“I’m afraid. I have a mental block to overcome before I can eat it,” I said.
“Come on, take a piece.”
“I’m nervous, I have to admit.”
“For me?”
“For me! I’m note sure my stomach is ready for raw meat – especially after a day with no lunch.” Then I reached for the plate and tried to pick the smallest piece on the dish, dipped it in the mit-mita and put it in my mouth.
The mit-mita (a powder ground from red chillies) overpowered any tast, but the chuck felt big in my mouth and chewy. I had to work to get it down.
Yeshi ate some more while I processed what had just gone down my throat – raw meat – meat which had just been cut form the carcass hanging from hooks from the wall. At least it’s beef I though. Raw goat might be too much for me. And at least it’s a whole carcass hanging there, so it much be relatively recently slaughtered.
I ate a total of three pieces. The second looked small but after I picked it off the plate it looked much bigger and was covered on one side with sinew and tendons. I excused myself and tried to pull it off with my free hand. No luck. Knowing I’d not be able to chew through it, I bit into it with my right molars, sawing through it as discretely as I could, so as not to offend anyone.
The third piece was hard to swallow. Literally. I chewed it, like the other, but I’d reached my limit – my gag reflex kicked in. I quelled it as nonchalantly as I could while I vomited a little in my mouth and chewed faster, finally gulping it down and looking to my beer for relief.
Yeshimebet finished the rest of the dish while I reflected on the last few days. There’s something strange about being the first farenji (foreigner) someone sees in their life. White, slightly sunburned, blue eyes and reddish-blonf hair, I’m probably quite the sight—add to that the growing sunspot (a dark spot on my forehead and nose from photosensitivity), a nose ring and not having showered for three days.
Some people wave. All stare. Today I rolled down my window to shake hands and say hello to the group of girls who had gathers by my side of the car while we had stopped to discuss strategy. The fist shook my hand and we exchanged Salam-ne’s (a greeting which you say to each other – it translates roughly to a question-answer asking: Is there peace? There is peace.) The second was more timid and didn’t hold out her hand, So I returned to the discussion in the Land Cruiser. As we talked, I felt someone touching my arm and caught a glimpse in the side-view mirror behind me of the girl running her hand along my arm. Before we left, we shook hands.
Yesterday we found one of our beneficiaries randomly on the side of the road and wanted to do our impact assessment survey with him on his plot of farmland just down the road. He didn’t want to get in out vehicle but after some persuading from the other farmers around and our staff he got in the car reluctantly. We drove maybe 50 meters before he yelled stop. Everyone else was laughing at his reaction, it was the first time he was in a car, but when I turned around from the front seat I saw terror in his eyes. I said, if he doesn’t’ was to drive with us, we’ll get out and walk with him. The farm is just up the road they said. No really, I said. If he’s uncomfortable driving, we don’t force him to do it. We’ll get out and walk with him.
So we got out and walked, settling under the shade of a big tree on the edge of his plot of land to do the survey. Later they told me that he had been afraid we were kidnapping him and going to steal his kidney! Apparently no one had explained to him what we wanted and just pressured him into the car and since he didn’t know any of us, he had been terrified. It was only after we had finished the survey and I’d taken his picture standing in a field of late-sown maize that he said: now I understand what you wanted.
Until next time, I’m off to the field again for about four days. See you then.
