You have to eat~ I sat, doubled up in laughter in my host family's living room, reading and rereading a simple conversation in Camara Laye's l'Enfant Noir (The Dark Child):
"'Tu ne manges pas?' disait alors ma grand-mère. 'Si, si, je mange,' disais-je."
This simple conversation, which consists of a grandmother asking her grandson if he "is not eating," and him assuring her that he is, conveys word-for-word any and all mealtime conversation I have with my host mother.
For some reason, I thought that by coming to one of the poorest countries in the world, I would not be forced to over-eat every night. Knowing that I would be under the watchful eye of an American study abroad program, I was certain I would not starve, but I figured that there would be enough food; that is all. Oh how little I knew about Malian hospitality!
Feeding time begins about an hour after I come home from school with some papaya and/or sweet cream frozen onto a stick- delicious, I know, and especially lovely if that were half of my dinner instead of just a snack. If I have been throwing up, suffering from a cold, or experiencing any other type of illness, I will likely be offered both. Next, around 9:30, I hear my Malian name: "Sira! SIRA!!! SIIIRAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!" It does not matter how loudly I yell "OUIIIII!" Various family members and the maids will continue to shout until I go outside (usually walking by my host dad, sitting at the table inside, waiting to be served and to eat his meal with a fork) and sit dutifilly on my stool. There, waiting for me (much to my chagrin....I tried constantly for my first two weeks to help cook, but am never allowed -probably because I would actually be a complete clutz working with an open fire and no cutting board) is either a bowl of fried or boiled potatoes, spaghetti, or green beans (swimming in oil and animal fat) and always a large salad (consisting mostly of lettuce, also swimming in oil, vinegar, salt, and periodically...mayonnaise). The first several nights, I thought that this would be my entire meal, but I know now that I am absolutely expected to eat as much of the communal dish as the rest of the family, if not more.
As we all dig in (literally), after I have eaten my normal one-third of the salad and one-third of whatever else was made specifically for me, my host mom begins her chorus in my general direction: "Il faut manger, il faut manger, il faut manger." I find myself being melodramatic- looking at the stars and thinking of how these are the same stars you can see at home, drinking some water and forcing myself to take another bite, washing my hands, thanking my host mom, and fleeing. If I stick around for a while after dinner, I will find myself eating another papaya or some fried fish eggs (that was only one time) about an hour later. The same principle applies to breakfast and lunch on the weekends. After my normal half baguette on Saturday mornings, my host mom always wants me to take another half...or two.
Apparently, this is my family being hospitable. They want me to gain weight to show they have taken good care of their guest, especially since their guest is a toubabou (white person). To augment the situation, I am female, and in traditional Malian culture, size means beauty for females. In the past, women were fed until they threw up just to assure that they would gain weight. I honestly think that my host mom would have me eat that much as well if I threw caution to the wind and actually ate as much as she offers. But the problem is not even that I am overly concered about my weight; there just is not enough room in my stomach for all of this food!
The other side of the matter, however, is that I am never hungry enough to eat everything but always hungry for other types of food. Never have I had more cravings for skippy peanut butter, fresh cherries, whole grain bread, and chocolate baked goods...not to mention spinach, broccoli, apples, and good French cheese. Hannah, a friend from the program in a neighboring host family, has it worse, though: she continuously has dreams about such delicacies as mozarella cheese and brownies, and on a recent trip to an "alimentation" (a small food shop), she practically jumped out of her skin when I pensively said hmm..cookies....looking at a questionable package labeled as such.
Food is an interesting conundrum for us study abroad students, but it is a much larger problem, of course, for the Malians. Here I am, in a host family with the means to buy whatever they want to eat that is available, and they still eat almost the exact same thing every night, lacking in vegetables with substance, severely lacking in fiber, way overdoing the simple carbs, and salting and oiling what vegetables or meat they do have beyond recognition. It is certainly interesting to see firsthand some of the simplest causes possible for the massive amount of health problems here. However, I do agree with my host mom on one thing. At least they have enough food to eat, excess even, because here I am in a country with a larger starvation rate than any other country I have ever visited, and as human beings, il faut manger.
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