Les Fruits et Les Legumes

Sorry I have been a little slow to get going on the blog. I slipped into a little bit of a jet lag/cultural disconnect vortex my first few days in Burundi. It's hard to believe I have been here for a week already! I'm really enjoying it so far. I've got lots of stories and some interesting photos going so I'll try to post something every day for the rest of the time I'm here. The photos above are the view of Bujumbura from the mountains above town, a crocodile's eye, and a woman in typical dress walking down the street in front of my apartment. So much to show and tell, but for tonight just a story about the after work trip to the grocery store.

During the day today, I mentioned to one of my co-workers, a bright, funny, twenty-six-year-old lawyer named Fatima, that I really wanted to get some fruits and vegetables. The Supermarche Dimitri near my apartment has mustard seed gouda and jamon serrano (no kidding!), but doesn't have great produce. A couple of times during the day Fatima asked me if I had my list ready. As will surprise few of you, I'm not much of a grocery list maker anyway and was trying to get some work done so I didn't manage to get a list together. Again on the way to the store, Fatima asked me if I had my list. I said I'd just select a few things when we get there and wasn't sure what I wanted. She gave me the eye and she and our driver (yes, more on that later!), Fabrice, laughed. When we arrived it all became clear.

The market/grocery store wasn't exactly either. Apparently this is the place where discriminating shoppers in Bujumbura who don't want to deal with the chaos of the Central Market go for les fruits et les legumes. The store is set up like an old fashioned apothecary or dry goods shop. There is a long, wooden counter and behind it are at least ten guys frantically grabbing fruits and vegetables from wooden bins along the wall to fill orders from the serious, well-dressed women clamoring for a spot at the counter. Eggplants, plaintains, zucchini, limes, mangoes, pineapple, onions, and many unidentifiable fruits have the price per kilo written on a scrap of paper beside their bins. The employees grab woven grass trays/baskets and load the fruit and vegetables on them and then place the trays on old iron scales to determine the price.

As we approached the counter one of the employees looked at me and then with an alarmed expression turned to Fatima. I recognized the expression as one I have seen quite a few times already in Bujumbura. It translates loosely into, "Uh-oh, tall, white dude who probably doesn't speak French or Kirundi." Well, at least I do speak a little French, but my American in Paris accent doesn't always translate into comprehension here.

As it turns out, however, with this particular transaction the problem wasn't what I was saying, but what I was ordering. After I politely requested three onions and two peppers and one pineapple, the employee looked at Fatima with a puzzled expression. My first thought was "Oh, god, I've forgotten the French word for pineapple." The actual problem was that the guy couldn't believe I was ordering only one or two of things. The concept of living and cooking for just yourself is so foreign that he really couldn't understand what was happening. Fatima assured the man that I indeed just wanted one or two of each thing and he proceeded with my order while maintaining a dubious look on his face. Meanwhile, Fatima had begun a conversation in Kirundi with the woman next to her while the woman nodded in my direction. After we returned to the car, Fatima said, "They thought you were totally bizarre. Ordering two onions! Who ever heard of that!" I then asked what she and the woman were talking about. She replied, rather nonchalantly that the woman has asked if we were married and, if so, was everything alright because clearly one of us was not eating.

Tune in tomorrow for pictures of Fatima and Fabrice and hear about our meeting with former child soldiers and the project I'm working on here in Burundi.