Week IV - Day 6
Sick with Many Many
Wives
When travelling abroad, Americans are literally warned to
not eat “street" food but, this American loves to eat and try everything - street, restaurant, or homemade. So this short is not about me complaining at all...I'm "just saying" and sharing for your reading pleasure.
It's Saturday and we were invited to meet Michael's niece's husband in a more formal manner than we had previously. Traditionally, when meeting one's in-laws, there is supposed to be a feast. A goat is prepared and many dishes are served to welcome you to the home where the bride/wife lives. But, ever since were invited to a party with a sacrificed goat and trays upon trays of food being prepared just for us, I lay in bed with a stomach running every 20-30 minutes or so. The pain I felt was mild and one that gradually became worse throughout the course of the day causing Michael to worry.
It's Saturday and we were invited to meet Michael's niece's husband in a more formal manner than we had previously. Traditionally, when meeting one's in-laws, there is supposed to be a feast. A goat is prepared and many dishes are served to welcome you to the home where the bride/wife lives. But, ever since were invited to a party with a sacrificed goat and trays upon trays of food being prepared just for us, I lay in bed with a stomach running every 20-30 minutes or so. The pain I felt was mild and one that gradually became worse throughout the course of the day causing Michael to worry.
All I needed was to allow the bug to run its course and some
Pepto-Bismol but, that is not something that one can readily find available in
Juba. Instead, Michael began to let his friends and relatives know that I was
not feeling well and they became worried asking if I needed to see a doctor. A
doctor?! Hell naw I didn’t need to see a doctor! What I needed was one of my
good friends or family members around to slap the crap out of me (no pun
intended) before I ate out on the street the day before but, it was too late for that and we
had a very special party to attend – sick or not.
So, I lay there rubbing my belly and praying that God would help me.
“Help me Lord" I whispered over and over until I fell asleep. But just before dozing off, I was reminded of this one time, when I was in Oakland, and I thought I could keep up with the pot heads. I had been on a bar hopping spree with a dear friend Art Thomas. We roamed around San Francisco eating and drinking and drinking and drinking. So, by the time we got to Oakland, I was (well...you know). And then, I decided to hit the spliff. Why oh why did I do that - I have no idea.
Anyway, while I was up in the stratosphere but my stomach was in purgatory. I had to lay down somewhere and allow myself to float back to earth and be one with my insides. As I lay on the bed or sofa...I can't remember what I was laying on...I remember thinking, "I'm going to need a bag in a few minutes because my stomach is about to come out of my body." So I began to yell for my sister…Kelee…Kel…Kel...Kel! I was actually whispering but, she heard my every cry and brought the bag.
My calls for the Lord to help me that day did not go unanswered. Just as my sister had done years ago, the Lord aided me in my time of stupidity and foolish remorse. I went to sleep and when I woke up, an hour later, my stomach had stopped running. Ready for the feast, I showered and dressed just in time for the party! It was a miracle!!
Once we arrived at the first home of man married to Michael's niece, we were greeted and obliged to sit in the courtyard. We were offered water by a teenage daughter I'd met the day before and as small pleasantries were exchanged, I sat in silence. After some time under the tent in the courtyard we were driven to a second home of the man and again asked to sit in the courtyard.
It had rained earlier that day and the sky threaten to bring more rain. Also, there was an abundance of mud and flies and seeing that I was not completely comfortable out in the elements in my heels and black dress, we were moved to another area of the compound. There, we sat under yet another tent but in a more secluded area with a cement patio.
A number of male guests began to arrive and 3-4 women began to bring chafing dishes full of food. There was shaiyah (fried goat meat), combo, pasta, eggplant salad, bread, and much much more. One of the women brought out a tub and a pitcher of water and beckoned us to wash our hands. As she went around offering the opportunity to cleanse ourselves, we were called to fix our plates. One-by-one, we got up and served ourselves.
I was so disappointed that I could not make a huge plate. My stomach was holding it together and I knew that if I overdid it, I would pay for it later. Unfortunately, I ate like a bird and thankfully, our host did not notice. In fact, it was as if I were not even present - as if to be counted in with the number of women who were already there...his wives.
All the women we saw that day were "married" to the man. We had met a number of women during our visit to one of his homes in Kampala and now in Juba, we were able to meet another large number of them. All of the women walked about serving in an uncanny muted fashion. Their silence was deafening and surreal. The women definitely weren't "happily married".
When we had finished our outside meal (the tenor of the atmosphere was woefully lacking that of a party or feast), a short conversation took place and our host took a long time to tell a joke. After he'd finished, all the men who'd arrived earlier stood, greeted us, and that was it...it was time to leave. That's when I noticed that Michael was visibly agitated.Apparently, one of the men asked Michael's niece to come sit among the group of men just as we were on our way out. Big no-no!
Michael told his niece to walk us out but he also told her, before leaving the compound, that he wanted to meet all the other women and greet them properly. Smart move!
