Thanksgiving FestivitiesIt began back in early October when a thoughtful mom sent a package of Thanksgiving napkins. A little gesture, but very helpful to get the table looking the part. These napkins were safely stored away through three different moves. The next was a search for a table cloth. When I first arrived in Africa, I realized that my house needed some color, so I purchased some brightly colored yellow fabric with all sorts of designs on it. Took it to a tailor to cut and finish the edges, and cut 8 matching napkins. We have been using this since April, giving some sort of continuity to ou
r various living locations. But in October I finally decided that despite the still “summery” weather in our neck of the woods, it was time for a more “seasonally-appropriate” cloth (hey, even when it’s 90 in California you don’t leave the summer stripes on the table, do you?). So I went to the huge outdoor N’Djamena market, it mid-90 degree weather. I went to vendor after vendor in search of the perfect thanksgiving table cloth (what exactly does that look like again)? No, didn’t fin
d any turkey ones, but after hearing some outrageous prices for some of the beautiful embroidered cloths (I mean, come on, I can maybe see paying $100 for a hand-embroidered table cloth from Pottery Barn or something, but I’m in Chad!), I finally landed upon a beautiful brown cloth with burnt orange flowers and cream-colored leaves, all embroidered and small little clear crystals sewn on throughout. After getting an original price of $50, I eventually bargained him down to $16…Okay, napkins, tablecloth, check.Next was to begin thinking about the food. We would be moving to Abeche soon, and who knows what they would have there. I purchased some sort of large squash. It looked like one of those fancy whitish-greenish pumpkins in the states, you know, the kind Martha Stewart would do her jack-o-lanterns out of. It had an orange-yellow flesh, and I figured it could pass for pumpkin. It sat on our counter for a week or so, and then was the last
item in the car when we got all packed up for our move. It was 6am on Monday morning, and Rob said, “Anything else need to go in here?” I presented him with the beloved squash and watched as he found space inside a small trashcan at the back of the car. The poor squash stayed in that little black trashcan in the depths of the car, for two hot days on the way to Abeche, but made it safely there, after one small tumble in the desert. For lack of a kitchen table in our current house, the pseudo-pumpkin and tablecloth graced our coffee table for the last two weeks.Two days ago the little squash fulfilled it’s purpose in life. My house helper, Hadidje, hacked, sawed and chopped up the little guy until he was just large chunks of orange vegetable. The next day, I boiled all the squash until it was completely tender, then mashed it and drained it through a colander…getting closer to that pumpkin pie…But this was not the end. That afternoon, after reading up on homemade pumpkin puree, I realized that the mixture needed to be thoroughly drained.
So I placed the puree into a dish towel (for lack of cheesecloth), into a colander, and then placed a bowl and two giant cans on top of the mixture. After leaving it for about an hour, I was pleased to find what looked almost exactly like canned pumpkin puree! I broke out the spices, a few different recipes, read up on “patee brisee” (flaky pie crust), and re-wrote the recipes for the only pie plate that I have in my possession, and 11-inch wide, 1½- inch deep tart pan, and began cooking. I waited with baited breath as people sliced into the creation and took their first bites. I tried to look uninterested, but was relieved with the first sounds of “who made this pumpkin pie” and “this is delicious, it tastes like real pumpkin pie!” Yeah!
My attempt to make whipped-cream without cream, was not as successful. The first attempt turned into sugary butter, and the second attempt, though having the appearance of whipped-cream, tasted bad and was a liquid mess by the time it was lined up on the dessert table. (note: butter and milk will never become one…no matter how long you beat it, it will still be whipped butter in a bowl full of milk…) There are some things that just have no substitute.
So did we have a successfully reproduced American thanksgiving? We had roast beef instead of turkey, but who likes turkey anyway? We ate mashed potatoes, gravy, stuffing and green bean casserole. We were with friends, many of whom are like family. The guys threw the football around in the yard; the girls spent the morning cooking. Everyone ate too much and was stuffed before desserts came out. We thanked God for our blessings, and we ate pretty-close-to-real pumpkin pie. Pretty similar. I’d say the only differences would be that after putting on our “Sunday best”, we covered our heads, got in a huge truck and rumbled down the unpaved road, past donkeys, horse-drawn carts, soldiers with guns, and various displays of livestock. We arrived at an orphanage, where an African guard opened a large gate for us to enter. We sat in a dimly-lit, hot room, because there was no electricity available. Around dusk, we had to think about getting home, as most car-jackings take place after dark. We arrived home, killed a few crickets, watched a movie on our computer and got ready for bed. However, we have no sink in our bathroom, so I came to the kitchen to brush my teeth and found there to be no water in the pipes, as normal, so we went to some large reserve barrels outside and got enough to last us the night. We locked the doors, and crawled underneath the mosquito net...just like thanksgiving when I was little…I think today I’ll head to the market to take advantage of the day-after-thanksgiving sales!
Friends standing by would help get money out to pay so that we wouldn’t mess up the new “do”. Margit even had to help one girl get her laffay back on because she was still wet and it had fallen off. No UV lights to speed up the process, but people waved hand held fans over us. At the end, the girls stood up, and while bargaining the price, mentioned that they were going to the hair dresser next! We had a fun time for about three hours just sitting and chatting with these girls. They actually had a Chadian father, and French mother. They were very beautifully colored, and a lot calmer/timid than normal Chadians. The henna lady, Zara, actually made us laugh a lot. She was very Chadian! So, yes, as I type, I have beautiful (jet black) henna (actually black hair dye) all over my arms and hands (which you can see above)…I chickened out on the feet, so now everyone thinks I’m not married, oh well!
