For each month of exile from Indonesia, I’ve agreed to write a contributing article for the monthly volunteer newsletter, Hello Mister. Thought I would also share on the blog…
Zambian Ramblings.
August Edition.
Remember the campaign by the beef industry that popularized the slogan… “where’s the beef?” Since arriving in Zambia, I have found my self asking a similar question… “where’s the rice?”
Now, don’t get me wrong. This girl loves her chips… nearly as much as tahu isi! But seriously, nobody warned me that I would indeed miss my rice. In absolute honesty I do, upon occasion, have cravings for what had become a near routine of rice for breakfast. Just so easy to put on the rice cooker and crawl back in bed for an extra 30 minutes. I can only imagine the look of pure perplexity if tomorrow morning I declare “please hold the sausage and eggs, I’ll have rice for breakfast.” Each morning my cholesterol-laden breakfast arrives on a silver platter; served by the hotel staff, where I live. Simply, I am a very spoiled guest. Perhaps, because I am the only guest. Embarking on the second month of African life and the novelty of being treated like a princess has yet to wear off. But then again, does it ever?
My fairy-godfather, waved his magic wand and rescued me on my second day in Zambia. How people make it through this critical lesson without a fairy-godfather is unfathomable. Maurice, a friend from when we did our Master's studies together at University of Reading, a local Zambian, my fairy-godfather, unfortunately could not magically make my missing-in-action luggage appear (these bags took the longer scenic route to Africa), however, he and his family did share a life skill pivot to survival for which I will be eternally grateful. I was guided through the art of eating nshima… with much laughter at my expense, I assure you. This is the staple food made of maize mealie meal. Think nasi equivalent. And as one would not eat nasi with a fork (*gasp*), there is no understating the importance of mastering the proper hand-rolling method of consumption. Thus immense thanks to Maurice for sharing skills… and changing lives.
Zambian Ramblings.
August Edition.
Remember the campaign by the beef industry that popularized the slogan… “where’s the beef?” Since arriving in Zambia, I have found my self asking a similar question… “where’s the rice?”
Now, don’t get me wrong. This girl loves her chips… nearly as much as tahu isi! But seriously, nobody warned me that I would indeed miss my rice. In absolute honesty I do, upon occasion, have cravings for what had become a near routine of rice for breakfast. Just so easy to put on the rice cooker and crawl back in bed for an extra 30 minutes. I can only imagine the look of pure perplexity if tomorrow morning I declare “please hold the sausage and eggs, I’ll have rice for breakfast.” Each morning my cholesterol-laden breakfast arrives on a silver platter; served by the hotel staff, where I live. Simply, I am a very spoiled guest. Perhaps, because I am the only guest. Embarking on the second month of African life and the novelty of being treated like a princess has yet to wear off. But then again, does it ever?
My fairy-godfather, waved his magic wand and rescued me on my second day in Zambia. How people make it through this critical lesson without a fairy-godfather is unfathomable. Maurice, a friend from when we did our Master's studies together at University of Reading, a local Zambian, my fairy-godfather, unfortunately could not magically make my missing-in-action luggage appear (these bags took the longer scenic route to Africa), however, he and his family did share a life skill pivot to survival for which I will be eternally grateful. I was guided through the art of eating nshima… with much laughter at my expense, I assure you. This is the staple food made of maize mealie meal. Think nasi equivalent. And as one would not eat nasi with a fork (*gasp*), there is no understating the importance of mastering the proper hand-rolling method of consumption. Thus immense thanks to Maurice for sharing skills… and changing lives.
I totally believe in karma. But what have I done to deserve such opulence? The luxury I write of is none other than Shoprite, the South African supermarket chain import, which is a mere 10 minute walk from my majestic dwellings. After ready this story of edible delight, you will all no doubt hold me to be in utter lunacy. And rightly so! Nevertheless, let me just add fuel to the fire… I have a quirky fondness for grocery shopping. This eccentric past-time has been squelched for the past year and a half. Now I can truly savor each excuse to escape into the fashionista House of Scrumptiousness. I glide dream-esquely through the aisles, lingering to ogle the fresh produce, inhaling the scent of yeast and fresh bakery goods, scrutinizing the nutritional content and ingredients of every item that slips into my crimson shopping basket. And at the end of this food safari… I buy a single bag of nutritiously dubious marshmallows.
These oddly pink marshmallows gave me the stamina to rock-the-socks-off my opponent in a weekly game of pool. During our last bout, I received disturbing news. As I am a woman, I apparently am not aloud to partake in the consumption of ground nuts. No peanuts? No kacang tanah? Simply because of my biological make-up? Preposterous. Nevertheless, I am admittedly intrigued… why the gender divide? Thus, if any of you can enlighten me on this feel free to email, text, phone, send smoke signals, etc.
Now, hold on as this story gets even nuttier (pun unashamedly intended). I was told the same gender bias holds true for cashew nuts. Blasphemy!!!! My new acquaintances had crossed the line. They obviously did not recognize my profound devotion to the glories of cashew nuts. Every man, woman, and child should indeed consume copious amounts of cashews… especially the epic taste sensations found on the island of Flores, Indonesia. Notably, the best kacang mete are packaged and distributed by Nature’s Delight. I can get you the hook-up… just ask.
With a bit of patriotism, I shall conclude these food-inundated ramblings. President Obama is periodically quoted in the Indonesian press of his nostalgic cravings for nasi goreng. Thus, in closing, I echo this hunger from an agreeable exile in Zambia… Indeed, Mr. President, where is the rice?
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