Bringing Home a Little Taste of Niger

Greetings from Cabrini Boulevard!

It's me, Holly, a.k.a Parks or Parkie in blogland. At my request Steph has allowed me access to post some entries and photos on her blog now that I'm back stateside. I have several entries to post, but I’ll start with a tale that spans the two continents:

I left Niamey almost 2 weeks ago now and can hardly believe it. Just as I'd been welcomed at Niamey's Diori Hamani airport by Steph, Monsour and crew on January 17, I was chauffered back to the airport Feb. 2 by the same crowd and sent off in style. I even had a piece of luggage shrink-wrapped, for effect. But secretly, the bag contained some pretty special cargo.

I recall a night back in January at the local hangout, Steph's front yard. I was sipping Aria's herbal tea with Steph, Mohammed, Diallo, Hisham, and whoever else happened to be over. There was a konk-konk on the front gate and Stephanie opened it to find our friend Monsour. In his hand was a plastic bag that appeared to be filled with something about the size of an Amercian football. Monsour greeted us, then he and Steph retreated to the wall to discuss something. After a few minutes, Steph called over to me "Hey Parks, I forgot to mention that Monsour needs you to get a bag of Tabaski meat to his brother Razak in Baltimore, OK?" Mind you, this statement was made as casually as if she'd just asked me to remember to pick up bread at the boutique.

What?? Carry meat on the plane to then deliver it to a Nigerien guy living in Baltimore? I felt a twinge of anxiety. My mind flashed back to my return from Ljlubjana in '02 when I rolled through Kennedy customs only to be accosted by their pack of security dogs. I was subsequently busted for having unintentionally carried on a pastrami sandwich. I still have bad dreams about that day. I think Amy Lynn and Kimberly still laugh about it, as they were there to pick me up.

I looked at Monsour and could see in his face this meant a lot to him. I thought of how much he’d helped Steph and me out in Niamey….so I agreed to take the meat. Although I had to ask why it wasn’t in a refrigerator. He explained that it was special sheep meat from the family’s Tabaski fete in December and that they had “treated it” so it would keep for a long time. I was still skeptical. For the next several days, I admit to having sniffed the bag every morning, wondering if I’d smell anything rancid. I never did.

Arriving at JFK customs, an agent asked me “what’s in the bag?” I replied innocently “Oh, just some gifts and some fabric”. I passed without incident. No search. No dogs. The meat and I had made it!

A few days later, my friend Bekka and I were to drive to Virginia. As we were leaving and I said to her incidentally, “Oh yea, we need to stop by this guy’s house in Baltimore to deliver that bag of meat over there” – I pointed to Monsour’s plastic bag. Now Bekka looked at me like I’d sprouted horns. “What are you talking about? You mean to tell me there’s MEAT in that bag? From Niger? Not refrigerated? You are out of your mind.” I mumbled something about Nigeriens knowing their meat, then changed the subject as I loaded the bag into our Toyota rental. We took off down the turnpike, and every few exits, Bekka would ask “How do you think that meat’s doing back there?” Then we’d speculate on what the heck they had done to it that it didn’t require refrigeration.

On the drive I phoned Monsour’s brother Razak. I told him who I was, that I had a surprise for him, and that we’d be by in the afternoon. We soon arrived at his Baltimore house and Razak welcomed us warmly. He served us lunch and the three of us chatted away for part of the afternoon in his lovely apartment. We talked of travels and of life in the US verses life in Niger and beyond. We also had the pleasure of meeting his son 4 year-old son Caleb, ever the host with the most. He offered Bekka popsicles, played cars with us and showed us around the house. And he introduced us to his brother, baby Sam, when he woke up from his nap.

After lunch I handed Razak his surprise and he smiled knowingly. He opened the bag and out spilled multiple morsels of oily, dried, brown meat and bone pieces. Bekka and I were fascinated. This stuff looked crazy! It was essentially fried until you couldn't fry it anymore. He offered us a taste and I tried some. Once you got past the oil coating, it tasted like spicy mutton jerky. Not bad, but not something I’d go out of my way for. Razak, on the other hand, was delighted. He said, “This is great! I will really enjoy this. My brother knows how much I love meat, so he always goes out of his way to get some to me”. (I’ll say.)

It was a lovely visit. Both Bekka and I drove away discussing how much fun we’d had talking with Razak and playing with the boys. Razak had given me a little bit of the meat to share with my family in Va. My dad tried some and actually liked it, which made me happy. And of course I’ve saved a few pieces in my apartment in NYC for any of you who find yourselves here in the near future and wish to have your own little taste of Niger.

I hope you're all well in your respective parts of the world.

Holly
PS - the photo is of me and Razak proudly displaying a tray of the sheep meat in his kitchen in Baltimore