Basics: Bananas!

I can’t believe I have gone so long without giving bananas their due. You can’t swing a cat here without hitting a bunch of bananas. Yesterday as I was walking to work, I saw a truck packed with bananas making deliveries to the various stalls on my street. We’re not talking little bunches, as you see. This is the WHOLE BUNCH! Bunches of whole bunches.

I hope I have mentioned matooke before now. If not, let me explain, matooke is mashed and steamed green bananas, and is an absolute staple of life around here. I never thought of bananas as something that could be served with meat, but that’s what happens. You get a pile of matooke and some kind of meat or beans, and the juice from the meat seasons the matooke, giving it some flavor. And let me tell you, it’s really rather tasty.

Then, of course, there are the roasted bananas and plantains that you can buy from the vendors at many street corners. There are two vendors at the corner when I get off the taxi to come up to MCDT. They sit there with small charcoal grills loaded with bananas, turning them over with their fingers until they are golden brown and truly delicious. Joseline gets them for 100 shillings. I never get them for less than 200, and really, they’re worth it. I don’t have tough enough fingers to hold them straight off the grill, usually holding on to the ends of the newspaper in which they come wrapped, but when they do finally cool enough, how wonderful they are.

An indulgent day

After work on Friday, my last day at Life in Africa, I went whole hog American: I went to the Cineplex at the mall to see the opening day show of “Iron Man,” which I thoroughly enjoyed. I’m not saying it’s a great movie; I’m just saying it’s a satisfying thing to watch after seven weeks in Africa—especially the moment when Robert Downey’s character, Tony Stark, returns to the U.S. after three months of captivity in Afghanistan and tells his assistant he wants two things: an American cheeseburger, and to call a press conference. “But first the cheeseburger.” Oh, I’m hearing that.

Which made it particularly wonderful to go to a restaurant called “New York Kitchen” tucked away in the parking garage of the mall. They sell NY style thin crust pizza by the slice, but I got a bagel with cream cheese, avocado and tomato and a slice of red velvet cake! RED VELVET CAKE! And it wasn’t a serve-40-people-from-a-cake-the-size-of-a-paperback slice of cake. This was a good America slab o' cake the size of a monument. It was bigger than the bagel. I have a photo here with a fork next to it for purposes of scale. But, boy, did it make it clear how out of whack American servings are. I saw that piece of cake and realized that it ought to serve four people, minimum.

The differences between cultures were also apparent during the ads before the movie. There was an ad promoting a new housing development on the Entebbe Road that guaranteed that each new home would have electricity and running water. Ex-pats had a separate ad aimed at them for a housing development (called “Kensington”) that didn’t mention electricity and water. I’m assuming they were included, though.

Nakawa Market

Coming back from visiting borrowers in Bugolobi yesterday, the loan officer, whose name is Teopista, and I needed to change matatus in Nakawa. Teopista is a very serious woman, a single mother, who often seems almost severe in her mien. But when she asked if I wanted to see the market I thought I detected a glint in her eye. I accepted gladly and she led me into the melee that is Nakawa Market.

Wow, is what I have to say. Pictures really don’t capture it. I walked in through this part that looks like a junky flea market with lots of clothes, backpacks, toiletries, durable goods.

Teopista then took me to the vegetable market in the back, and that’s the part that blew my mind. Just the smell of it—a really wonderful wholesome smell of foodstuffs. Pyramids of tomatoes. Piles of greens. Bags of rice and beans. Mounds of fruits that I couldn’t even identify. I was so glad to have Teopista with me to tell me what some of them were. Popo, which looks like a cross between a football and a watermelon with an orange meat inside and a hollow center. Tamarind. Passion fruit—of several varieties. Citrus fruits that looked like large limes on the outside and oranges on the inside. I bought some tomatoes from a vendor who had allowed me to take her picture, as you see here. You can also see how they pile the tomatoes into little tomato cairns, which sold for 300/= per cairn.



