"What is your staple food?"

(written June 8th)

Since today was my first meeting with one of my English sections, I began class with an extended introduction about myself and then let the kids ask me questions (I’ll be teaching two sessions of English at the secondary school, and Math and Religious Education at the primary school). Ronald asked me, “What is the staple food where you come from?” It’s a common question, yet I always struggle to answer it. The staple in this area of Uganda is matooke (mah-TOKE-kee), a strain of not-sweet bananas that are prepared like mashed potatoes. It’s usually served with one or two sauces over it, along with any and every other dish piled on top of it (e.g. beans or greens). It tastes pretty good. We have it with the priests almost every lunch and dinner, as in the picture (which includes a sister from India who works at the health center on the compound--an occasional lunchtime guest). Other areas of Uganda eat posho (POE-show) as their staple, corn powder mixed with water and boiled into a mush. Because it’s cheaper than matooke, the students at the school here eat posho and beans everyday for lunch and dinner. Your staple food is a part of your background. It testifies to the region you come from; the land and the climate that made a certain meal most popular.

But how should I answer Ronald’s question? Hamburgers? Pizza? Casserole? That there’s no simple answer in itself doesn’t bother me. What embarrasses me a bit in front of Ronald and his classmates is that as an American and Westerner, I have the blessing of not being bound to a staple food. At my dinner table at home, there can be foods grown and produced from a different part of the world every night. I have no doubt that there are benefits to having a diet constrained by the land, climate, and season—such as a greater appreciation for the mere fact of food arising from a closer connection to the processes that produce it. The way the priests enjoy lunch and dinner, you’d think they had discovered the ambrosia of Olympus. I’m sure many Ugandans here appreciate their food far more than many Americans, despite the difference in variety. However, when asked, I can’t help but feel uncomfortable over the disparity between my “staple” diet and that of my students.

Funny note: two teachers from the school walked with me to the Internet cafe, so they were able to translate the squealed exclamations of the village children we passed. As usual, one child yelled out (in Lugandan), "White man!" But then his friend responded, "No, he is not a white man! He is an albino!" =)