Eat!

Men and women have very distinct roles – for example, the women cook and clean, the men pack up the cars and carry bags. The guys would even fill up a bucket of water and carry it to the shower for me (none of the villages had running water). I’d be walking through the villages with a team of interviewers and one of the guys would always insist on carrying my shoulder bag. I eventually stopped insisting that I could carry it since it was a battle that I’d never win. I actually haven’t carried anything in two months. It’s quite nice, really.

The second night, I’d asked the women if I could help with cooking and was told that « it’s done » but when I saw that the rice hadn’t even been boiled yet, I insisted that I be put to work. I was given the task of chopping onions and then a woman taught me how to clean the rice (which had sand in it after riding on top of the car through the desert) – shaking and blowing the bits of dust away over a mesh plate, and then sifting through the grains and picking out bad pieces or chunks of dirt.

The women made delicious sauces with onions, oil, tomatoes, oil, salt, pepper, tomato puree, oil, and peanuts. And oil. People like their oil here. I’ve heard that if one is served a dish without much oil, the cook is considered « skimping ». No one’s going to risk that kind of insult here. But after working outside in the heat all day, hearty meals always hit the spot and I rather enjoyed the excuse to disregard any dietary guidelines regarding fat.

For meals, everyone huddles together in a circle, sitting or squatting, washes hands with water in a bowl, and digs in. The village chief’s family would usually prepare lunches for our team and we’d eat after completing all of the surveys, typically around 1 pm. Oftentimes, the women in our group, or sometimes the village matron, would prepare dinner for everyone. After the first week, I realized that I hadn’t used an eating utensil in days. The rice is served in a large metal bowl and then the sauce, with chunks of meat in it, is poured from a smaller bowl over the rice. I was taught how to form a ball with the food in my right hand but never quite mastered a graceful technique and usually ended up wearing a third of the meal. I got used to being the comic relief.

Every meal, I heard someone insisting that I eat more, « Shelby ! Il faut MANGE ! » Men and women alike would pick up a pieces of meat from one part of the communal bowl and place it in the bowl right in front of me, making sure that I was always eating enough. I was definitely in good hands with this group. And after being forced to speak French (or keep quiet), I’m pleased to report that my French might actually have improved.