Posing with Mieko before we eat
Me and Constance posing inside her store
A sotrame like the kind I take to work
Coumba invited me to a tontine last week. A tontine is a gathering of women who meet monthly and give a designated fee to the community pot. Each month the collected fees go to one person, the one who is hosting the gathering. It is a sort of revolving fund wherein everyone benefits. This tontine was made up of a group of women who had graduated from Coumba's high school. We ate and talked. I enjoyed sitting among all the women, admiring their clothing and hairstyles and listening to as much of their storeis as I could understand. When they learned I was from the US they talked about their trips there and commiserated with each other that no one in Washington DC was able to understand French.
Last week Brahms took me to a live music spot featuring Malian Blues. The first song sounded just like blues from the southern US, complete with the BBKingesque guitar. The next song incorporated other Malian instruments to fuse the sounds. I noticed that the beats I moved to were different beats than the Malians move too. I looked around and saw one other person moving to the same beats I was moving to and I would have bet all the money in my purse that he was American as well. I noticed that the walls were well decorated with lots of paintings but I also noticed that all of the men were revolutionaries from around the world: Nelson Mandela, Malcolm X, Che Guevara, Toure (sp?) etc. while the women were all generic half-clothed beauties. I noted this to Brahms and he said well the women in some villages wear this type of dress. I said yes but the men are not men from random villages. They could have depicted famous revolutionary women as well. Revolutionary women, he shouted, like who?
I laughed and said Brahms, just as the accomplishments of people of color have been omitted from history books written by colonizers, the accomplishments of women have been omitted from books written by men. Your ignorance of women revolutionaries is not an indication that none exist. There are too many to name. He looked at me again as if seeing me for the first time. Oh you're a feminist, he finally said. No, I said, I'm a realist. If you promote only men you still only have half the story. It takes both men and women to make the world go round. What will you tell your daughter? That she is not important and cannot contribute to the world because she is female? He looked at me and fell silent and I turned back to the stage and lost myself in the music.
Constance asked me if we have peanuts, cashews, and beans in the US. Someone else asked if we have tomatoes and onions. It's kind of funny to me since I was not surprised that they had these foods here. I wonder what they think we eat. Granted there are some foods that are not in each location but those are the uncommon ones. I didn't know, but was happy to see that they had grits and immediately asked Constance the name so I could buy them at the market. One day when I came to the store Constance had a dish waiting for me. You have to taste haricots (beans), she says. This is a Malian dish. I sit down on a bench inside her store and uncover the dish. Oh black-eyed peas, I say. Oh you have these at home, she asks. Yes, I say, and I translate the name for her. My grandmother insists we eat them on New Year's Day to have good luck throughout the rest of the year. Constance nods her agreement. I taste the beans and they are delicious and the spices used not at all unfamiliar. I have heard that Africans carried with them to the US many of the foods that make up the basis of African-American and Southern cooking. And here I am seeing it for myself.
The next day Constance has a shea butter nut waiting for me. She tells me what it is and I say isn't this used for lotion? She says yes and also for eating. I look at the nut which ressembles an avocado pit and I ask what I do with it. She bites into hers and the outside slides away, unlike an avocado pit, to reveal a yellow fruit underneath. I bite into mine and the yellow fruit of the shea butter nut is soft and fragrant. It smells heavenly and it tastes even better. Why would someone waste the flesh on lotion I wonder and I think back to the shower gel in my bathroom at that moment...I'd rather have the shea butter fruit than shea butter shower gel.
Saturday the 7th of July, we officially celebrated the 4th of July. We had to wait of course for a real celebration since the day is not a holiday here and it fell during the week. The party consisted of a gathering of all Americans related to the Embassy and USAID, including employees, families, and even missionaires in the country. It was held at the American club, a little oasis in Bamako with grass (wow!), palm trees, a pool, tennis and volleyball courts, and a pool table where for just 20 USD a month, or 10000 CFA, you too can pretend you are not actually in Bamako.
Mieko picked us up at our place. That involved a little incident with Andrew snapping at Rodney and I that Mieko was there and they were leaving. I came out of my room and asked what did you just say? Was he seriously thinking that they were going to leave once he got downstairs? Hmph. He changed it a bit to Mieko's here, If you're coming... Of course I'm coming I say. We're all going which is why I told everyone 15 minutes ago that Mieko was on her way. By this time I am just talking to his back as he has turned away and started down the stairs. I hear Rodney tell him to be more mindful of how he talks to people. Aah Andrew... treating me like the parent that every teenager loves to rebel against and grind an axe with for no cause at all and perhaps his mother takes that but I did not give birth to him and have no interest in condoning such behavior. He pouted the rest of the ride and even upon arriving at the party. Everyone had to had ID to get in and in his rush to be the first in the car he had forgotten his. I would not have thought a thing of it if he could not get in but the guard knew Mieko and thus allowed him in.
While Rodney and I commenced to talking to and meeting new folks and reconnecting with old contacts including the Director of USAID in Mali (who plays a mean game of tug of war), Andrew sat off to the side and read a book. I got a contact at Africare which is great because I have been trying to schedule a presentation at Africare for weeks now and couldn't get so much as an email or phone call answered. I also met an 18 year old Jessica who is here with the Southern Baptists for a year before starting college. She said she has learned so much that now she is afraid to go home to South Carolina as none of her friends are interested in how people live around the world. If you looked around you saw a mini representation of America, diverse, although less diverse than the real thing. But there were Asians, Whites and Blacks in attendance, as well as several families with mixed cultures: West African and American/ or Canadian.
Then the volleyball game started and I was in heaven. I hadn't dressed specifically for playing but when did that ever matter? I got in a few spikes and even blocked a few spikes. My vball team would be so proud of me! There was also tug of war, three legged races, sack races, and egg tosses. And we ate baked beans, potato salad, hot dogs, hamburgers, and an assortment of desserts. It was nice to have a little bit of home away from home.
Rodney and I continued that the next day having secured a place on Mieko's schedule. We rose early and went to the market and bought food and went to her place to cook it. Aaah an air conditioner while we cooked, and four eyes on te range, and an array of utensiles and dishes and pots and pans. And she was playing Stevie Wonder... I was in heaven singing while cooking. (Although it was my first time dealing with a whole fish and the experience didn't quite leave me unscathed.) We left a note for Andrew before we left to let him know we were going to Mieko's and what time we would get there. We weren't sure if he was still sleeping or at church. He never came or called. But we enjoyed ourselves and sat down to a meal of grits, baked fish, eggplant ratatouille, fried plantains, cucumber salad and mango. Yum! After that we talked for hours and finally left after dark. When we came home there was an empty tin of tuna in the kitchen from where Andrew had fed himself but had not thought to prepare something for the house for the week. I guess he is/was waiting for us to do that. Since he eats and never offers to pay or asks what we spent at the market, we have to present him with a running tally of what we have spent and what he owes. I'm going to talk to him about the stages of cooking: going to the market, paying for the food, carrying the food back, preparing the food, eating it and cleaning up. His sole contribution cannot be an open mouth.
I love cooking though and it makes me laugh to reflect on the time in my life when I refused to...at least then I knew how to be grateful to those who cooked for me. Special thanks to all those folks: you know who you are!!
No comments:
Post a Comment