Some vendors seem offended by the idea of being photographed. They're business people and not a tourist attraction after all, and so I was a bit skittish about asking or taking pictures without also offering some remuneration, but I did also take this picture of bags of spices, unidentified. I have no idea what the brown grounds are.


I bought some cauliflower, the first I’d seen in Kampala, from another man. Teopista had no idea what cauliflower was, so I was at least able to tell her something!

Lots of people calling out to me, “Mazungu!” but in that setting I didn’t feel bad about ignoring the calls. I would have liked to buy some rice there, maybe some peas, but Teopista was moving along and I didn’t feel right about being leisurely about all this.

We went through the open air fish market where a man was hacking away at a huge fish, a tuna, I’m guessing. There were lots of very tiny silver fish that I asked Teopista about; called matote, or something like that, piled high in bins and dried, scooped out with tin cups. Long eely fish that were placed on the block in a serpentine manner.

And then back through the hard goods again. Teopista said that on Saturdays, you can’t even move it’s so crowded at Nakawa Market. I can believe it. It was crowded enough today. I'm mighty grateful to Teopista for taking me. For one, I don't think I would have dared try it on my own. For another, all I would have seen were the cheap plastic items facing the street. I doubt I would have made it as far as the spectacle of the food market. I wondered at the time why Teopista was taking the trouble to show me this, but then, if the roles were reversed, I would do the same thing, showing something authentic to my home and yet spectacular. I feel very fortunate to be here in a role that gives me guides who aren't interested in me as a tourist but as a visitor or a guest.

From the recipe page of the Friday newspaper

I want you to know that the only reason I’m not making this is because it is Expressly Forbidden in Scripture (Lev. 17:10ff).

Blood in onions and tomatoes

Blood is rich in iron and protein. It is normally collected when an animal is slaughtered.

Ingredients
1 litre of blood
2 tomatoes
1 onion
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon cooking oil
100-150 ml water

Preparation
Collect the blood and leave it to settle for at least 30 minutes.
Drain out the liquid plasma after the blood has solidified.
Put the blood in a saucepan.
Skin and cut tomatoes.
Chop the onions.
Heat the oil and fry the onions till tender and golden brown.
Add the tomatoes.
Add salt and curry powder.
Add blood.
Using a whisk or mingling stick, stir and beat to break the lump and avoid burning.
Add water and cook for 10 to 15 minutes.
Serve hot with any bread.

***
More seriously, though, what does this recipe say about people’s lives here? The main ingredient is “rich in iron and protein,” as the article says, and probably less expensive than meat. It’s something to get you through the day with a reasonable amount of nourishment, I imagine.

Food prices

There's been a lot of talk in the news about the sharp rise in food prices which hit home last week when I went to buy my two fresh eggs for Sunday lunch. The woman at the stall right by my house from whom I buy produce all the time told me it was now 400 shillings instead of 300. I doubt that was because she suddenly thought she could ask me more. I asked if food prices were going up for her. She said, "All of them are going up." This could be bad.

Learning to cook

I feel very proud of the cooking I have been doing here in my little kitchen in Kampala. I’ve always liked cooking, but I have also had tremendous resources to carry out food preparation: cookbooks, for one thing; ovens, microwaves, food processors, and any amount of kitchen equipment for another; a car to cart things from the grocery store for third; a huge refrigerator and freezer, with reliable electricity, for a fourth.

And if I were too tired to cook, there were any number of restaurants, take out places or, best of all, home delivery.

So it has been a revelation to me how much I could do with very little, using whatever is at hand and making it up. And then eating it anyway if it turns out to be terrible.

I’m feeling my way and adding gradually to my repertoire as well as to my kitchen. My kitchen came supplied with four sets of silverware and dishes, four mugs, four glasses, three serving bowls with glass lids, a dull knife, a carafe, three pots, one skillet, and two (small) strainers. As you learned earlier, I did buy a toaster which has been a wonderful thing. I bought a cereal bowl, a decent knife, two dishcloths (that double as potholders) and a potato peeler (most of the people here peel with knives, but I simply don’t have the facility, as I found trying to peel a couple of carrots and ending up with nubbins).

