M like “mangiare” (eat)

What language do missionaries “speak”? Theirs is an alphabet of mercy, with letters that breathe life back into words and generate works

Warning: this alphabet follows Italian words, but we urge readers to consider the concept rather than the consonant or vowel with which they begin

What language do missionaries “speak”? Theirs is an alphabet of mercy, with letters that breathe life back into words and generate works

“Mama, chakula iko tayari? (Mama, is lunch ready?).”

It would come naturally to us to ask this when we come home, but it is not so for everyone.

So we try to take a leap of six thousand kilometers and go to Africa to see how things work over there.

Having spent almost thirteen and a half years there, I feel like I can say I know a little bit about it.

Early in the morning, all the family members go, each to their chores. Father goes to work, either in the fields or other places. Mom usually, after saying goodbye to her children, loads the younger children on her shoulders and leaves to work in the fields. The others, on the other hand, set off for school. Forgotten. Breakfast? Not necessary (there isn’t any).

School is far away and you have to go light….

Hours pass and hunger begins to set in.
You eat a little something, brought from home or bought in the schoolyard (a banana, a half sandwich with some pasta or…a lot of imagination, watching others eat!

Either way, there is always someone kind-hearted who will give you a little piece of their snack). Moms also munch on something, resting under a tree together with the younger children. Dads go and drink some banana beer to calm their hunger.

Then, finally, it’s back home. But nothing is ready yet. Then the big maneuvers begin.

The boys to clean the house, the girls to draw water, Mom to put a pot on the stove with some water into which she throws some cassava flour (which she had piled with her friends the day before). In another, palm oil as a condiment, along with a few bits of meat and some cooked herbs.

And the dads? Well, they oversee that everything goes perfectly. Finally, after vigorously turning and twisting with a stick the flour, which has become polenta, and then tipping it into a tray, they shout that everything is ready.

And the first ones arrive? Who might they be? Simple answer: the men of the house (were they not created first?).

They pass around a basin with soap and water to wash their hands, then stand in a circle, where each person takes a small pellet of cassava, dips it in the sauce and brings it to his or her mouth, and so, in silence, until the tray is finished. Ditto for the rest. The children watch and begin to salivate, but
they have to wait.

They are the last link, the weakest. When they grow up they can eat more. Now they have to make do.

The mothers understand their problem. They send the older sister with two trays and all in a circle, they look at each other for a moment. Then, off they go. It’s a very tasty ritual. The fingers turn red from palm oil. No problem: they will clean them later.

Now they have more important things to do. They must not waste time, otherwise someone will eat more than they do.

The battle is soon won, but the hunger still remains. Someone approaches Mother and looks at her with two eyes so tender, as if
to say to her, “by chance, is there any more?” And Mother is moved.

She takes some of what is her share and gives it to them. She’s mom and she has a big heart.

All these things, of course, I’ve seen, when I’ve been invited to lunch in some homes and I’ve asked questions.

They would feed me first, being the guest. But I wondered how I could help them.

As they say, “one is not only a brother in Jesus Christ, but also in the piñata.” So I would purposely leave something for them, so I would make friends with them. I
could do without (at home I would make up for it), but for them it was the only chance of the day to fill their stomachs.

Source

• Father Oliviero Ferro

Image

• Image digitally created by spazio + spadoni