Thanksgiving meals in the past have taken place in my grandparents’ homes, once at a restaurant for a delicious buffet, three times in the Sunset for UGA Thanksgiving fests (hollah!) and in my parents’ home this September, when we celebrated early before I left for Tanzania.
As the only American in Kitongo (as far as I can tell) for the two weeks surrounding Thanksgiving, I knew it was solely my responsibility to share this wonderful holiday with my Tanzanian family. (Thank you to Stephanie for emphasizing the utter seriousness of this task and encouraging me to celebrate in a new way!)
Thanksgiving preparations began on Tuesday, when I went shopping at the open market for a dizzying array of produce and U-Turn Grocery Store for other essentials. We displayed all the produce in wicker baskets until Thanksgiving morning, and then it was time to get to work!
Mama Mary gave me my first cooking lesson in Kiswahili and showed me how to make kisamvu. She was rather tickled to have me as her student, and she is an excellent instructor, even though I only understood about 10% of what she was saying. Kisamvu is a leafy green you mash with a mortar and pestle, then cook together with oil, tomato, onion, milk, and…peanut butter! Yes, please!
Jonas was an excellent sous-chef: his responsibilities included cleaning and peeling four kilos of potatoes, sweet and “Irish,” as well as frying the chicken and sweet potatoes.
Danny was our fetcher-of-oil and all-around cheerleader, while Paul focused his efforts on setting the table, laboriously folding napkins in a special design.
Ten apples for our pie were actually more expensive than a live chicken…go figure. (I think apples are brought in from Kenya, where there is a greater variety of produce.) We ordered a chicken from one of the men who works at JBFC, and he brought it to us on Thursday afternoon. As Jackie killed it in front of the house, refrains of “The Circle of Life” were echoing in my head.
I learned a lot about chicken anatomy on Thursday after dissecting it, pulling out its intestines, discovering several eggs of various sizes to be laid, and peeling its feet. I'll spare you the photos, but here's one of Danny and Paul munching on some chicken feet for a snack:
The boys could tell it was an important day, so in a particularly touching gesture, they got dressed up in their finest for our special meal:
I invited eight of my closest friends/adoptive family here to share Thanksgiving with me:
Our Menu:
Salad with Vinaigrette – Cucumber, Tomato, Shredded Carrot (all the good stuff, no lettuce)
Kisamvu – A Tanzanian dish to replace the green beans, which have always been my least favorite anyway
Cranberry Sauce – A miraculous find at U-Turn Grocery Store in town!
Mashed Potatoes – of course
Sweet Potatoes – Fried, because that’s delicious and I couldn’t find a pomegranate to make it like Mimi
Chicken – We thank Ms. Kuku for giving her life for our feast
Stuffing – the best part of the meal, no matter what country you’re in
Apple Pie – even though pumpkin is easier to find here, I like apple. So that’s what we ate.
Why yes, that is a Tanzanian flag cut into the pie!
Dad, I’m sorry—I forgot about the olives!! If only Safeway were down the street and open until noon on Thursday to save us from these memory lapses. Alas, I wasn’t sure I could justify driving three hours round-trip for this critical item.
We shared a lovely meal together, and as I looked around the table, I was incredibly thankful for these people who have made my first two months in Tanzania full of happy memories. Two were present for the infamous stolen-bag episode, one is been an incredible teacher and colleague, two are particularly cheerful and sing beautifully, and one is a toddler who has gone from greeting me with terror (I’m her first muzungu friend) to running into my arms with a smile in a matter of four weeks.
All possess generous spirits, welcoming nature, and the wonderful quality of laughing often.
It was unanimously decided by the boys that apple pie is the best Thanksgiving dish, followed closely by stuffing. I couldn’t agree more.
After our guests left, and the boys and I were sitting on the couches waiting to Skype with my parents, Jonas asked the boys, “what are you thankful for?” The magic of this touching moment was sharply interrupted by Danny’s somewhat inappropriately-timed pronouncement, “I have to poop.” Ohhhh, boys!
I’m grateful for traditions, for loving family and friends throughout the years, and for Thanksgiving with new flavors.
And I'm also grateful my parents taped the Macy's Day Parade for me!
