Nsima with relish. Let me explain.

Nsima is ground corn flour that is cooked like porridge until it thickens and is then scooped into large paddies. Nsima is the staple food in Malawi and is eaten with relishes. Here is where a little variety comes in. If you are lucky, the relish consists of two parts. There are boiled greens served with some ground nut powder and a tomato-based soup with pieces of meat, either chicken, beef or goat. To eat, you pinch off a piece of the nsima with your fingers. You ball the nsima up in your palm and then either dip it into the soup, which is quite salty, or pick up some greens with it. Thus the ‘relish’ adds a little flavor to the nsima.

That is my lunch for about 5 days a week, as I joined the memo at work where about 10 employees go together for lunch. I pay 600 Malawian Kwacha (~4USD) a month to buy the corn flour and an extra 100 MK (~65 cents) every day I eat with the memo for the relish. One of the men goes around the office in the morning to collect the daily contribution, and the women start cooking around noon after someone makes the trip to the market to purchase the relish ingredients. They do the cooking in the ‘kitchen’, a small room with a large sink and one table. The cooking is done on small charcoal burners which they light outside and then bring inside and set on the floor. When the food is ready, it is divided between the available plates and the aroma of the relish gets everyone’s attention and fills the small kitchen quickly.

Eating this meal is learned during childhood. As such, it has made me feel a little childish as I first attempted to ball the nsima in my palm and eat the relish without making a mess. Conversation is usually lively as people pause from eating as they ball the nsima in their hands. It is in Chichewa, so I rarely have a firm grasp on the discourse. However, the random English word usually gives way to the overall theme and I am able to contribute a well timed phrase now and then.

It is a heavy lunch. Afterward, I say my thanks (zikomo kwambiri! Chakudya chabwino!) and I head back to my office. It is there that I try intently to become quickly engaged in some interesting work activity before the ball of nsima in my stomach robs me of my ability to concentrate as all my energy switches to the digestive process.

On the way to work

A man pushes a young boy on a bike. A mother smiles as she carries her daughter. I am riding in the passenger seat of a car, and as we pass through this small trading center on the way to work, my eyes connect with theirs. For a moment I forget where I am. The context of the situation is lost to the simple expressions of joy seen in their faces.

This connection is precious in a place where you are often set far apart from those around you. Yes, I live in their community and I shop in their markets and at their stores. I travel their streets and say hello to their kids, but I am foreign to them. The place where I was born and the color of my skin are the most apparent, but also the least significant. They make me a foreigner, but they don't set me apart as our differing perspectives do.

Knowing other places, other people, other ways of living means that we see the smoking tailpipe, the innocent laughter of children, the piles of tomatoes and the bicycle taxi in a different light. The fact that I choose to be here—and could leave tomorrow—creates a distance between us. I could get a job that pays more in a month then they will earn in the next ten years. Basically, we have a different set of options available to us. No doubt, I have more. Though they too have access to options that I don't. The lives that they live are as inaccessible to me as my life is to them.

So as I move through this place I reflect on what it is that sets us apart and what unites us.

While it is the differences that draw our focus, that which we share is by far in the majority. It must also be our hope for a better tomorrow.