what’s to eat #26
Prelude to a filling lunch, and much beloved in Bamako: Vietnamese nem, seasoned and ground beef and onions wrapped in a fried, crispy rice paper. Here’s the low-down on nem.
Author: erinwrote
on houses
What’s your house like? Not the one that keeps you out of the rain, but the one to which you retreat when times are tough. The house you built from bones, and shards of glass, and pockets of generosity, and life’s gifts. The house you carry with you, like the tortoise you were meant to be, like the one you are sometimes. What’s it like? Grandiose, with room to dance? Or just big enough to nap inside? How do you arrive to that place? Do you run, do you crawl, do you saunter? How often do you go? What’s it like in there? Are you safe, and free of fear? Is it comfortable? Well-furnished? Are there plenty of rugs and pillows? Do you breathe freely? Who do you let in? For how long do you entertain? Do you remember the route inwards? Don’t forget it, keep practicing–it’ll come in handy when you need it most. . . . Photos of homes, etc. in the neighborhood of Faso Kanu, Magnambougou, Bamako
on lately
Lately: Happy birthdays (and deflated meringues) in broken German; Drinks of various strengths, and art adorning the walls of Malian galleries; The regular, every day living that keeps the gears oiled; A variety of welcomes; Zoo trips for kids and grown-ups alike; And a mask for every mood. Bamako’s National Zoo is worth a trip! Inexpensive entry for Malians and foreigners alike, including regular entry and access to the reptile and aquatic houses. Lots of special events, too!
what’s to eat #25
Saturday’s lunch at a training for Malian doctors, by three foreign epidemiologists, put on at the Centre Aoua Keita in Bamako: Chebjen (aka Ceebu Jën, or Thiéboudienne) Red rice, fried fish, and an assortment of vegetables.
on loosening up, Bamako style
It was a grueling week: a 6-day training on epidemiological principles and protocol in the event of an(other) Ebola outbreak. The attendees were young doctors, men and women, Malian all, some trained here and some trained in places as far-flung as Cuba. The subject matter was serious, and the learning curve was steep: These doctors were expected not only to perform medical interventions in high-risk zones and avoid contamination by wearing proper protection (crazy astronaut outfits), but also to fully plan and prepare rural health centers and staff (logistics, training, infection prevention) in the event of an outbreak. The amount of information was significant, and the practicums and demonstrations were exacting: lowering your head a few centimeters too far while wearing the spacesuit creates a potentially lethal breach in protocol, and puts yourself and staff around you in lethal danger. What all this meant, as far as I was concerned, was that cooling-off periods were crucial to comprehension and stamina during the training. Warm-up activities, learning games, and frequent breaks made all the difference. Here’s an example of …
on miracles
How do you like your miracles? Grandiose? Sweeping? Brazen? Secret? Hushed? Hidden away? Noisy, with puffs of smoke and flashes of light? Or earthy, humble, even sensual? i’ll tell you: i prefer the latter. I prefer the miracles you can touch, taste and get inside of, over the spectacular ones you only hear about. Yesterday, I came upon a miracle-maker. He’s friendly, down to earth, and passionate about his craft. In fact, he spends most of his time in the earth, bringing life to wonderful and long-missed aromas and flavors. He makes magic happen, and the list is long: Fresh rosemary, thyme, cilantro, flat parsley, curly parsley, sage, three varieties of basil, scallions, chives, arugula (!) … and fronds of fennel silky enough to coax superlatives from your lips. He’s got lavender, citronella, three types of mint, and more and more and more. I stood in his field, jaw hanging, enjoying an olfactory adventure I hadn’t known for years as he handed me leaf after leaf to inhale. This is my kind of miracle; this is my brand of …
outerNotes 