These past weeks have been a whirlwind of fête-ing, working, working, and fête-ing some more. As you know, we celebrated Thanksgiving à l'Americaine and then Mali's equivalent, Seli Ba, descended upon the country -- hundreds of thousands of sheep gave their lives for several days of mutton meals.
yes, I helped...
happy photo à la malienne
Just a few short weeks later we said our tearful goodbyes to the wonderful, brilliant and hysterically funny Alex Ruby. After six months with MHOP, tirelessly coordinating the (endless) clinic construction and development, Alex left us in mid-December for the cold days of Washington, D.C., and an impressive tour of medical school interviews. It is a lucky school that can snag this kid. (Yes, I'm talking to you Harvard.) We all miss him dearly, and wish him all the best! Obvi.
I woke up early on Christmas morning to inform Ami that I'd be doing the cooking for our midday meal, but that I might need a little guidance on how to prepare the rice since it certainly wasn't going to be as easy as opening a bag and boiling some water on the stove. She gladly taught me how to clean the rice, first by rhythmically shaking out all the bran, then by picking through the grains for rocks and bugs, and finally by washing in a complex succession of buckets and bowls. Never having cooked rice over a wood fire, I happily accepted Batuma's expertise as she helped me get the whole business set up. Julgröt isn't that far removed from the Malin seri (sweetened, watery rice porridge) that is eaten regularly for breakfast, so it wasn't too hard to explain what exactly I was intending to do. Of course, I had to make a few modifications to my grandmother's recipe. Malian condensed milk is so thick and sugary that it is intended to be diluted several times to make sweet milk but it worked perfectly. One and a half cans of the stuff, two kilos of rice, two gallons of water, a handful of salt, a pinch of vanilla flavored drink mix, and we were cooking!
julgröt over the open fire
kady tested, kady approved
My family, Devon and I gleefully devoured the stuff, and by the time I returned from our meal of (passable) pickled herring and (delicious) pierogis at Devon's house, the entire pot was scraped clean. Sure, there was no snow, no carols, no Santa stockings, Christmas trees or cookies. In fact, until that first bite of julgröt it didn't feel even remotely like Christmas. But the delight of sharing some of my traditions with this wonderful family who has unquestioningly welcomed me into theirs (note the photo of me helping to slaughter our sheep), filled me with the love that only Christmas can inspire.
you look beautiful in that african dress. Can't stop smiling.... and I was starting to wonder about you being alive :-)
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