When will she ever learn????????

I got that look again last weekend. I get it on a regular basis since I have moved here. It is a sad, kind of pitying look – a kind of unbelief that fills people’s eyes as they contemplate how someone who is at least somewhat educated (enough to be a “doctor”) could have made it this far in life without some basic knowledge of how to survive. This week, it was about cassava…….



Cassava is a root vegetable that is similar in texture (but not taste) to a potato and is widely eaten here. It can be boiled, or eaten raw. It can also be dried and then eaten like that (kind of like gnawing on chalk) or pounded and made into powder, then added to water and eaten as a glue-like porridge. The skin is poisonous and has to be removed before eating. It has hardly any nutritional value – but can be filling. The only way I like it is boiled and then served with butter and salt. We are offered it often(raw) and the nationals are always amazed that we eat it. Since I don’t personally know how to cook it, last week I asked my dish lady to cook some that I had been given so we could eat it. She looked at me and said, “Is it the kind that can be cooked?”. Obviously, I had a dumb look on my face because she went on to say, “You know, Gulun-nga, not all cassava can be cooked.” Another dumb look on my part. “Did you ask the people that gave it to you if it could be cooked?” she asked in a patient tone. I hung my head and shook it. Trying to redeem myself, I said “Wait.” and ran inside to get it for her to look at, thinking that maybe she could tell by the look (even though it all looks the same to me). No luck. You can’t tell by looking at it – only by knowing the kind you planted. So I gave it to her to keep and dry, and she walked away, kind of smiling to herself – that sad, pitying smile that tells me she is wondering how I manage to survive.



I have gotten that look before – when people ask me if I have a peanut or rice farm (I have planted peanuts and harvested rice a few times (for a few hours) –though would be hard pressed to feed my family at it), if I can beat and fan rice (which I can’t without spilling it everywhere), or if I can carry water on my head (which I couldn’t if my life depended on it – at least not without holding on to the bucket and spilling more than half before I got to my destination! – unlike my friends, who, along with their kids, heft large, open tubs and buckets of water onto their heads with no effort and trot off down the path without even looking – and they rarely fall – amazing!). As a side note – I have often wondered why these little African girls can carry water on their heads without spilling. Is it genetic or is it training from a young age- or is it both????? But I digress –



Washing clothes is another of my downfalls. Since we only recently (last week) brought our washing machine to the new house, most of my laundry is done by my friend who schleps it off in a big laundry tub on her head three times a week. She washes it with bar soap made in the country and scrubs the life out of them on an old time wash board – which does NOTHING to extend the life of the clothing. She loves the money she makes, and I love having clean clothes. I do miss the smell of Tide, though, I must confess, and am thankful that it is dry season so she can no longer wash them in the river/swamp (there was definitely NO clean smell of Tide there!) Now she does them in the well water at her house. Anyway, I occasionally wash things out by hand – delicate things, unmentionables, etc – which I would like to survive more than a few months. So, I was in the process of washing some items the other day and my dish lady was again watching me. I basically put soap in the water and on the garment and scrub it between my hands for a while. None of it was drastically dirty. But she was fascinated. I scrubbed for a little while and then decided to call it good. “You don’t know how to wash clothes, do you?” she asks. “Yes, I do. This is getting clean,” I retort. “Are you finished already?” she wondered. Embarrassed, I said, “Of course not.” And went back to my scrubbing. Thankfully she left soon after that - sad smile of pity in place -and I stopped with my scrubbing and rinsed and hung them.



Basically, I am fairly useless in all things that it takes to survive here in the bush of Africa. They don’t even think I know how to cook, since I give away all of my jars and tins cans (village recycling) and they think that EVERYTHING we eat comes out of those. When I think about it, just about every meal involves something that started in a can or jar – veggies or tomatoes or mayo or a sauce or oatmeal or jelly or peanut butter. But I chuckle to myself when they say I don’t know how to cook, because I think of how time consuming cooking is in my day here in Africa – and how easy it is to cook in the US. And I think, if you only knew…………



But , bless their hearts, they seem to love me anyway and trust me to take care of their kids. I may not know how to grill peanuts, but I can treat a baby with malaria. I may not know how to beat rice or wash large piles of clothes by hand, but I can deliver babies and clean and bandage wounds. So maybe, just maybe, there is hope for me yet.