Daniel and Theresa at home in Tugbaken Nothing froze in Tugbaken, Liberia. There was no electricity, so there were no refrigerators, no freezers, no ice boxes, no ice cubes and no refreshing soft drinks under the blazing tropical sun. I repeat, nothing froze in Tugbaken.
Personally, I sweltered. I have never ever adjusted to tropical heat. Even in Ohio, where it doesn't really get all that hot, I sweat more than anyone I know. But, in Africa, I sweltered. I'm not talking about embarrassing little circles under my arms. I'm talking blistering heat where my T-shirt was absolutely and completely drenched in perspiration from sun up to sundown. It was my fashion statement. I had no choice. There was nothing I could do about it. On occasion, I tried pre-drenching my shirt in the sink first thing in the morning. It was going to be drenched anyway. Perhaps this would keep me cooler for part of the day? No, that never worked. I sweltered.
Food in Tugbaken boiled and sizzled. It's hard to think about cooking in tropical heat. Throughout most of rural Liberia, everything is cooked over wood or with charcoal that is somehow made from wood. It's a mysterious process that I never really understood. Logs were kind of baked under mounds of dirt and somehow that made charcoal. It didn't help the rainforest any and the temperature didn't help me any if I entered a kitchen. But, the food was delicious. Cassava leaves bubbled in red palm oil. Rice steamed to perfection. And my host, Theresa, sizzled some local pumpkin (a Liberian squash) to make one of my favorites, pumpkin soup.
Food and I also baked in Liberia. I judged the heat of the day by how many bucket baths I took. One or two was just natural. It happened every day. I needed it to cool down. But, there were days when I took up to four or five bucket baths. On very few occasions, I woke up at night so very hot that my skin was stinging. It was emergency bucket bath time. After cooling down, I prayed I'd fall asleep before I started stinging again.
On a happier note, it was possible to bake over a coal pot. I learned to make chocolate cake over hot coals. The success rate was about fifty percent. But, even if it didn't turn out the way I hoped the cake would bake, it was still always delicious. Again, my host Theresa was much more skilled with cooking and baking over charcoal. She made rice bread that she sold to very delighted neighborhood children.
My greeting in the Grebo community of Tugbaken could not have been any warmer. When my friend Daniel told his friends that a white man was going to come visit them, nobody (except possibly his wife Theresa) believed him. It just never happened before. It seriously never happened before. I was the first white man to ever spend the night in their community. Word spread like wildfire, even without electricity or Internet, that Daniel had a foreign guest with him. People walked for hours to meet me. One man, a local chief, insisted that on my next visit I must walk six hours to his village and stay a while. You know I'm up for that.
Water ranged from lukewarm to cool. I brought bottled water with me for the trip. It's all that I planned to drink. But, without a refrigerator, it was lukewarm and not all that satisfying. However, during my five welcoming ceremonies in twenty-four hours, I received one African gown, four chickens, sliced kola nuts, diced hot peppers, lukewarm alcohol and unbottled water from the local community pump. I hadn't really planned on drinking that water, but what could I do under the circumstances? I was not about to insult my hosts. I drank the water. And, I can tell you that the NGOs that put in the well to give the community safe drinking water knew what they were doing. I never got sick from that water. And, it was more refreshing than my lukewarm bottled supply.
I think by now it's clear that things sweltered, boiled, sizzled, steamed, baked and warmed in Tugbaken. However, during one moment of the day in the Copeland home, Theresa paused to rest along the railing that separated the living room and the kitchen. She wore a beautiful yellow scarf and had a simply elegant, natural pose. When I saw her, I asked her to freeze right there. "Do not move until I can take your photograph!" It's a beautiful moment, frozen in time, and just like everything else in Tugbaken, it floods me with warm memories.
Personally, I sweltered. I have never ever adjusted to tropical heat. Even in Ohio, where it doesn't really get all that hot, I sweat more than anyone I know. But, in Africa, I sweltered. I'm not talking about embarrassing little circles under my arms. I'm talking blistering heat where my T-shirt was absolutely and completely drenched in perspiration from sun up to sundown. It was my fashion statement. I had no choice. There was nothing I could do about it. On occasion, I tried pre-drenching my shirt in the sink first thing in the morning. It was going to be drenched anyway. Perhaps this would keep me cooler for part of the day? No, that never worked. I sweltered.
Food in Tugbaken boiled and sizzled. It's hard to think about cooking in tropical heat. Throughout most of rural Liberia, everything is cooked over wood or with charcoal that is somehow made from wood. It's a mysterious process that I never really understood. Logs were kind of baked under mounds of dirt and somehow that made charcoal. It didn't help the rainforest any and the temperature didn't help me any if I entered a kitchen. But, the food was delicious. Cassava leaves bubbled in red palm oil. Rice steamed to perfection. And my host, Theresa, sizzled some local pumpkin (a Liberian squash) to make one of my favorites, pumpkin soup.
Food and I also baked in Liberia. I judged the heat of the day by how many bucket baths I took. One or two was just natural. It happened every day. I needed it to cool down. But, there were days when I took up to four or five bucket baths. On very few occasions, I woke up at night so very hot that my skin was stinging. It was emergency bucket bath time. After cooling down, I prayed I'd fall asleep before I started stinging again.
On a happier note, it was possible to bake over a coal pot. I learned to make chocolate cake over hot coals. The success rate was about fifty percent. But, even if it didn't turn out the way I hoped the cake would bake, it was still always delicious. Again, my host Theresa was much more skilled with cooking and baking over charcoal. She made rice bread that she sold to very delighted neighborhood children.
My greeting in the Grebo community of Tugbaken could not have been any warmer. When my friend Daniel told his friends that a white man was going to come visit them, nobody (except possibly his wife Theresa) believed him. It just never happened before. It seriously never happened before. I was the first white man to ever spend the night in their community. Word spread like wildfire, even without electricity or Internet, that Daniel had a foreign guest with him. People walked for hours to meet me. One man, a local chief, insisted that on my next visit I must walk six hours to his village and stay a while. You know I'm up for that.
Water ranged from lukewarm to cool. I brought bottled water with me for the trip. It's all that I planned to drink. But, without a refrigerator, it was lukewarm and not all that satisfying. However, during my five welcoming ceremonies in twenty-four hours, I received one African gown, four chickens, sliced kola nuts, diced hot peppers, lukewarm alcohol and unbottled water from the local community pump. I hadn't really planned on drinking that water, but what could I do under the circumstances? I was not about to insult my hosts. I drank the water. And, I can tell you that the NGOs that put in the well to give the community safe drinking water knew what they were doing. I never got sick from that water. And, it was more refreshing than my lukewarm bottled supply.
I think by now it's clear that things sweltered, boiled, sizzled, steamed, baked and warmed in Tugbaken. However, during one moment of the day in the Copeland home, Theresa paused to rest along the railing that separated the living room and the kitchen. She wore a beautiful yellow scarf and had a simply elegant, natural pose. When I saw her, I asked her to freeze right there. "Do not move until I can take your photograph!" It's a beautiful moment, frozen in time, and just like everything else in Tugbaken, it floods me with warm memories.
RSS Feed