To be honest my English is not good at all, but since I'm in Benghazi I practice A LOT and even some things (I mean thoughts, ideas, dreams!) are coming to me in English. And also I would like to be able to share some of my writing (because writing is my life) with some of the people of my life in this side of the world. SO, even with some mistakes I finaly dare to publish in English.
This is a translation of my last post, I hope it is "readable" and even enjoyable, and not too messy:
Yesterday I had one of the most wonderful aesthetic experiences of the recent months. It didn’t come from a book, or a piece of music, or a painting, it came from a wonderful feast, prepared by a wonderful person with whom we have met in Benghazi.
My friend J is Malay, as I, she is married to a benghazino, mother of two girls (the same age as mine, how lucky!). In few words she is the answer to my prayers (yes, those I was saying before I came here, asking for a friend-sister with whom to share my days in Libya, God knows how and when to do things).
Well J invited us for lunch. Finally a "normal" meeting since we came to Benghazi! No women on one side, men on the other, you cannot even check with your husband if it is time to go because you can not stick your nose into the mens living room and he cannot either have acces to the ladys room, no one forcing you to eat or pressuring because you had not eaten enough of this or that, nobody making judgments about what your daughters eat or do not eat, or if they hace the right hight or weight, girls eating with girls without any drama (children's menu, hehe) and then aaaaaall afternoon playing without conflict, conversational lingua franca (English of course) of various topics, laughter, anecdotes ... A gift, actualy a super gift!
And among such happiness a “simple” menu before our hostess: Chinese, Thai and Malay, mmmmmmmhhhhhhhh! With its adaptations to what can be achieved in this season's supermarket, but even so, delicious, delicate, exquisite.
More than a meal, each dish seemed a symphony (I feel Ratatouille), a perfect blend of flavors, textures, temperatures. With each bite I could feel new paths opening up in my brain, new routes from which to understand the beauty (what do you call the beauty that comes by the taste, by the way?).
I can almost guarantee that every bite I could feel the dedication, care, affection that the author put in the preparation ... all her wonderful luggage (memories, notions, preferences, emotions) blending ingredients together and creating a Whole, wonderful and unique. I could taste in every bite longing and hope, appreciation for what the past has taught us and the surprise of the present moment. No exaggeration to say that in that soup and salad and beautiful dishes I met with grandmothers, mothers, neighbors and friends of our artist, I breathed a bit of her sea and land, I heard the noise of her streets and restaurants.
Sharing food can be so intimate if you think your deepest loves are linked to the taste. Taste is shaped by every thing that goes through your mouth during your life, and not only by the “material” flavors only but also the "spiritual": the joy of a moment, the anguish of a situation.
To my sister, bread with butter and sugar is a delightful evening with Lion King music and Marieanne company, is warmth, protection, sisterhood. For me the black “mole” is a magical trip to Oaxaca with my dad and Cecy and Habibi and Kalthumy, it is link, color, joy, ground. There are desserts that always will revive the love I feel for my friend Wafa (sister that God set for me in Azuqueca) they will not only remind me: my heart will bring back all the love and probably also the laughter and tears we shared. The shorba brings me fasting of Ramadan with all its blessings, with potato “tacos” I feel again the tickle of beeing 15 years old and run between classes with Tenolita to the stand opposite the high school. The chicken-rice will always be dancing and laughter and colombian affection at Luces house (adoptive and beloved family) ... and so every dish of my life has a bit of my life.
Maybe that's why I was so deeply touched with this invitation, and it felt so magical to find pieces of my own heritage emerged from the hands of someone else: For dessert we had the BEST CHEESE CAKE I have ever eaten in my life, but in which gathered all cheese cakes eaten and my mom and Diama cakes and literary cafes, and Morelos Vips and so many things. What is that but a transforming experience, an experience delivered by your physical senses that touches your soul?
And I can only give thanks. Thanks for my mouth, for my taste, my brain, my body that allows me to be in this world, thanks for the experiences that build me as a person, thanks for so many ways of beauty that surrounds me, thanks for being here, thanks for putting wonderful people around me and also thanks to my friend J for giving us one of the most happy moments of recent times. God bless her and her family, and all the people that have shared (and still share) sour, bitter and very very sweet moments with us. Amin.
The mango salad has, from today and forever, a place in my heart.
(And I took the imgae from: http://meghantelpnerblog.com/2011/05/11/maries-post/raspberry-cheesecake-slice/)
1 comment:
Great!
Good for you. This is a demonstration that poetry has no language boundaries. I will subscribe to the new version of Flight Log by Lady Owl of the seas.
By the way, I liked the word-game of the title in English, was that intentional? "A bite / bit of poetry"? Yummy!
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