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Draping Leaves and Eating Rabbits
Jan. 31st, 2011 11:54 amRabbit truly tastes like chicken. I guess as a child, I should have been horrified at the thought of eating a cute, furry little animal. But perhaps being overseas made me care less about where my food came from and more about how it tasted.
A varied diet wasn’t always possible when we lived in Africa. I know two things that were not readily available were watermelon and peanut butter. They definitely were not for sale at the market. In Africa, the market wasn’t a place like I shop at here. In Africa, the market was basically at few tables set up under some trees at an intersection. I was less picky about what I ate in Africa but even I was never tempted to try some of the local delicacies I saw for sale there. Fried caterpillars and manioc (what they called cassava in that area) were not foods I was wanted to try. However, I loved eating the fried dough balls, fire-roasted corn on the cob, and sugar cane.
I’m not sure you can buy sugar cane here in the States but if you could, I know I would. You start by opening the “bark” with a knife and peel it down. Once you start that first bit with a knife, usually you can peel the rest more easily. The inside is white, chewy and so purely sweet on the tongue! The sweetness lasts awhile as you chew it to a pulp, which then (proper etiquette there) you discreetly spit on the ground. As a child, it was a triple delight: something sweet, something to chew and something you are allow to spit on the ground. Spoonful of sugar here are not near as much work but also do not hold the physical satisfaction of first working hard to uncover your food and then chewing it. Spoonfuls of sugar melt in your mouth, hardly leaving a memory.
We could buy sugar for baking but my parents really missed peanut butter. They missed it so much that they had my other brother make it, grinding peanuts by the hour with a meat grinder. Our homemade peanut butter often separated in a jar but you could get the consistency right again by stirring it with a knife. Now that I am older, I am guessing part of what Mom missed was the convenience. The market also did not sell lunch meat to store in our gasoline-fueled refrigerator. With four children at that time, Mom needed a way to give us a quick lunch that didn’t require hours of using the wood stove out in the cook shack. We only had electricity for a few hours each week, so all cooking was done in the little cook shack across from our porch. Without air conditioning or electric fans, it was important to keep cooking heat separate from the house.
Our diet didn’t vary much but Christmas time was special, even in Africa. In Africa, pine trees are hard to come by but our station had one which, every Christmas, each family was allowed to cut one branch off of. No more or the tree would die. But we got a nice branch and stood it up in a pot in living room. We covered it with decorations, including paper snowflakes though we had no chance of having a white Christmas. With our ebony manger scene on a nearby table, the room seemed just about perfect in my child-like eyes.
Any holiday reminds people of their families. My parents and siblings lived with me in Africa but many of the adults really missed their parents, far across the ocean. I guess to compensate for the lack of nearby relatives, we children were told to call the other Americans uncle and aunt.
Christmas was exciting and we were all going to gather at Aunt Beverly’s for our noon meal. I couldn’t wait! But first, our parents got us dressed up for the Christmas service. I never understood why fancy dresses were necessary on Sundays. It wasn’t uncommon to see the natives there in pajamas! Apparently, they were given clothes from the US but often they didn’t know the “proper use” of each garment. More than one African lady wore a fancy lace slip to church as a dress. (Now that I think about it, it is kind of odd how our society decides which garments are appropriate for which place.)
Once we were dressed for church, Mom sent us outside to wait while she got ready. My siblings and I talked excitedly about what our gifts might be but, most of all, what dinner might taste like. We had heard we were having rabbit! Far from horrified, we were excited to try this new dish.
Finally we heard the “bong, bong!” of the wooden drums that served as a church bell there in Zaire. Few natives could afford clocks or even watches, so the drums served to alert everyone when it was time for church.
When I entered the church, I was amazed at the transformation. So many colorful decorations! Draped around the church and tied on the front railing were lovely colorful Christmas decorations … but not the kind we see here in the US. Natives had gone out and picked the most colorful leaves they could find: red, yellow and green and tied them in bunches which they draped around the church. To the adults, used to the US, it probably seemed meager but I thought it was beautiful. I knew how to sing some of the carols in Lingala but the ones I didn’t know, I hummed along with the melody. The notes were still the same even when the words were different.
And after church, the quick walk back to Aunt Beverly’s. It was a 1 ½ miles to church but almost all of us walked. The station owned two vehicles but the use of those pick-up trucks was shared between all the families.
At Aunt Beverly’s, I immediately got myself a tall glass of water. I was hot from walking but the best was still to come. Finally, after the blessing, she brought out the “Southern-friend, Chicken fried rabbit.” We all passed it around and I savored that first crunchy bite. Crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside, and all I wanted to eat! We didn’t eat large amounts of protein there so I ate my fill, lounging with a full stomach on the cool concrete floor that evening. It was present time!
