No Maize?!

Walking home, I see the housemother, Nyevu unknowingly standing in the middle of my attempt at a little garden (or shamba, in Kiswahish), right on the baby lettuce I had just planted a couple of weeks ago.  She was looking around, laughing, and talking with the headmaster’s twin daughters, who were also laughing.

Sighing, knowing what was going to happen, I went up to the group and asked Nyevu to step out of my lettuce patch politely.  Nyveu held out a bottle of maize seeds and told me to plant maize.  I explained that I did not intend to plant maize. 

“There’s no maize there,” I said, “I planted lettuce and a few herbs.”

“What’s that?” Nyevu asked.

“A sort of green leafy vegetable,” I searched for something that they knew that is comparable, “Something like sukuma (Kiswahili for kale – you never call it kale even when you’re using English, much like how shamba has found itself in the English vocabulary here instead of garden / farm).” I finished lamely. I then pointed out the little leafy lettuce sprouting out. 

One of the twins promptly started pulling out a couple of these sprouts saying, “You don’t eat these!”  After seeing the look of despair on my face, she stopped pulling them out.  “You eat these?”

“Yes.” I knew that they were never exposed to lettuce, and that they basically just meant well, but I was starting to become tired of the whole oh-look-at-the-mzungu-working-on-her-shamba-oh-so-cute scene.  After a few more moments of conversation, they shook their head with the indulgent look that parents gave their children as they left. 

A few hours later, a group of my students stopped by my house to ask a few questions about the mid-terms that was happening this week, as I was lounging around enjoying my iced coffee. 

“How is the shamba going?” Josephine asked.

“Pretty well – I can see it growing up a bit, I hope it works out well.” I answered.

“Maize?” Dennis inquired.

“No, no maize.  I’m growing lettuce.” I wearily responded as I wondered if growing lettuce, which I missed over the last year and half, was really worth the attempt at a garden. 

“What’s that?” Gona asked.

“An leafy vegetable – used mainly in salads, a popular dish in the United States.” I said.  “Something like sukuma, and you don’t cook it.”

“Whaddya mean?!  You don’t cook it?!” Osman, Dennis, and Josephine all exclaimed at the same time. 

“How do you eat it?” Josephine asked.

“You eat it with onions, carrots, cheese, nuts, whatever you like, then add dressing, which is mostly oil, vinegar, salt, pepper, and maybe some mustard – depends on one’s taste.” I explained.

Monica mused, “There’s no way I can eat uncooked food.  I’ve never eaten uncooked food.”

Gona added, “How can you eat it uncooked?”

“Do you have the seeds? Can we see it?” Josephine asked.  I went into my kitchen and showed them the seeds, and saw their expressions change with wonder and surprise – they never saw such small seeds. 

“Can we buy it here?” Osman asked. 

“I don’t know.  I’ve not seen seeds for lettuce for sale here – I got this from my brother and his wife.” I replied.  “Why does everyone grow maize, and only maize?”

With shrugs, everyone said that it was always that way.  Everyone grew maize, period.  If you have a shamba, you grow maize.  Maybe some like Katumo out at his house would grow eggplant, tomato, and a couple of other things, but that’s not usual. 

After the conversation made its way through all the uncooked food that I liked, and that they would refuse to even try, namely sushi, and then some of the cooked food I liked, including octopus, in which a couple of the kids also liked, we ended the conversation with a promise extracted from me to bring a bowl of uncooked, much to the dismay of a few kids, salad when the lettuce is ready for harvest.