The best meal ever

The best meal ever

So on a recent lazy Sunday afternoon, after a small breakfast of tea and French cookies, and reading “The Life of Pi,” I got a phone call from Maiga. He was returning my missed call from earlier.  He said he was going over to his Uncle’s house in Bamako, and wondered if I wanted to go.  One of the senior researchers who helps run the Fogarty Fellowship was in town for the week on a site visit, and he was already on board with coming.  His uncle was on his month vacation from work as a WHO officer in the Comores (an island nation sandwiched between Madagascar and mainland Africa) so there would most likely be many, many people there to meet and hang out with.  It sounded awesome, an experience that I could not pass up.  He showed up at the house in a yellow Mercedes Benz taxi, and off we went to pick up P., the Fogarty guy, at his hotel.  When I asked Maiga where in Bamako his uncle lived, he said it was near the river.  Hell, everything here is near the river.  After a long ride on our side of the river, we crossed the river to the other, newer side of Bamako.  Bamako is essentially 2 different cities.  On one side, the more traditional, older, more polluted city (that’s where I live, go figure);  The other side, newer, more modern, cleaner air, “better” living. After about a 45 minute cab ride, we finally reached his uncle’s house.

It appeared small from the outside, but once we entered the front gate, it grew exponentially in size.  There was a good sized courtyard with some children’s toys, a few palm trees, and some motor bikes. We entered the main house, which was full of people.  The men were all seated on small mattresses, some covered with brightly covered cloth, others with light pastel colors.  They were talking amongst themselves, and dressed in the traditional Malian garb typically reserved for family gatherings and special events.  They were talking in a different sort of tongue that I was used to, one that sounded rather Arabic.  They were speaking Songhay, the Malian dialect from the North of Mali (think Timbuktu), the epicenter of the Maiga clan.  I could smell something cooking in the courtyard in the back that made my stomach growl and snarl something fierce.  We sat down after some basic introductions, and talked like men.  More like they talked, and P. and I pretended to know what they were talking about.  After a while, I zoned out.  

2 of Maiga’s little cousins were there.  They treated him like their own personal jungle gym.  Evidently, they are all real close.  Maiga regards his Uncle and his family like a second father, as they took care of him while he underwent his extensive education to become a physician.  The room was decorated spartanly with artifacts from the north of Mali and some pictures.  It was rather roomy and I really felt like home there.

After about an hour or so, they called us to dejeuner (lunch).  Most of the family meals in Mali involve small circles of men arranged by pecking order in the family.  The elders and the main bread winners in one, the next younger ones, and on down.  I think most Malians believe that westerners must eat at a table, with a fork and spoon and knife, proper-like, while the Malians eat sitting cross-legged using their fingers to eat.  They offered to have us sit at the table, but both P. and I decided to eat as they did (After a while, P. decided to go with the plate and fork).  

So where are the women you might ask?  Seated away from the men, in a different room, eating what they can while they clean up and prepare the dessert.  Hmmmmmmm. . . .

People, this was perhaps the finest meal I have had in Mali, perhaps for a very long time.  It was a relatively simple dish, according to Maiga.  Chicken falling off the bone in a stew/sauce sort of dish.  The sauce had carrots, potatoes, onions, some pepper, and the best spices I have tasted in a very long time, along with a hint of lemon.  I was very impressed.  At first, before I took my first bite and was sizing up what I was about to eat, I thought it would be very similar to everything else I had eaten before: rice with sauce with little taste.  The first bite was nirvana in my mouth.  Spices I have not tasted in months tickled my tongue and the back of my throat.  Taste spread over my tongue and my mouth, awaking taste buds that had lay dormant for weeks.  I continued to eat and devoured everything in site.  I felt like I had finally reestablished the avorous appetite for which the Craiger is known.  I began to eat like a man possessed.  Maiga could not get over what he was seeing.  We had eaten many meals at Doneguebougou, and never had I eaten like this.  

Soon after, dessert came out.  It was a very simple dessert, fruit: oranges, banana, watermelon, and some mango.  I devoured those like a champ, and rested afterward.  I was very, very content.  After the meal, we rested on the floor with the other men, drinking the traditional Malian tea.  It truly was one of the best meals I have had in a very long time.