12.29.2010

snack:urday - eating stuff in southeast asia....and now africa

A few days ago I took all my stuff (which has somehow become three times as much stuff as I came with) and put it on a donkey cart I hired for $2 to move it a few kilometers down the road. Some friends and I walked alongside and pretended we were on the Oregon trail, although some were English so I had to explain the Oregon trail to them and also the Donner Party—just in case! Before the move I lived in my “office”, but that office is just a handful of barebones rooms attached to a courtyard.  And the courtyard is just a place with a spigot, a pit latrine, and an enclosure that is supposed to be for showering but is also used as a pit latrine too even when the actual pit latrine isn’t in use because, well, don’t ask me to explain the logic my coworkers use when conducting their day-to-day lives as so often it seems like there is none. And these coworkers (and all their closest friends and most distant acquaintances) are all up in that courtyard all the time—a minimum of five, an average of fifteen, a maximum of infinity—all sitting around, eating, smoking, drinking tea, some getting paid a salary for all of this. That’s fine, that’s their business, but when I lived in one of those barebones rooms, all of our business was each other’s. I would wake up at seven AM to take a shower, brush my teeth, go to the pit latrine, and there were ten Gambians there demanding to be greeted as I stumbled out of my room each morning, still dazed and wild-haired. Greetings are very important here and also very monotonous: “How is the morning?” “Fine.” “How did you sleep?” “Fine.” “How is the body?” “Fine.” “How is the family?” “They are there only.” “We praise God.” “We praise god.” Every morning. Times ten. While you have to pee and have morning breath and aren’t even fully awake. Gambians also have no concept of privacy, which is their culture and that’s fine, but I’m American and the door on my room didn’t even shut, much less lock, so now I will list some recent violations of my American concept of personal space:  One time a lady walked into my room and lifted up her shirt and was not wearing anything underneath, no bra, nothing and said to me “Nyima, I am paining here, do you have anything for this?” And in my head I’m like, “I don’t even know what you’re talking about and no I do not and what?! Please leave.” But instead I had to be nicer than that.  One time I was taking a nap and my skirt had hiked itself all up around my waist and this guy barges in and is like, “Nyima! Where is my file? I left it in here earlier!” and then starts rummaging through my dresser. I had the same reaction as above.  Also people stole my stuff and left their garbage in its place. Actual garbage—like wrappers and empty bottles So now I live in a new house and it is incredible for many reasons, but most importantly because I have my own pit latrine only for me. I never would’ve thought I’d see that as such an asset to a rental property. On a related note, I’ve solved the world’s impending water crisis: We just need to get rid of indoor plumbing cause when you pull your own water out of a well, boy, are you careful with every last drop.

while seattle certainly has it's culinary deliciounesses (i love making up words), my stomach has become jealous of all the interesting things that can be eaten abroad and is dying to travel again to taste other delights from other countries besides america. don't get me wrong, i love the array of various cheeseburgers this country has to offer, but i have to think there is more than that. shocking, i know. here i thought food was built around cheeseburgers. however, my friend katie has traveled all over what seems to be every continent (although i believe down under still has yet to be checked off her list) and writes about her adventures, but mostly about what she's eating, in her blog. just recently she posted about her top ten favorite things she's eaten this year. so i'm recommending her blog as a fantastic read. she's even more witty and better at story telling than i am. be sure and check out her horrifying story about the cockroaches. but mostly the food. cause that's what matters most anyway, right?
written by carly at 10:11 AM
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