I don’t remember most of my gifts that year but I do remember enjoying that delicious fried rabbit. It may sound cruel to eat such a cute animal but I did like that Christmas meal. It both looked and tasted better than fried caterpillars!
A varied diet wasn’t always possible when we lived in Africa. I know two things that were not readily available were watermelon and peanut butter. They definitely were not for sale at the market. In Africa, the market wasn’t a place like I shop at here. In Africa, the market was basically at few tables set up under some trees at an intersection. I was less picky about what I ate in Africa but even I was never tempted to try some of the local delicacies I saw for sale there. Fried caterpillars and manioc (what they called cassava in that area) were not foods I was wanted to try. However, I loved eating the fried dough balls, fire-roasted corn on the cob, and sugar cane.
I’m not sure you can buy sugar cane here in the States but if you could, I know I would. You start by opening the “bark” with a knife and peel it down. Once you start that first bit with a knife, usually you can peel the rest more easily. The inside is white, chewy and so purely sweet on the tongue! The sweetness lasts awhile as you chew it to a pulp, which then (proper etiquette there) you discreetly spit on the ground. As a child, it was a triple delight: something sweet, something to chew and something you are allow to spit on the ground. Spoonful of sugar here are not near as much work but also do not hold the physical satisfaction of first working hard to uncover your food and then chewing it. Spoonfuls of sugar melt in your mouth, hardly leaving a memory.
We could buy sugar for baking but my parents really missed peanut butter. They missed it so much that they had my other brother make it, grinding peanuts by the hour with a meat grinder. Our homemade peanut butter often separated in a jar but you could get the consistency right again by stirring it with a knife. Now that I am older, I am guessing part of what Mom missed was the convenience. The market also did not sell lunch meat to store in our gasoline-fueled refrigerator. With four children at that time, Mom needed a way to give us a quick lunch that didn’t require hours of using the wood stove out in the cook shack. We only had electricity for a few hours each week, so all cooking was done in the little cook shack across from our porch. Without air conditioning or electric fans, it was important to keep cooking heat separate from the house.
Our diet didn’t vary much but Christmas time was special, even in Africa. In Africa, pine trees are hard to come by but our station had one which, every Christmas, each family was allowed to cut one branch off of. No more or the tree would die. But we got a nice branch and stood it up in a pot in living room. We covered it with decorations, including paper snowflakes though we had no chance of having a white Christmas. With our ebony manger scene on a nearby table, the room seemed just about perfect in my child-like eyes.
Any holiday reminds people of their families. My parents and siblings lived with me in Africa but many of the adults really missed their parents, far across the ocean. I guess to compensate for the lack of nearby relatives, we children were told to call the other Americans uncle and aunt.
Christmas was exciting and we were all going to gather at Aunt Beverly’s for our noon meal. I couldn’t wait! But first, our parents got us dressed up for the Christmas service. I never understood why fancy dresses were necessary on Sundays. It wasn’t uncommon to see the natives there in pajamas! Apparently, they were given clothes from the US but often they didn’t know the “proper use” of each garment. More than one African lady wore a fancy lace slip to church as a dress. (Now that I think about it, it is kind of odd how our society decides which garments are appropriate for which place.)
Once we were dressed for church, Mom sent us outside to wait while she got ready. My siblings and I talked excitedly about what our gifts might be but, most of all, what dinner might taste like. We had heard we were having rabbit! Far from horrified, we were excited to try this new dish.
Finally we heard the “bong, bong!” of the wooden drums that served as a church bell there in Zaire. Few natives could afford clocks or even watches, so the drums served to alert everyone when it was time for church.
When I entered the church, I was amazed at the transformation. So many colorful decorations! Draped around the church and tied on the front railing were lovely colorful Christmas decorations … but not the kind we see here in the US. Natives had gone out and picked the most colorful leaves they could find: red, yellow and green and tied them in bunches which they draped around the church. To the adults, used to the US, it probably seemed meager but I thought it was beautiful. I knew how to sing some of the carols in Lingala but the ones I didn’t know, I hummed along with the melody. The notes were still the same even when the words were different.
And after church, the quick walk back to Aunt Beverly’s. It was a 1 ½ miles to church but almost all of us walked. The station owned two vehicles but the use of those pick-up trucks was shared between all the families.
At Aunt Beverly’s, I immediately got myself a tall glass of water. I was hot from walking but the best was still to come. Finally, after the blessing, she brought out the “Southern-friend, Chicken fried rabbit.” We all passed it around and I savored that first crunchy bite. Crunchy on the outside, soft on the inside, and all I wanted to eat! We didn’t eat large amounts of protein there so I ate my fill, lounging with a full stomach on the cool concrete floor that evening. It was present time!
I don’t remember most of my gifts that year but I do remember enjoying that delicious fried rabbit. It may sound cruel to eat such a cute animal but I did like that Christmas meal. It both looked and tasted better than fried caterpillars!
