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Movie night
This is what watching t.v. at our house is like!
Mada scooping nsima Well to give you a quick update about the case of Sourire, the immigration official decided to reopen her case. She swore up and down that it had nothing to do with the pressure that had been brought to bear by us and others, claiming rather that she had been apprised of “new information.” But there was no new information—except the information in Sourire’s file which the official had neglected to read before interviewing her. But as my boss explained to me, a large part of being a lawyer is knowing how to remain deferential even after you prove someone wrong.
On Saturday I came into the office to do some work online (we only get internet after hours and on weekends!), and then I walked into town with one of my colleagues to do some grocery shopping. Just as my cart was getting full the power went out in the supermarket! The amazing part is that it didn’t turn into total mayhem, everyone went about shopping (to the degree possible in the dark) and about 10 mins. later the power came back on.
That night I had a friend over to have dinner and watch Casino Royale,
Me and Mada
This was taken at the camp. and Matt kindly set up his projector for us so we could enjoy Daniel Craig in larger than life form 😊. It's pretty cool, like having our own private cinema.
Sunday I was invited over to the home of my friend and colleague Magret, whose Chichewa name is Madaiiso (which means “blessings”) to finally try
nsima. Her parents died when she was young so she and her brother were taken in by an uncle, who has five sons of his own. They live in a nice house in Area 23, which is an incredibly vibrant part of the city that undoubtedly sees no mzungus. The roads stop being paved when you reach Area 23 so everything is covered in a layer of red dust; her neighborhood is known as Nichimba which means “dirty place” because it used to be a bush area that people settled in haphazardly. Mada (as her family calls her) and her uncle’s family live in a nice house right next to the neighborhood market; the uncle is a beer distributor who runs a bar adjacent to their home (which means constant, loud music). The beer most Malawians drink is nothing like any beer you or
I have ever tasted, let alone seen. First of all, it’s sold in a carton that almost looks like a large Cracker Jack box. Second of all, it is not transparent or even translucent! It’s basically like a porridge made from maize (which is a large part of why it’s the preferred beer here: it is almost as filling as a meal.) Anyway I managed to avoid tasting it, for now.
It was interesting to see Mada interacting with her brothers; she is about my age, and unmarried—which is unheard of here. I was asking them about whether it’s safe to walk around at night, and apparently Mada can’t be out past 6pm without getting in trouble from her family (her younger brothers can). She also can’t have a boyfriend without encountering problems, a constraint her brothers don’t have. As the female sibling in the house she is expected to cook and clean for everyone. When I would express surprise at how restricted she is, her brothers would explain that “this is the culture here”—to which I responded, yes, that was the culture in my country, too—cultures change. They were not pleased at that comment. It was a little
Final product
They scoop the nsima into palm-sized lumps and keep them in these pots to stay warm until the meal. infuriating to be sitting in front of someone who so underestimated me and Mada because we’re women, but also sad in that it was out of ignorance and lack of education more than anything. And to think that Mada is one of the lucky ones—she has a family that supports her education even though she’s passed the age most women are expected to marry.
Mada’s house has a proper kitchen with a stove, but she still does most of her cooking outside; they have a small brick enclosure where she cooks over an open fire since it’s faster. To prepare
nsima you start with maize flour, which is just maize pounded out into flour form. (Many women do the pounding themselves, but you can also have it done at a mill.) You boil a pot of water, and whisk in some of the maize flour while stirring. You keep whisking the flour in bit by bit, and eventually it starts to thicken. Once you’ve whisked it all in you have to really stir it hard, since it’s almost dough-like in consistency and very sticky, until it reaches the desired texture. (In Malawi the texture is like a hard dough,
Mmmmm...liver stew!
As you can see she's cooking over an open flame in an alley behind the house. further north in places like the Congo they cook it longer so it’s even harder.) She served it with stewed cow’s liver (I’m ashamed to say I skipped that delicacy) and sautéed cabbage with tomatoes. The
nsima itself is very bland, since nothing is added to it in terms of spice—not even salt. The cabbage was super salty (as I have noticed things tend to be in Africa) and very tasty! I couldn’t help but think of it as a condiment, as Mario Batali would say sauce is to pasta. In Malawi, if a person hasn’t had NSIMA, they feel they haven’t had a proper meal. Even if they cook rice,
nsima makes the meal. Mada’s family was stunned that we don’t have a similarly national staple in the U.S.
All my life but especially when I lived in New York people have always tried to guess (wrong) where I am from. In NYC cab drivers always thought I must be from wherever they were from—Pakistan, Sri Lanka, India. The Dominicans in my neighborhood were always surprised to find out I am not Latina. I have gotten as strange guesses as Iraqi and Eskimo. But never East Asian, until I came to Malawi! Many people here think I am Japanese because of my dark hair; I think they assume “white people” (meaning from Europe and America) have lighter hair. To this day, no one has ever said, “are you Czech?”...
Love,
martina
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Muscles
non-member comment
Which is correct?
Me and Mada or Mada and Me? Regardless, keep these very informative blogs coming. Love, Muscles