We were taken to the area where the women sat chatting, braiding hair, and cleaning up after us. We went around to every single woman and shook their hand as well as mentioned our names. At some point, Michael's niece introduce me to "The 2nd Wife". This woman was big; both figuratively and literally. A round woman with a round face and warm smile. She greeted me in English but I proudly replied in Dinka and told her that my name was MonMalou and that I was Michael's wife; with a strong emphasis on wife being singular and not plural. She did not respond to my snarky move and I was actually relieved because I had no business being rude to her in her own home which she shared with many many wives.
By the time we'd gotten to the car and back to our hotel, my stomach resumed its antagonizing ways. I put on my pajamas and went to sleep thinking, "I'm glad that my husband is here with me during my time of not feeling so good and I'm glad that I'm the only one he has to look after."
So, I lay there rubbing my belly and praying that God would help me.
“Help me Lord" I whispered over and over until I fell asleep. But just before dozing off, I was reminded of this one time, when I was in Oakland, and I thought I could keep up with the pot heads. I had been on a bar hopping spree with a dear friend Art Thomas. We roamed around San Francisco eating and drinking and drinking and drinking. So, by the time we got to Oakland, I was (well...you know). And then, I decided to hit the spliff. Why oh why did I do that - I have no idea.
Anyway, while I was up in the stratosphere but my stomach was in purgatory. I had to lay down somewhere and allow myself to float back to earth and be one with my insides. As I lay on the bed or sofa...I can't remember what I was laying on...I remember thinking, "I'm going to need a bag in a few minutes because my stomach is about to come out of my body." So I began to yell for my sister…Kelee…Kel…Kel...Kel! I was actually whispering but, she heard my every cry and brought the bag.
My calls for the Lord to help me that day did not go unanswered. Just as my sister had done years ago, the Lord aided me in my time of stupidity and foolish remorse. I went to sleep and when I woke up, an hour later, my stomach had stopped running. Ready for the feast, I showered and dressed just in time for the party! It was a miracle!!
Once we arrived at the first home of man married to Michael's niece, we were greeted and obliged to sit in the courtyard. We were offered water by a teenage daughter I'd met the day before and as small pleasantries were exchanged, I sat in silence. After some time under the tent in the courtyard we were driven to a second home of the man and again asked to sit in the courtyard.
It had rained earlier that day and the sky threaten to bring more rain. Also, there was an abundance of mud and flies and seeing that I was not completely comfortable out in the elements in my heels and black dress, we were moved to another area of the compound. There, we sat under yet another tent but in a more secluded area with a cement patio.
A number of male guests began to arrive and 3-4 women began to bring chafing dishes full of food. There was shaiyah (fried goat meat), combo, pasta, eggplant salad, bread, and much much more. One of the women brought out a tub and a pitcher of water and beckoned us to wash our hands. As she went around offering the opportunity to cleanse ourselves, we were called to fix our plates. One-by-one, we got up and served ourselves.
I was so disappointed that I could not make a huge plate. My stomach was holding it together and I knew that if I overdid it, I would pay for it later. Unfortunately, I ate like a bird and thankfully, our host did not notice. In fact, it was as if I were not even present - as if to be counted in with the number of women who were already there...his wives.
All the women we saw that day were "married" to the man. We had met a number of women during our visit to one of his homes in Kampala and now in Juba, we were able to meet another large number of them. All of the women walked about serving in an uncanny muted fashion. Their silence was deafening and surreal. The women definitely weren't "happily married".
When we had finished our outside meal (the tenor of the atmosphere was woefully lacking that of a party or feast), a short conversation took place and our host took a long time to tell a joke. After he'd finished, all the men who'd arrived earlier stood, greeted us, and that was it...it was time to leave. That's when I noticed that Michael was visibly agitated.Apparently, one of the men asked Michael's niece to come sit among the group of men just as we were on our way out. Big no-no!
Michael told his niece to walk us out but he also told her, before leaving the compound, that he wanted to meet all the other women and greet them properly. Smart move!
We were taken to the area where the women sat chatting, braiding hair, and cleaning up after us. We went around to every single woman and shook their hand as well as mentioned our names. At some point, Michael's niece introduce me to "The 2nd Wife". This woman was big; both figuratively and literally. A round woman with a round face and warm smile. She greeted me in English but I proudly replied in Dinka and told her that my name was MonMalou and that I was Michael's wife; with a strong emphasis on wife being singular and not plural. She did not respond to my snarky move and I was actually relieved because I had no business being rude to her in her own home which she shared with many many wives.
By the time we'd gotten to the car and back to our hotel, my stomach resumed its antagonizing ways. I put on my pajamas and went to sleep thinking, "I'm glad that my husband is here with me during my time of not feeling so good and I'm glad that I'm the only one he has to look after."
Seeeeeeeeeee.
ReplyDeleteRemember that dream when i was 18.
Uncle Micheal is the real MVP. He loves you even when you guts bubble and he probably wouldve had your back if all the wives would've jumped you for being snarky. Lol