FOOD

By Pastor Steve Nute

 

The aroma of fried chicken on a barbecue grill caught my nose as I passed by that house on my bike. I went a little farther and smelled the unmistakable lusciousness of some fortunate person’s sirloin. I was reminded a moment of food and how much this nation is spoiled by the vast quantities and varieties from which to choose.

Larry laid his hand on his stomach and, with a woeful grimace, said, “My fish is trying to swim upstream.” We had eaten at the Hendon restaurant for lunch and based upon Larry’s good experience the previous day at “Doris Inn”, we ordered fish.

Now as we stood in the largest open air market in West Africa and perused the probable origins of that muddy morsel, we were both given slightly queasy stomachs. The heavy “dead fish” and foul fowl aroma, topped by the sights of the slaughterhouse effluent and piggy waste flowing into the Niger river, made us look to that “fishing hole” with malaise.

I recall our first meal in Nigeria as we awoke in the hotel Sheraton that first morning. A sumptuous breakfast bar calculated to delight the American business man’s eye. I had home fries and scrambled eggs, spicy sausages and hot dark coffee. This was not going to be too bad at all.

Our second meal was many hours later and eaten despite our lack of hunger. The oppressive heat and stomachs churned by stress left rather little room for food, yet we rose to the occasion. The “Doris Inn”, site of many subsequent meals, was our first “cultural” meal place. We ate spicy rice and fried chicken with some of the hair on it and washed it down with “mineral”. Now, that was something we had room for. Mineral, as carbonated beverages are called, hit the hot, dusty, dry, parched spot.

The greatest culinary feast, to my mind, was kebabs, of a sort, at the Yoders. That was due, in part, to the excellent cooking, but I believe also to the warmth with which we were received.
Every morning, before the sun ever thought of rubbing the seeds of sleep from its eyes, Edith Ndife silently began her day of service to our Lord. I think that first morning we ate bread and maybe “flakes” but after that you’d have thought she had a mandate from God to fatten us up. Maybe she did.

The sight of a “chicken omelet” and real fried potatoes was not only a tummy pleasing but a heart warming experience as well. Edith had spent many hours purchasing the chicken, killing and dressing it out. She then had labored in a kitchen that topped 120 degrees to cook that valuable meal. She arose early and made it into omelet’s and served them to us with a smile. During this whole time, she smiled as if she were waiting on royalty. I could have lost much weight there if it were not for the careful ministering of this wonderful lady.

Whenever we had lunch at the Ndife compound, we ate the very best rice and meat available. The Ndife’s bought beef for us as they understood that Americans supposedly didn’t care for goats. They carefully cleaned any foreign matter from the rice and spent a week’s wages to buy us one chicken.

I didn’t realize we were being so carefully watched as I heaped the second helping of goat “stew” on my pile of rice. It seems as if Edith had told Mrs. Newman that “Americans don’t like goat”. I trust it was gratifying to her to see the speed with which this One Ocha devoured the delicious tender meat. The secret to eating goat is not to LOOK as you eat. Just ignore the presence of tendons, tubes and whatever parts remain. I tried to serve Doc some fairly “normal looking” pieces because I generally don’t mind “different” foods.

“What is this?” I asked Ephraim, pointing to another dish at that table.

“Stew,” he replied. He then added, “It’s very hot.”

Having a penchant for hot spicy food, I dished some onto my remaining rice and took a bite. My taste buds revolted, my throat constricted and my tonsils said, “Not in here you don’t.” Instant recall of the market experience, the same odor, the same flavor of dried rotted fish surged through my rebelling senses. I was given a large measure of grace to swallow and smile and then, as if it had always been my intent, I drenched the remainder of my rice with delicious spicy goat stew.

Food preoccupies the thoughts of many people around the world. Food is a basic need, yet unavailable to many. As I sit here feeling stuffed from my late night snack, I wonder how many people are going to bed hungry. I get little glimmers of guilt as I consume far too much food while others have nowhere near enough.

God, please help me to limit my food intake so that others will have more. I want to give from my abundance to fill another’s lack. Help me to love as you love, oh Lord. In Jesus’ name, amen.

 

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