First, let me say that it’s taking me some small time (as we’d say here) to post anything that involves pictures because the relationship among me, Photobucket, and Orange is a bit strained at present. I know the problem isn’t with me, so one of them isn’t cooperating. I try to upload photos when I think network traffic will be low, but no love. Then at 11:30 this morning, success. I’m about to give up with Photobucket, but I need to know what other tools are viable options.
And now we continue with our regularly scheduled blog posting.
Last Thursday, 27 Jan, the international students served lunch in the dining hall. Someone on the executive committee though it would be a good service project (agreed), and would also serve to publicize our presence on campus (I reckon). Serving lunch isn’t a new concept, though it doesn’t happen very often. Only a few people asked who we were, and I suspect that those only asked because of the mzungu doling out the rice.
Yep, I had to choose to stand behind the impossibly huge pot of rice and serve it. I chose it because 1. Paul from Southern Sudan quickly claimed the fruit (watermelon this day), 2. I have a slight aversion to beans, and therefore didn’t want to serve those, and 3. Have no idea why I didn’t choose to hand out the posho – that would have been easy. Posho – think grits that have been ground incredibly fine, then are baked into a solid mass slightly less dense than Play-Doh. It’s substantial, and precut, so all one has to do is stick a fork in it and transfer it to the plate.
But no. I chose to scoop out rice with a plastic salad plate. Which bended when it got warm, which happened quickly, because that rice holds quite a bit of heat. The dining hall manager gave us a lesson on how much rice to give (not too much, though many guys asked for more), and not too little. It didn’t seem hard. Famous last words.
The dining hall workers kept a watchful eye on us, refilling the beans and posho as needed. Once they told me I was giving away too much rice. About quarter way down the pot, they asked if it was too hot for me. No, it wasn’t bad. But when I hit the half-way point, wow. THAT was hot.
When there was a break in the line, I took a second to flex my hand a bit, and realized that my fingers had been straightened out supporting that plate for so long that I couldn’t bend my fingers. You try it: get a slightly flexible plate, and use it so move around heavy stuff for about 10 minutes, and see what it does to your fingers.
We survived serving; I even had a bit of rice leftover, and since we were on the outside line, they closed us first. Yippee! That gave me time to regain use of my fingers before going to class. It was a fun time, though if we do it again, I’m taking a ladle.
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