Bicyclè

My language helpers are a wonderful, but poor family.  Having taught other missionaries the local dialects they are used to hanging out with foreigners, but beyond that they are extremely hospitable.  Whenever I am with them I feel so blessed.  I pop by their house once a week to practice my language and try to bring a gift for payment to help them out.  These gifts often cost me nothing, like a left over water bottle or corn can, but when they sell them they are good for a little extra cash.  I am so blessed by my time spent hanging out with this family that I can't help wanting to give to them.  I have to be careful about giving gifts here because once you give to one person it's expected that you give something to everyone.  Thankfully, my gifts to this family can be seen as payment for practicing language and they are far enough away from any of the ladies I hang out with in the market that it won't get back to them and seem unfair. 

For a while now I have been thinking that it would be fun to cook a meal for this family and have a special dinner together.  With ministry quiet over the holidays this last weekend was the perfect time to do it.  I stopped by in the morning to say I would be coming and asked the whole family be there.  What I didn't realize was that I hadn't met the "whole" family.  When I arrived later I was surprised by the extra people who showed by.  When I said I was going to cook, I should have expected a crowd.

As I began showing the group my ingredients they were fascinated by my cans of beans and corn which they buy fresh.  Thinking I would need a can opener I had brought mine which was equally as fascinating to the group.  As I got started I needed to borrow a big pot.  Somehow that got taken as meaning that I needed spaghetti, and I was surprised when she went to buy some for our soup.  So, rather than chicken tortilla soup we had chicken noodle. 

After combining all of the ingredients it was time to taste test.  Throughout the cooking process the family kept telling me I needed to add more salt since the Malagasy like salt.  Since I particularly don't like salt, I kept stalling.  As I tested the soup, it definitely needed flavor, but rather than adding salt, I got two young boys to take me to buy tomatoes and an onion.  It was a lot of fun to follow the boys through their village to the right market stand. 

When the soup was finally ready I said a prayer in Malagasy and then moved out of the way to watch.  I wasn't quite sure how to serve everyone since I hadn't seen anyone bring out their bowls.  Since it was getting dark I figured I better start getting ready to go.  One of the guys noticed and was sweet to assure me he would escort me home.  They got me a bowl of soup and I sat and ate as one of the women attempted to serve the crowd of excited children.  I was thankful she was taking charge, because the kids were a little crazy. 

As I ate the adults come to keep me company.  Soon I asked if they planned to eat too.  I was surprised by their answer.  It seems another foreigner, and language student, had cooked them chilli one night that made some of them sick so, they were afraid to eat my soup.  Haha, after all that, they were afraid to eat it.  I heard later that some did, but said it needed salt.

As I was escorted home we commandeered a bike to ride.  I was put on the back until we dropped off the man's daughter to her mother at their relatives’ house.  Then, I was seated on the bar between the seat and the handle bar.  I couldn't help but laugh as I awkwardly balanced on the bumpy road.  What an adventure.  Just imagine me sitting sideways on a bike being ridden in a foreign country by a little, chocolate man.  When I could take the bumps no more I switched to the back and put my feet up on the pegs sticking out from the wheel axle. As I rode, I realized what a different life I have in this third world country.  I hope I never forget these special moments.