievingly as I read article after article. The man certainly was famous, he even had his own TV Show! But I never would of guessed just what he was famous for. His TV Show was called The Man Who Eats Badgers: Tales From Bodmin Moor. Apparently this man was famous for cooking roadkill- in fact he'd eaten nothing but roadkill for 50 years. He'd eaten dead weasel, badger, hedgehog, skunk, squirrel, rabbit, rat, Labrador, cat, fox, mice, deer, and pigeons. His wife, needless to say, was a vegetarian. On YouTube, I watched a documentary telling about all the threatening phone calls he got, and how he was now writing a “soon-to-be-bestseller” cookbook. I couldn't help laughing as it quoted how he found the food, “safe, healthy, legal, and cheap” and that “even the green stuff was good- if not a bit bland.”

          I couldn't believe I'd met such a person. He'd had hedgehog sandwich, badger casserole, and skunk spaghetti! I erupted in a fit of mirth and couldn't wait to tell my dad the story. Although I didn't ever plan on trying roadkill myself, it was the most memorable experience on my whole vacation. After all, it's not every day you meet a celebrity chef... especially one that eats roadkill!