Dinner 11/26/10

As Thanksgiving approached Matt and I began discussing what we would do this year. We decided that, as we have a large kitchen and dining table in our cookhouse, it would be fun to invite the other mazungus  in West Kadem to Lalmba for a meal. Of course, we all worked on Thanksgiving Day, so we decided that Saturday would be good for everyone.

                As you may or may not know, turkeys are not regularly eaten in Kenya (or most of the world outside of the US). All of our guests assumed we would be dining on chicken. “Oh, no,” we replied. “There will be turkey”. Our program director was going in to Kisumu the week before Thanksgiving, so we figured that we could put him on the hunt. Kisumu is the third largest city in Kenya and has a fair number of foreigners. It also has Nakumat. Nakumat is Kenya’s answer to Walmart. You can buy food, furniture, appliances, and machetes all in the same amazing store. They also carry cereal, diet pepsi, and chips-a-hoy. Needless to say, we send a lot of orders with people for Nakumat.

                So, Marico left Matoso with instructions to get us a frozen turkey. Three days later we eagerly awaited his return. One of our staff knocked on the door, Nakumat bag in hand. We eagerly dug through the bags of ice looking for our prize. We found two turkey thighs. With 8 people invited to Thanksgiving, that was not going to cut it. We were going to have to get more creative.

                By now, it was Thanksgiving day in the US; two days from our festivities. I approached our head nurse after morning assembly and explained our problem. Julian knows everyone. Surely she would know where one could get a turkey. “Well,” she said. “You are going to Ochuna today, so ask Ezikiel to go up to the road and ask at the house there. They may have one, or it may just be a big chicken. If not there, you should stop in Bande and ask the lady at the produce stand there, she’ll know”. Okay, got it.

                Matt dropped me off in Ochuna for Chakola Bora (our malnutrition program) while he went on to Migori to pick up a medication shipment and the rest of our turkey day supplies. He would pick me up on the way home and we would get our turkey. I put Ezikiel on the hunt for a turkey.

“So, you have to eat turkey on this holiday?” he asked.

“Yes, everyone eats turkey on Thanksgiving. It’s a tradition.”

“Do you eat it with ugali or rice?” These are the only two things Luos ever eat.

“Actually, neither.”  I went on to try to explain stuffing and mashed potatoes. Ezikiel listened politely and left as confused as ever.

Four hours later I saw the ambulance coming down the only road in Ochuna, packed to the ceiling with boxes. It had been a huge shipment, so Matt, Peter, Julian’s niece, and I would have to ride back to Matoso in the front seat. As we piled in it became obvious that A: it would be a rather uncomfortable ride, and B: there was no room for a turkey. That was okay, because we had yet to actually locate one.

                Friday arrived and we decided to go back to Migori for the supplies there had been no room for the day before. We also needed to bring a couple of staff members to pick up some supplies for the orphanage. After some more recon work, it came to our attention that the nuns at St. Michael’s convent on the way to Migori might have turkeys. “Ask for Sister Ester,” our nurse instructed us. “Tell her Jane sent you”. Sure, go to the convent/leprosy clinic to find Thanksgiving dinner. Why didn’t we think of that earlier?

                We pulled onto the compound and around the chapel to the back gate. The grounds keeper called for the head nun. We turned around as the beaded curtain in the door began to move. Out stepped the last thing we were expecting to see: an elderly white lady yelling at the grounds keeper in Dholuo. She was an Italian nun who had been in Africa for nearly 50 years and spoke no English. We were only able to communicate through our Dholuo speaking staff members. The sister found one of the African nuns to check out the turkey situation and then hobbled over on her cane and had a seat on the veranda with us. The grounds keeper brought out the first turkey. He held it up proudly and smiled a giant, and nearly toothless smile. “No, that one is too small!” She cried. “You won’t feed 8 with him.” Disappointed, the grounds keeper went back to flock and returned with another, marginally larger bird.

“This, this is your turkey!” She exclaimed petting its little head and possibly giving it Last Rights. We paid them the $17 they asked for (how are you going to haggle with a geriatric nun?) and agreed to pick up our quarry on our way home.

                After 3 hours in Migori we met up with our staff to head home. “Where are you parked?” they asked”.

“We’re just up the road”.

“Oh, because we have some heavy bags”.

                Matt and I saw 4 bags on the ground. “There is no parking closer, we can get it”. And we started walking. After a minute we looked back and saw 5 men with wheelbarrows full of supplies following us. I guess they weren’t exaggerating. We piled the bags of flour and boxes of milk in the back around our staff members effectively boxing them in and set out to retrieve our thanksgiving dinner.

                We got to the convent and asked for our bird. They had gently tied her feet and wings so she wouldn’t get away. As we walked back to the car Matt turned to me and asked, “What should we name her?”

“If you expect me to eat her,” I replied, ”she shouldn’t have a name”.

“But we have to call her something”.

“Fine,” I said. “We’ll name her Dinner”.

“Well it looks like you and Dinner will be riding home in the front seat together”.

“Great, that’ll make this so much easier.”

                So, I got in and Matt set Dinner on my feet for the 30 minute ride back to Matoso. I tried not to look at her too much. She seemed to be staring at me accusatorily. As if she knew what was in store. I told Matt that he and the hit men (Joyce, the cook, and Peter, the grounds guy) would have to do the dirty work without me. I could not witness Dinner’s offing.

“It’ll be just like the first Thanksgiving!” Matt replied.

“I’m okay without the authenticity”.

                I watched Matt carry her back to our cookhouse and I went up to hide in the lab. Twenty minutes later, with feathers still stuck to my feet, I got a text. “Dinner is dispatched”. It was done.
I returned to the cookhouse to find a basin full of feathers and something that looked enough like a “Butterball” to make me feel a little less queasy than I expected.   

                The next day eight very thankful Americans were gathered around our dining table eating a traditional Thanksgiving dinner. “I can’t believe you guys actual got turkey! And stuffing, and mashed potatoes. This is amazing! It feels just like home!” I like to think that Dinner knows how much happiness she brought this Thanksgiving.  And she was delicious.