How I Became An American (2)

One thing I never quite understood when I first landed here was the extent of choice available to the shopper. Why, I wondered, were there sooooo many things to buy. My first attempt to buy toothpaste almost ended in a disaster when I stood there in the aisle for minutes trying to decide if I preferred Colgate Total Advanced Whitening, Colgate Total Advanced Fresh, Colgate Total Advanced Clean or Colgate Whitening Oxygen Bubbles, which are real Colgate products for your information. (Read the entry here). How do these people make their choice, I had wondered, and concluded within myself that they didn’t really put their mind to it. They probably just went into the store, picked one out of a hundred beckoning choices, and left. I have discovered how wrong I was in that assumption. A few days before Christmas, Papa Rudy and I had gone to shop for groceries and his wife had stressed more than three times on the phone that what we had to buy for food was small red beans. SMALL RED, she stressed, and I wondered what difference it could make to make such a distinction. When we got to the aisle for vegetables, I found out why. There were green beans, red beans, small red, canned green, baked beans, baked beans in chilli, etc. We got her the small red, but when I ate it later as part of the dinner, I still couldn’t tell what was different about it than the other kind of beans I’d eaten before, so I decided that maybe it was a good idea that women did the cooking in the homes because I could never imagine the kind of argument that might have ensued all night if he had done the cooking with his own preferable choice of beans. For sure, she wouldn’t have liked it.

In the olden days when I used to go shopping at Walmart and Aldi with Reham the Egyptian, I never quite understood why she spent so much time shopping. The pattern always repeated itself: she would agree with me, nodding to my every word right before entering the store, that “at around 5.25pm, we must both be done shopping, and must proceed to check-out no matter what we’re doing, do you understand? The bus to campus is scheduled to be here at 5.30pm and I will hate to miss it. We’re clear, right? Look at your watch, it’s 4.30pm right now,” and she would say “Yes, yes, I understand.” By a quarter to six, when the bus would have long left, leaving us behind, I would be sitting at the exit door, angry and out of my wits, wondering why in the world I had to deserve that kind of torture. She would come out later and say “Oh I’m sorry. What do you want me to do when I couldn’t find what I wanted?” Couldn’t she have just asked an attendant? No, she would rather look at everything, spending quality time to decide if she wanted the extra large, jumbo size or the family size, among many other variables. Hmmm… I don’t have to tell you why it’s been such a long time since we both went out shopping anymore. 🙂

But being such a brisk shopper has not altogether being without its disadvantages for me as well. The first time I made such a brisk purchase was at the Reagan Airport in Washington DC, and I was lucky because it was just for gum – Orbit, I believe. I never even knew until then that there were so many kinds of flavour. I took the one that looked the finest, and regretted it afterwards because it was also the harshest in the mouth, and I had bought three. But I can’t blame brisk shopping for that, since it isn’t possible to have a taste of it beforehand anyway. So far, let me just say that I believe in my guts when it comes to making a choice out of a horde of beckoning options. I may sometimes regret it – as was the case with the impostor potatoes, or the winter jacket I got at Khol’s that almost didn’t fit me again when I got back home – but mostly, I’ve had much success. Even if not, I’d still take that over missing the bus and keeping myself in the harsh evening cold for far longer than necessary.

Take that Reham! 😉 🙂 :D.

Why I Am Malnourished

I have been worried that the reason why I felt a little weak on Friday was because I’d not been eating and eating well, so it felt necessary to restock my fridge with the things that matter as far as keeping me healthy and fat is concerned. Did I mention that I will need as much fat as possible on my skin to ward off the cold in winter? I went out shopping with a fellow FLTA here on campus.

Now let me tell you why I had not been eating well.

#1. There have not been plenty familiar food items for me to eat. I have not yet been able to make that St. Louis trip to an African shop to buy òkù èkó and some egúsí soup, so on Thursday, I summoned courage and took my knife to the belly of the ripe plantains I had got from Doug in the Foreign Language department earlier in the week, and cooked it with a little salt. It was a wonder to discover that very few people in America have ever seen a plantain or heard of it. Even Chris the American found it strange, and he kept asking me what it was. How do you explain what a plantain is to someone who hasn’t seen it before? Just tell him it’s an elder brother to the banana. Simple? Well, Chris still couldn’t bring himself to eat it until I forced him to. But that’s another story.

#2. Every time I go out to buy milk – by the way, milk here is sold in large kegs, and not in little cans like in Nigeria – every single one of the milk on sale has this little sign on them that says “Non-fat”, “20% less fat than regular milk”, “non-fattening milk” etc. I mean, seriously, how can I become really fatty before December comes, when everywhere I turn, America is trying so hard to retard my growth and the thickness of my skin?

Now, the #3 and most painful reason why I’d been malnourised is this – and not many people found it funny: everytime on the food line at the cafetaria in the University has always been a certain kind of hell. I would spend fifteen to twenty minutes waiting for my turn at the counter, and when I got there, there was usually a guy or sometimes a girl taking my order. And it would go like this. Note: there’s always bread on the menu.

Choose your bread.

S/he: Hi. Can I take your order.

Me: Yes, please. Can I have a hamburger please.

S/he: A hamburger. What type of bread do you want with it?

Me: What types of bread do you have?

By this time the other guys behind me are a little impatient, having been on the line for a long time themselves.

S/he: We have white, wheat, whole… [and the list goes on]

Me: Well, please give me anyone.

I’ve since realized my folly, because the first day I got a hamburger with a wheat bread, I hated it, then hated myself.

S/he: Okay. Now do you want cheese in it?

Me: No.

S/he: Okay. What of vegetables and the likes?

Me: You know what, I think you should put the cheese.

S/he: Alright, no problem. What kind of cheese do you want?

Me: Oh, what kind of cheese are there?

S/he: Well, we have Swiss cheese, American cheese, cheddar… [and he mentions about two more types.]

By this time, I’m really hungry, and exasperated as well.

Me: Please put any one. [Some times, I also say, “Make it Swiss”.]

After all of the question and answer segment which takes more than five minutes of my precious time, s/he says, “Please wait here. You’re number … and we’ll call you in about ten minutes,” which s/he does when the time comes. The problem is, by that time, I’m either no longer hungry, or already disinterested in the whole food.

I’ve since learnt that the Swiss cheese is better than both American and cheddar. But If you ask me, still I can’t tell the difference.