"You are now a Zambian Woman!"

My friend Nancy may have said this to me today, but I assure you I am not actually a Zambian woman. Compared to Zambian women, I am an absolutely non-skilled, lame excuse for a woman. Here's how I found this to be true-

Nancy (our language/culture tutor extraordinaire, not to mention one of our closest Zambian friends) gave me a cooking lesson today. Now, a lot of you American friends know that I consider myself not-too-shabby when it comes to kitchen skills. The cooking lesson I received today, however, was filled with tips never to be found on Epicurious.com nor Martha Stewart's Everyday Food blog- since neither seem to be catering to an impoverished African audience.

While I was at her house, Ba Nance showed me how to light a fire on the mbaula (small brassier), using small sticks and malasha (wood charcoal). Then, moving into the kitchen (dangerous, right?), we started on the process of making nshima- the staple Zambian dish made of unga (cornmeal, known as mealie meal). Here are some pics from the process...

Mollie and I, eager to learn/eat.


Step 1: Put cornmeal through a sieve to remove unwanted bugs (as opposed to the ones you cook and serve atop the nshima when it's done). Then, add boiling water.


Step 2: Bring porridge to a boil over charcoal, and let it cook "until you know it's done." How do you know it's done? "You just know." Once it's done, you add more unga, and stir in a very particular way (which I never got right), until it has a much thicker consistency.


Step 3: Dip spoon in hot water and then scoop the cooked nshima into portions. Serve with ndiyo (relish of choice), then eat by using your right hand to make nshima and ndiyo into bite-size little balls.

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My first guided-attempt at nshima was, indeed, a success. Even Moses (Nancy's son, in the picture), gave me a head nod of approval after eating his portion. So, I could have accepted Nancy's praise, and maybe even agreed with her calling me a "Zambian woman now!" I cannot, however, because of the following two reasons:

1. In the process of heating up the porridge, Ba Nance used her bare hands to remove the lid of the pot, touch the handle of the pot, and re-situate the charcoal pieces. May I remind you that all of these items were BURNING HOT- and she acted like "it was no problem." I tried to do what she did, and instantly had to pull my hand away. The entire family playfully laughed at me because I couldn't do it.

2. I could not bring myself to eat the portion of ndiyo I was given with my nshima. Like I said, ndiyo is a relish of choice- and apparently, today was the day Ba Nance chose to serve us kidneys. I took one bite, and could not stop the gag-reflex that followed. Luckily, I don't think Ba Nance saw.

Unfortunately, I have already discovered and will probably continue to discover many more reasons why I am not actually a Zambian woman, and be humbled all over again. And again. And then, probably again.

For now, I will thank God for this particular woman, Nancy, and for all the women like her that I have gotten to know. What a privilege for me to spend time with them, visit their homes, and just to be their friend. I pray they continue to be patient with me as I learn from them all about this wonderful place called Zambia.