Starched!

Most of you who know me will not be surprised that I’ve already decided to talk about my mealtimes and food. Perhaps you are expecting that I will describe every savory detail about Ugandan food and all the new things that I’ve tried, and I will…

just not today. The reality is that the only Ugandan food that I’ve eaten here so far are those really cute baby bananas (going on day 3 of the same gigantic bundle). So what, you might ask, have I been eating for 2 days straight? Bangladeshi food of course – generally in the company of no less than 3 Bangladeshi men. In essence, the food itself is not really that new since the cuisine is very similar to Indian food, which I love. Though, I have to say that the meals are so heavy (rice, potatoes, and/or chipati) that I become virtually narcoleptic after meals, as all the blood leaves the rest of my body to attempt to digest the massive wad of starch that had stubbornly decided to reside in my stomach. I actually have to resist the urge to go gnaw on random greenery or a piece of bark or something.

Sorry. Slight digression. In any case, my dining experience has been quite interesting. I am generally the only person in the room who uses utensils, which makes me feel almost apologetic for wanting to eat with a fork. Everyone else is all up in their food with their hands, and it was admittedly a bit unappetizing at first, strictly speaking as one who has not come from such a culture. Needless to say, I got used to it all rather quickly – the sort of squishing noise of mixing sauce and food with rice, the licking and smacking noises of getting that last bit of food off hands and plates, and even the freely shared burps of a happily sated Bangladeshi. Haha. I just have to laugh about it.

But do you know what? I have never seen consistently cleaner plates at mealtime in any other culture that I have encountered. Nothing goes to waste, and that is awesome. Not only this, but I have rarely encountered such politeness in so many other ways at the meal table. Today, someone looked at me and asked me if he could be excused since he was finished. I was thinking ‘Dude, I’m not your mother and you are grown. You can do whatever you’d like!’ Haha. But I just told him, ‘of course!’ I mean, it is kind of odd when a much older gentleman asks you for permission to leave the dinner table.

In any case, everyone wants to make sure that I enjoy what has been prepared. If I tell them that I like eggplant or spicy food in general, they say ‘thank you very much’. In fact, they say ‘thank you very much’ for almost everything. I suppose it might be overkill, but then again, I think it’s just good practice. When in doubt, just make 'thank you' your default response, and life is that much more pleasant. Though, the random thank you-ing also leads me to a point about the sometimes awkward mealtime conversations. I might sit there and eat quietly as conversations progress in Bangla. Other times, the curious group chooses to engage me in conversations such as the one that occurred when I told everyone how old I was. Naturally, they all thought I was about 20 years old, and naturally, they were pretty shocked when I told them I was actually 29. Immediately following this one of the gentleman asked me,

“What about your baby?”

“Baby?”

“Yes, your baby.”

“Oh, but I don’t have a baby. No baby yet.”

“No baby. Ok. Then your husband? What about your husband?”

“Oh, I’m not married either. No husband.”

“Not married? No husband?”

The man was discernibly shocked and confused, and I had this odd feeling of déjà vu...

“You sound just like my mother," I told him. The 'Where's your husband?' 'Where are your babies???' 'You’re getting old!!' (by the way, thanks a lot mom...)

Haha. Thankfully the conversation did not progress any further, and there were no comments about my eggs getting old, or shriveling ovaries, or such pleasantries at the dinner table.