Sent:
April 28, 2005

LOVE YOUR PEANUT BUTTER

Yes, your peanut butter. How many of you know how peanut butter is made actually or at least what goes into the process (on a small scale at least)? Now I know and will never take my peanut butter for granted!! The last week was spent in the ancestral homeland of our teacher/friend Medicine. A peaceful and quiet place called Zaranyika, though "home" itself is referred to as Kumusha. About 125km outside the madness of the city and its environs, through some rolling forest, the ever present roadside vendors, a fairly tolerable dirt road and onto the property which was sprawling and shared with the cows (named Scud, Nokia, Stubborn, Orange, Soviet, Osama, Embassy and other quirky monikers), gum trees and a few chickens. It wasn't what I would call a village as such.....the next household was a good 10 minute walk away so most of the time was spent around the people you lived with or the visitors you had or just walking the premises. But I didn't mind. We were treated to genuine Shona hospitality for the whole stay. Medicine and his family are some of the nicest people I have ever met. Many days were spent playing mbira, doing a little fieldwork (they wouldn't let us do too much no matter how hard we pressed them), learning some of the Shona language and just plain relaxing in the shade. Nights were spent in the beautiful kitchen/common hut around a hearth. The smell of woodsmoke is in our bones now. There is something about burning wood and the experience it evokes. Must resonate with every human beings inner fibre, hidden somewhere in our DNA as that smell has been a part of human experience from day one (well, at least from the use of fire). The kitchen itself is a work of art. Circular with a stylized conical thatch roof, the inside has the hearth in the middle, molded bench on one side (for the men) and on the wall a sculpted series of shelves that were polished into a shimmering black hue upon which fantastic shadows were cast from the fire. Luckily, we got there just as the moon was a crescent on its way to being full. Even in that fingernail state, the moonlight was like nothing I'd ever experienced. We almost glowed in it. When it was full it was like the sun (I guess technically it is sunlight but moonlight sounds cooler). Many nights we spent some of that time outside the kitchen playing mbira in that moonlight. One night something clicked inside me and I feel closer to understanding this mbira music. During our playing, sitting next to Medicine, I felt my fingers almost go on their own to the keys weaving in and out of what he was playing. Afterwards I was giddy and smiling like I have not in a long time. Maybe the moon had a part to play in it. Each night getting brighter and brighter, yet the stars remained as sparkling as ever.... and plentiful. Once I woke up in the middle of the night cause some ants were biting me. As I took my sheets out (with the ants intact) I was surprised to see the moon had left us and above were close to a billion, mmmm perhaps a trillion stars blanketing my everything. Breathtaking in fact. And the air carried no sound, except a gentle breeze. The things you miss in the presence of electricity….especially that silence of the night. The first evening there I heard drumming from a certain direction, eager to follow it but not sure of where, how far or from who. I felt frustrated hearing those rhythms carried by the night air, it sounded not very far. The next day I am told it was perhaps 2-3km's away!! The next night I heard some other drumming from a different direction. Again, urged to go but not sure of where or how far or who and all my friends were asleep. These voices and drums even sounded like they were getting closer. Next day I was told the y were even further away!!! Probably church gatherings of funerals. I told myself "Next time I hear it I'm going for it, no matter how far!!!". But that was the end of those mysterious grooves. Until our last night. But I was told what would be happening. A strange church founded and headed by some lady who declares that men wear only khaki colors for the rest of their life and women only wear white. But they meet every Saturday and make music through the night so I guess it isn't so bad. The drumming sounded divine to me. But in the end I think going off to these happenings unaccompanied in the middle of the night may have freaked out some people, especially the church meetings as I am sporting a beard again and have been getting the Jesus calls once more from people on the street. The revelers may have taken my arrival in the wrong fashion.

But yes, peanut butter. Man, agricultural work is no joke. Most all of you reading this probably have had little experience doing farm work and we all buy whatever food we eat....that's just the way it is. But not for everyone. Even though Medicine and his family live and work in the urban area, they area still very much connected to the land of their forefathers and do not let it go to waste. Most of the work they were doing was for harvesting some maize and groundnuts (peanuts). And from the groundnuts we get the mysterious peanut butter. Hmmmmm. First you pull handfuls of the plant from the ground (very dirty work), pile A LOT of them into a cart carried by the mombes (cows) or truck, bring them home and pile them up but you must spread them out before long (also very dirty work) as heat builds up and mold may develop. Then is the tedious task of taking each small plant and picking each groundnut from the root. Next separate the nut from the shell. Then you roast these and then take the nut from the little skin that comes with it. Next pound the nuts into a paste using a mortar and pestle (the big ones like you see in pictures), a grinding stone or a machine (if you are lucky). Eventually you get peanut butter. Buying doesn't seem so badanymore. Yeah, living off the land...it is not for the romantic minded, only for the determined. So now back in the city groove but only for awhile. This Friday me and Anu head to Mozambique to find the warm Indian ocean and brush up on my Portuguese. Not sure of how to get there yet but that's half the fun.

Hopefully we'll make it back in time for a ceremony that's taking place back in kumusha in mid-May.

Ciao,

Curtis