So let’s start with Sunday. It was a typical day in Malawi. Got up did my chores and then went to my site mate’s house to go to a new church. I haven’t quite decided what church I want to belong to or if I want to belong to any…but nevertheless we made our best effort. But after waiting too long I decided to go to the market to make a lunch for my friends. So I chatted bought some cabbage for making a tasty Indian dish and made my way home. Then I ate my friends were mostly impressed while a few aren’t used to spices. In Malawi the only spice that is used is salt and red pepper. Now I love food and Nsima the staple food, but not every day. But then I made my way to the garden to finish/repair my gate for my garden when I get a call. Now my Peace Corps and I have this game that we play called “sentences that we say here that we would never say in America”. So here goes one, “I get a call from the chief who invites me to see a dance”. Innocent enough I drop my tools tell my sitemate and we make our way to the chief’s house. A woman is sick so she is dancing a traditional dance to heal her. I won’t go too much into detail but we see her face painted white, dancing in a drunk or meditative state. Then they bring her a chicken for sacrifice (yes this is real) and let’s just say it is sacrificedJ Just a typical Sunday!
The stories of my chicken
So when I first got to site all I could think about was getting a chicken for fresh eggs. I remember my grandmother always had fresh eggs from her chickens and they were delicious. So one of my co-workers says “I’ll sell you my chicken”. So he comes to work the next day with a chicken. “Aisha come get your Nkuku at the gate” he says. So not even knowing how to carry a chicken I take it back to the house after people are chuckling at my struggle. I ask my roommates where I should put it, they say in the hallway. So I go to a village for an outreach and come back to the house and the chicken is gone. I go to see my roommates and ask where it is, “it’s in the kitchen” so I go back to the house and still can’t find it. I go back and ask again “Aisha, it’s in the pot we boiled it during lunch”. So that was the story of my first chicken. So I ate her for dinner as awkward as I could. My roommates felt bad I felt bad it was a bad situation. I was then later sulking in my room when they came in with another chicken. I was happy all was good in the world. I named her sarcastically (yes Malawians get my sarcasm which is awesome) Amayi Mazira, which mean mother of eggs. So I put her safely up for the night in a store room next to the house. Went in the next morning to check for eggs all I see is a broken egg with nothing inside. Hmm I think that’s weird. I ask around and they say sometimes chickens do that. I ask why “because they are misala (crazy)”. Ok so I give her another night as I’m putting her up I see a rat inside the room. Go back the next few mornings no eggs. I talk to my friend again and he agrees to eat the chicken and trade me for a less ‘misala’ chicken that lays eggs. I left that weekend to town and came back to hear the bad news. Amayi Mazira was taken in the night. All that was left was a few feathers. I think oh well she was crazy and ate her own eggs. Only this weekend to find as I was searching in the room eggs hidden. Amayi Mazira wasn’t crazy she was hiding her eggs to protect them from the rat. So….to be continued, I put in my order for my next chicken.
No comments:
Post a Comment