Black as Night

Simple things give me great pleasure these days. Wearing my socks inside out so the seams don’t bother my toes. Imagining ice cubes made of coffee. A big steaming plate of matapa. A young boy wearing a shirt that says ‘Gimme a kiss’, stuffing his dirty little face with porridge. Naked babies that run dripping from the bath and screaming with laughter, black skin glistening, dark as night. Cool water is everyone’s best friend.

Upon finding out that I’ve been admitted to NYU for Fall 2011, I accidentally stayed at the office way too late using the internet, then realized I would have to bike home in the pitch black. So of course, nervous and blind and riding too fast, I drove over a hole in the road and went tumbling ass over elbow. Luckily the bike was still rideable, and adrenaline kept the pain away until I was safe and sound in my house.

When I got home, I was shocked to realize it was only 6:30. When darkness comes to Africa, it wastes no time. The sun sets and then, black night.

I’ve spent the past few days in Pebane, a tiny coastal town, helping my colleagues prepare for a health and nutrition fair held on April 7th – National Women’s Day in Mozambique. Many organizations prepared displays and activities for the fair; the purpose of our table was to promote the incorporation of highly nutritious and readily available foods, such as soy beans and sweet potatoes, into the diets of rural women and children. We spent the entire day before preparing cakes and fritters, and when night rolled around, as abrupt and dark as ever, we found ourselves preparing juice by headlamp and listening to Justin Bieber on someone’s computer. (A group of 5 or more people together at night always constitutes a music-worthy party, and that little punk sure is popular here!) A black dog that was docile and friendly all day, adorable holding a coconut shell between his paws and scratching out the oily white meat with his teeth, takes up his role as guard as soon as the sun goes down, barking valiantly at anything that moves. How do they know?

Then the fair. I was, as always, the lone white girl in a sea of black eyes, but many more than usual this time. As soon as word got around that we were giving free samples of fresh soy milk – which took all of 5 seconds – we couldn’t keep the crowds back. Piles of hungry kids, arms outstretched, all but jumped over our tables, even as the men in our group physically restrained them. Such a mix of emotions these situations produce: these kids are all malnourished and need soy milk and sweet potatoes every day, but the goal of the fair was for them to learn about the products and be able to make them in their own homes, not just suck down the current stock. In addition, they were wildly disobedient and made for a very stressful environment. Still, we need more events like this in Mozambique, and hopefully some of the women who visited our stand to buy cakes before all hell broke loose will replicate these nutritious recipes in their own homes. We had planned to charge a symbolic price for all items, milk included. But it’s impossible to deny a child a small cup when she has no money, even if you can predict the rioting that it will cause.

And there’s no amount of stress that a freshly caught grilled rock fish and a dip in the Indian Ocean can’t cure.