Khartoum - the lighter side of life

Today was a very full day that included more heart-wrenching stories about the deconstruction of a country, living with the results of economic turmoil that makes anything we experience in America pale by comparison, and a visit to the library of a theological school that included a multi-volume set of Bobsy Twins books, a run of Good Housekeeping from the 1990s and some used coloring books (alongside a smattering of commentaries and theological readers). Although I can’t help laughing to myself as I write that, I don’t say it to be funny. It’s actually a very poignant reminder of how dedicated and talented people struggle to do good work in exceedingly trying and under resourced circumstances. I have an even deeper respect for the Sudanese today.

But I do want to focus a bit more on the lighter side of life, on food. Food, of course, is hardly a light matter in much of the world, where the amount and type of chile added to a dish, the type of soy sauce used, or the provenance of mushrooms can generate sharp disagreements and conversations. Sudanese, I am told, have only in recent times and only in urban areas adopted differentiated rooms for living, dining, and sleeping. A traditional home (again, so I am told), has low benches in most rooms where people sit, where food can be brought in, and where people can snooze after eating. Food is served much as it is in Ethiopia and other parts of Africa and the Middle East on large, communal plates with some kind of meat and accompanying fresh vegetables, dipping sauces, bread, and salads. Today’s fare was served at a huge open-air market on the very outskirts of western Khartoum, alongside a huge donkey market. The meat available is on display on hooks in front of the restaurant. We sat in a kind of open patio area on the aforementioned low benches (complete with napping pillows!) and were served grilled lamb, puffy fresh Middle Eastern bread, tomato and peanut salad, fiery green chile sauce, along with fresh tomatoes, cucumbers, onions, and carrots. And arugula. I’ve not yet had a meal in Sudan that didn’t include fresh arugula in some form. Apparently it accompanies most things here, adding a peppery, fresh bite. Everyone digs into the common plate, using the bread to pinch a bit of this or that, or merely using fingers to dip meet in sauce, etc. A good time was had by all.

My mother-in-law was quite disappointed at Thanksgiving to discover that her old family trick of serving a silverware-free meal (spaghetti and meatballs) fell rather flat as a surprise, since I’ve become quite adept at various modes of eating with my fingers, usually without getting very messy (most cultures in Asia or Africa that avoid utensils have pre- and post-meal hand washings that vary in ceremonial complexity). Our girls have tried it a couple of times with Indian-inspired food, with rather mixed results in terms of avoiding messes.

I love what I do for all kinds of reasons. First and foremost, I love being part of the lives of leaders of competence and character who labor with great perseverance despite varying levels of inadequate resources. I love to encourage. But if I had to name something on the “lighter” side of my work life it is the food. I love the communality of dining in most of the world, where one isn’t forced to choose one thing on the menu, but instead samples a bit of this and that, often in combinations. I actually enjoy not knowing what I’m eating at times. I won’t say that I’ve loved everything I’ve eaten everywhere (baby birds still in the shell were not a hit, and I just can’t understand durian fruit). But few things bring me greater joy than food adventures. Perhaps because few things connect people better than food does.

Again, this could benefit significantly from photos, which were taken, but remain trapped without the properly shaped USB… ugh.