I also bought curry powder. This was huge. At home I have a vast array of spices that I keep around just in case I ever need, you know, marjoram. Because you never know. Here I started with salt and pepper and then branched out radically by adding the curry powder.

Curry powder is wonderful! I can pick up whatever vegetables happen to be at the vegetable stall on the way home, chop them up, sauté some onions in butter or oil, add the vegetables and any meat I may happen to have, add curry powder and some water, and simmer them until they are soft and cooked through, and serve it with rice. Voila! Healthy meal!

My other staples include spaghetti with a fresh tomato and onion sauce or sauce from a jar (often adding eggplant or another vegetable), or a pan-grilled meat with potatoes and some kind of vegetable. I also make a kind of sweet and sour pork dish using fresh pineapple, green pepper and onions. Tonight I am going to try dal, a kind of curried lentils, using a recipe I pulled from the internet.

Mostly it’s the making do part that has been important to me. If all I have is green beans and potatoes, then by gum, I’m having green beans and potatoes for dinner. I’m beginning to get a glimmer of the concept of “that’s all there is.”

I confess, I really miss cheese, though.

Donut update and African sounds

I brought something resembling donuts to the staff meeting today. The meeting started at noon yet again, but I was ready for it this time. I had brought a bag of something Peter told me were "half-cakes," a deep fried batter about the size of large donut holes, and laid them in the middle of the table. As each staff member entered the room where we held the meeting, they gave a little "Oh!"--not an American sounding "oh" at all. I can't describe it better except to say that it was a particularly African "oh."

Another African speech sound that I love is the "mmm" sound that seems to mean something like "I see," or one of those sounds of encouragement that people throw into conversation. I heard that a number of times during staff meeting as well. I find it very satisfying and utterly impossible to replicate.

Tales from the Office: Staff Meeting

I learned that there would be a Life in Africa staff meeting Tuesday at 10:00 a.m. and asked if I could come. Peter, the center administrator, said sure! Was he wondering why someone would volunteer to come to a staff meeting?

On Tuesday I arrived at 9:30 or so so that I could check my email, a more arduous process than you might think. Luckily, one of the other staff members hadn't arrived and so the meeting didn't start at 10. Or at 10:30. Or at 11. Or 11:30. Or 12. Finally, a bit after 12, one of the staff members told me, "Meeting's starting," and I trooped into the office.

To my surprise, the meeting started with a prayer. Not to my surprise, the meeting required much discussion. It also required some concentration on my part not to lose focus what with the accents and the hunger. I thought I did fairly well, given how cranky I usually get by lunchtime.

At about 3, Grace, who coordinates the programs, said, "We should probably stop. Some of us are probably hungry." I think that was entirely for my benefit because as the meeting broke up, I asked if anyone was going to get some lunch. The six staff members just laughed and continued working and discussing business plans.

I have decided to introduce the American custom of donuts at staff meeting.

Saturday in Kololo

I am currently at Bubbles O'Leary's Irish Pub in the Kololo neighborhood of Kampala, where there's cricket on the telly, fish and chips and beer on the menu, and wireless in the air. Rather sporadic wireless, to be sure, at least I can't figure it out. But wireless nonetheless.

As you can see, the fish and chips come with American ketchup (tomato sauce) rather than British vinegar. My quiz question for you is, guess in what country the ketchup is made. Hint: not the U.S. or Uganda.

Easter Sunday

“How was church? Was it boring?” Joseline asked me when we met in Wandegeya to go to Sally’s place for lunch. Truth be told, it was. I had gone to the early service—normally an 8:00 affair, but held at 7:30 for Easter Sunday—and it had indeed been dull. The best part was the Bishop’s announcement in response to Gadaffi that I mentioned in the prior post. The sermon was stodgy, the music bland (“Crown him with many crowns” to start), communion an assembly line for the 300 or so people who attended.

