Recently I had an interesting experience where I had to balance telling the whole truth with being culturally sensitive.
It all started one evening……
Last Sunday Jim and I went to town like we normally do. When we got Isatu’s house, she was excited to see me. She was just getting ready to make fish balls, something she had been desperately wanting to teach me. So we got started.
She had already gutted the fish, which were all around 6 – 8 inches long, and had them piled deep in a wooden mortar. She handed me the long wood pestle and I started to pound. The fish made a kind of sloshing sound as the wood pounded into them – smashing apart their bodies. Over and over I slammed down the wood, smashing bones and heads and fins. Isatu surveyed my work. She had me stop and she added corn powder, bullion, onions, pepper, salt, and peanut butter. Then I pounded again.
The mixture began to get heavy and thick. It stuck to the pestle. It was a bit like trying to pull your tennis- shoed foot out of a deep mud bog. The longer I kept at it, more and more of the fish meshed into a think, brown paste. There were, however, heads and tail fins that kept surfacing. I asked about them. I understood her to say that they would be discarded. I was relieved.
Finally, Isatu looked at the goop and declared it done. Okaaaaay………. We sat down on stools and began to form the paste into balls. When I got to a big piece of head or tail fin, I set it aside. Soon, I discovered that Isatu was picking them up and working them into balls. Several thoughts were running through my head:
1. I am glad to don’t have to eat these.
2. I can’t imagine being hungry enough to eat them.
3. How am I going to get the smell of fish off my hands?
Meanwhile, Isatu started water mixed with peanut butter boiling over the fire – settling the pot on three stones over the wood. When it was hot enough, I plopped the balls in the water. She assured me that the bones would soften as they cooked.
When the fish balls were done cooking, she would remove them, finish the sauce with tomato paste and then put the balls back in. She would then serve it over rice. I was feeling rather relieved that we needed to head home and was also feeling thankful that I had leftover pizza in the fridge.
We went home and ate supper. Jim, Hannah and I were laying on the bed, playing cribbage, when I heard a voice calling out my name in the darkness. It was Isatu, who had come to the house, with a small pan of rice and fish balls and sauce. OH BOY! I thanked her profusely and said good night. When I returned to the game, I had a small bowl of rice, sauce. . . and one fish ball.
Hannah barely touched the rice and declared it too spicy. I gave Jim a small bite. I could see the bones in it as I cut into the ball apart. He bravely chewed it up. Then it was my turn. I tried, I really did. I took a small bite. . . and nearly threw up. The small bones were hitting my tongue, but more than that, I could still see and hear the fish bodies as I smashed them together. I am not a big fan of fish under the best of circumstances, which this was NOT. I couldn’t eat any more. That was enough for one night. I put it in the fridge.
I was dreading what came next. I had been incredibly touched that she was willing to share with me. There are a lot of kids in their family and I felt guilty that she shared so generously when I didn’t even want the gift. And I KNEW she was coming the next morning and would want to know what I thought. What could I say? The rice was good but the fish balls were disgusting. They made me gag. Somehow that answer seemed wrong. I did not, however, want to lie to her for several reasons.
1. I prefer to tell the truth.
2. I didn’t want her to think I liked them and then bring me MORE.
Answers rolled over and over I my head. By the next morning, I was ready. She showed up, right on time. She praised my work the day before, saying that they had company that night and the people were very impressed when they heard that I had made the fish balls. I decided to take the offensive.
Isatu, Those fish balls have SOOOOO many vitamins in them. People who eat them will not soon be hungry! She was so happy. I did tell her that Hannah didn’t like the pepper and we left it at that.
I am still struggling with whether or not I should say more. If it comes up again, I think I will tell her that the bones were hard for me to eat because I am not used to them. It is an often encountered issue here – trying to be sensitive, and also to tell the truth. Step by step, I guess. . . .
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