Saturday, May 5, 2007

Extreme Home Makeover: Africa

We are in the midst of a full scale (on African terms) renovation of our little apartment. Walls that were once a non-descript creamy color are quickly (or at least not slowly) becoming green, robin's egg blue, and the same color pink as the skittles you get in the purple bags. I have learned to stand up to a contractor twice my size who has his own interior decorating ideas ("orange walls look good, yah? same as in my house!")- that we want "white trim, yes white trim, yes Mr. Boss, not brown, but WHITE trim. That's right, white. Impossible? Surely not. If its just very very hard then I expect you to try very hard to do it. That's right." Hope you all can see the end result one day soon.
Pictures to follow- as soon as I figure out to upload them (which may be a while. I'm soooo good at this:). So for the two of you who read this, hold your horses- the visuals are on the way

Friday, May 4, 2007

I Pity the Fooul! I Pity the Fooul.

Every country has foods they are famous for (okay not every country- I mean does anyone know what Djibouti is famous for? The Maldives? Feel free to comment if you do). Italy has tiramisu and, well, Olive Garden of course. Ireland has potatoes and well, you know the other stuff. Fish and Chips for England. Hamburgers and Fries in America, you get the idea. Good things right? Well, the country I now call home is known for fooul. Yes. Pronounced “fool.” Translation: take some beans, add some water, then cook for hours until they are kind of mushy but still maintain their basic shape. When you add some chopped tomato and onion, a whole lot of salt, and eat it with fresh bread, it can be quite tasty. Every corner shop has a few clay pots (they look like beehives) out front simmering the mixture over a little coal fire in the morning and evening. Each day, people come to the fooul vendor, buy about 50 cents worth of the strange bean dip, the vendor scoops it out of the clay pot and into a plastic bag, and the happy customers take it home to their families.

Being the culturally sensitive people that we are, my sweet sister friends and I decided we would begin buying fooul for breakfast too. Our first night in our apartment, the two adventurous ones (that’s the other two) set out on a late afternoon food jaunt to buy a few things at the dukan and buy fooul with the locals. I straightened up around the house until they arrived home (we were waiting for our appliances to come-they never did), and finally heard weary steps coming up the stairs. The door opens to reveal two faces, slightly defeated but still hopeful. I wasn’t sure how to take this.

“Not ready until 7:00 pm,” they said. So we rested in the darkening room until 7:20. Just to be safe. This is Africa, after all. The three of us set out with high spirits- seeing dinner in sight. Without a fridge, we were limited in our food choices, so by this time we were all very hungry. A half hour of wandering later, we returned home with no fooul and very little dignity once again. Fooul still not ready.

Today the sisters jaunted out once again determined to eat fooul with the rest of the country. Seriously, they have to sell it somewhere- this is the national food for goodness’ sake. A few short minutes later they returned while I was chopping the tomatoes and onions, slammed the door, and came into the kitchen. “Not ready.” They said quickly and left the room.

Three strikes. Yet the hunger remained and we were determined to win.

Two hours later, the two adventurers went out once more…and returned victoriously. Mostly.

I went into the kitchen to grab the vegetables and heard a crash followed by May’s scream and Sahara’s hysterical laughter. Poking my head around the doorframe I was confronted with the sight of fooul spread across the concrete tiles. May’s face looked totally perplexed and slightly defeated, but I couldn’t help but join Sahara in her laughter. Foolish Fooul. It was trying to get the better of us, but then again, it’s just beans. We’re smarter than it. We’re bigger than it. We will win.

And we did. A short while later, we were sitting around the table eating our first fooul and esh (bread) meal. It was, uh, almost everything we hoped for and more.

Thursday, May 3, 2007

Pearls

I realized the other day, as I put on my pearl stud earrings for the seventh day in a row, that I have been wearing these little pearls a whole lot since I arrived here. Exclusively actually. This may not appear strange for those who know me, for I was known to wear pearls often and with every outfit possible (my roommate in college used to-still does- make fun of me for not changing my pearl earrings when we dressed to go the gym, “pearls with a t-shirt? Sue, seriously?”) back home in the states. But in the two month before leaving the country I hadn’t worn them once. Not once. I threw them in the jewelry bag as an afterthought. I mean who wears pearls in Africa? I had carefully packed my dangly, funky earrings that would match the brightly colored dresses and coverings I would wear here. I put the pearls on for the long flight over, and somehow, just never took them off in the days that followed. Each morning as we prepared for the day, the sisters with me would put on their fun, funky earrings and offer me a choice from their vast selection. Yet each morning, I would put back in the little white pearls from home.

And then it hit me. Everything in my life right now is unsettled and unfamiliar. The foreign country I now call my home is still very foreign to me in almost every way. The food, the water, the housing, the weather, the language—all new. All of my clothes were strange and different from what I would wear daily at home. So I hold on to the familiar—to the one thing I can control. Each morning I put on this little part of who I used to be: Clean. Sweet. Classy. Put together. In control of my situation. All things which I no longer feel I can possibly be- at least not yet (well the clean thing is questionable for the duration of our time here).

I cling to the familiar- we all do I suppose. When everything around us is uncertain, we hold on to the things we know. In the days since the pearl revelation I have seen that there are other things to hold on to as well: the loyalty and love between my two sister friends and I (despite, uh, less than perfect situations, our conversations grown sweeter and funnier- maybe it’s the heat), the love and thoughts of my family pr for me at home-and writing daily to tell me they love me and haven’t forgotten me, and friends whose wise words for me come always at the exact right time.

Yet the one thing that is certain- even more than these- is that you, L, are faithful, and you, L, are true. You do not shift like shadows—Your promises are the same yesterday, today, and in the days to come.

He will be faithful. He will provide for my needs—ALL of my needs. He will never leave me nor forsake me. He will finish this work he’s started in me. He started it, he maintains it, he will finish it. All of it. He will be my strength when I am so weak I cannot stand any longer. He will be my voice when I have no words. He will lead me. He will guide me. He will fight this battle for me- for it is his battle, not mine, anyway. And he will win. Every single time. He will lead me by his mighty right hand besides still waters. He will lift my head, he will be my joy, he will be my hope. He will be my security- my strong tower that I can run into and be saved. He will hide me in the cleft of the rock, and renew my spirit. He will create a clean heart in me- as I die to myself every day. He is my true love, and I will love him most, best, and first. I am his beloved and he will love me unconditionally, consistently for all the days of my life.

There may come a day (will come a day- I loose everything !) when I loose the back on one of my pearl studs, or loose one all together and I will need to put them away for a season. And when that day comes, even thenJ, I can rest in the absolute certainty that he will be faithful and true. And that will be enough. More than enough.