There are certain things you will
always remember about people. Sometimes it's their scent, the
texture of their favorite shirt, their voice on the other end of the
telephone or even their favorite hobbies. For me, my grandfather
conjures up all of these memories. He stands there smelling of
grilled kielbasa or dish soap, the residual odor of a morning spent
elbow deep at the kitchen sink. There's his soft, yet staticky,
green fleece and no-name baseball cap with the insignia of a glove.
It's the way he said “Cah-lee” in a heavy Bah-ston accent. And,
it's the many hours I watched him sit at the kitchen table with a
crossword puzzle.
Crosswords, sudokus, and card games are
something I will always associate with my grandpa. He was a master.
I admired his ability to dive into a puzzle with a pen, rarely
hesitating with what letters to put in each box. He competed with my
mother on the Sunday Times Puzzle, and I would always sneak a look at
her answers before we had our evening chats. I wish I had the
patience or endurance to tackle The puzzle, but alas, I'll resign
myself to Boggle and the choice puzzles, which my mother still sends
my via WhatsApp every week.
One thing that attracted me to puzzle
time was the snacks. The activity was never complete without a bag
of pretzels (extra dark specials, always), fresh fruit (no one picked
a cantaloupe quite like GPA), Captain Crunch (growing up, we never
ate sugary cereals, so this was a real treat!) or shelled nuts. No
matter what it was, it was always delicious, and “extra special.”
I always knew that my grandparents were
coming to visit when my mom bought unshelled peanuts. This struck me
as strange: why buy something you need to put work into to eat? I
mean, we all love lobster, but it's a once a year messy hassle! But,
whether it was peanuts or pistachios, they always came in the shell.
During card games or puzzle time, we would un-shell and chat,
carefully pulling away the hard casing to reveal whatever was inside.
Just like that, peanuts and puzzles became a tradition.
There have been many instances during
my Peace Corps service where I've thought about my grandfather; in
fact, I'd be lying if I said it wasn't daily. He never knew I'd move
to West Africa, live in a small rural community and find a family in
this tiny sliver of the world, but I know he'd be proud.
Integration is one of the largest
challenges as a Peace Corps volunteer. We don't speak the language,
understand the rituals or know how to prepare the cuisine. For the
first few months at post, I just observed. I relished in my own
silence, as I tried to pick up certain words, mannerisms and cooking
techniques. I spent hours with women, sitting under the large shade
tree, which we jokingly call l'arbre palabre (tree of words),
braiding hair, painting nails, singing to babies, or shelling
peanuts.
Shelling a peanut is a mindless task.
The casing pops open under a little pressure and out rolls two,
three, sometimes four nuts. Women buy peanuts (or in our village
grow them) by the bag, several kilos at a time. Hours go by
before you even make a dent in the supply. But, none the less, it
has become one of my favorite village activities.
Becoming a true member of my community
is like removing the protective casing from the little nut inside. I
arrived in Benin excited at the potential for adventure and hungry
for a challenge. But, I kept my guard up, worried about falling
victim to loneliness or boredom. I stayed inside that shell. When I
moved to Adourekoman, I met the people who would make this place feel
like home. I loosened up. I danced with my neighbors, cooked with
my friends and started to keep house like a true Beninese. I found
myself in this new place and opened my heart to these people.
Now, ten months into my service, I have
found a routine and a purpose. I am busy with work, but know when to
pull back and enjoy quiet time under the tree. Once someone who
shied away from monotony, I look forward to my afternoons shelling
peanuts. It brings me closer to the people I have found, and even
closer to those that I have lost.
Lovely homage to your grandfather😍
ReplyDeleteLinda H.💃🏼