I was disappointed, and also in a way relieved. There’s not a miraculous place where worship is always full of life and joy. Or maybe the Anglican Church can simply wring the fun out of everyone. I’m sure it can if it tries.


Lunch, though, was a truly raucous affair. The weather did not cooperate, with the rain starting at 11:00 and lasting all day long. But the food was delicious: matoke (it's a cooked plantain dish, you see it here wrapped in the banana leaves, served with a meat sauce, surprisingly—and very good), rice, chapati, Irish (potatoes, that is), chicken AND pork, sweet plantains, beans with meat (a.k.a. chili, but not known by that here), cooked greens, and vegetables in a soy sauce, all piled on a heap on the plate (as you will see). Then, after digesting for a bit, we had bananas from a banana bouquet (in the picture at bottom). Later in the afternoon, Sally asked if I wanted tea, and so I had some of the amazingly rich milk tea they serve here: half a mug of tea, topped by half a mug of hot whole milk. And then, a cake, shaped like a heart, decorated with the words “Happy Easter,” a small slice for everyone accompanied by fresh pineapple chunks.


There must have been 30 or more people at this party. It was not only me and the residents of the boarding house, but friends, family, visitors, and guests. It was, as I said, a raucous affair. Outside, the chickens sulked out in the rain, occasionally coming on the porch and glaring in the front door. In the back I could hear kids playing at something or other. I stayed in the living room, taking lots of pictures, or letting my camera wander off to take pictures elsewhere, as people laughed and talked and I mostly let the accents and words wash over me.

At one point, though, I said I had a serious question, and everyone immediately settled down and focused to hear it. I said, “For those of you wearing trousers, how is it that you have no mud? I have mud up to my knees!” which was barely an exaggeration. I had felt very self-conscious amongst these beautifully attired people, looking like a grubby nubbin on Easter Sunday. I’m sure they just chalked it up to me being a mazungu and not knowing better, but I at least felt better, having let them know I had noticed.

I thought I should venture back at about 5 so that I could catch a matatu home before it got dark. Before that happened, though, there was singing and there was prayer. The singing came in the call and response form I had anticipated hearing here as opposed to the English hymns of the morning service, accompanied by drums played by one of the girls who lived there. The prayer was informal and probably followed some rules for construction and participation that I didn’t understand, so I just listened and prayed silently.

Overall, I’d have to say Easter was not boring. I was glad of that. But perhaps gladder still to get a ride home through the rain and the gathering dark.

A day of rest

Having come to the startling conclusion that I am in Uganda and won’t be commuting home for the weekends, I am taking today to rest. I was very glad that the readings and prayers today support me in this—so much so that it is almost funny. “There remains, then, a Sabbath-rest for the people of God; for anyone who enters God’s rest also rests from his own work, just as God did from his. Let us, therefore, make every effort to enter that rest, so that no one will fall by following their example of disobedience.” (Heb. 4:9-11) OK, OK, I’ll rest! Happy to oblige.

Yesterday, when I realized I am in Uganda, I also realized that everything takes a bit of effort: making tea, washing dishes, getting places, paying for things, connecting to the internet, talking to people. Even going outside requires sunscreen and sometimes mosquito repellent. And I have it easy! I’m living in the lap of luxury, here, with running water and the oft-cited washing machine and someone who mops my floors. And so today my goal is to expend very little effort.

To that end, I bought milk and breakfast cereal. Milk here comes in boxes that can be stored unrefrigerated on the shelf. After it is opened, it needs to be refrigerated, obviously, but refrigeration is an iffy prospect around here, even when there’s a refrigerator, and so the packages (at least at the grocery where I bought mine) are quite small. The large box I bought holds 500 ml. I could get whole milk, whole milk, or whole milk. A low-fat diet is not really a problem here.

For cereal, I bought Honey Flakes, imported from South Africa. They taste a little like stale Honey Smacks (I think that’s what they’re called—the one with the frog). And they were good, too. I had them and some tea and I sat on my porch reading a Fanny Flagg novel, and it was good.

(In the picture below you can see the infamous gas tank, mentioned in the previous post.)