Hunting Pumpkin leaves . . . eggs . . . and Tuna? : Nuzhat Shahzadi

My heart is full . . . dead bodies are piling up; many are children–– will never know the sunlight at dawn on their faces through cracks in the window––the wet smell of the sea and rivers and the rains . . . silvery-glimmers that define dark clouds, the rumbling thunders’ deafening crescendo . . .

In my restlessness I read hopeful poems, picked up Alberto Rios (A House Called Tomorrow).

“You are made, fundamentally, from the good.

With knowledge, you never march alone.”

Incidentally, Michelle Obama chose several lines from this poem in the preface of her book––“The Light We Carry” (a great book. She’s inspirational, a soul-searching-reacher. I listen to her podcast on Youtube at bedtime and sleep takes over . . .).

. . . Let’s walk on a promenade created with fun-times, now . . .

Kiribati is 18 hours ahead of NY time. Our Internet connectivity in Tarawa (capital) was eternally-poor. We needed to connect with the world outside . . . UNFCU provided an audio skype link. The Bank representatives’ voices were always cheerful, empathetic.

“Hello, this is Nuzhat. You’ve reached her in the future. I live in ‘tomorrow’––18 hours ahead of you in New York,” I would begin, followed by a quick explanation that resulted in spontaneous-warm laughter.

A snapshot of Tarawa from the air

My mom was in ill-health. The only spot from where I could connect with her was close to the Australian High Commission. The time differences, travel on the broken-road––was quite a juggle to reach mom. And finally, when the call was through her phone would be busy!

“Oh, amma! Hang up, hang up please,” I prayed. My mom was an avid-socializer. Tied to the bed, she was in contact even with relatives millions of generations-distant, literally.

Location with phone connectivity

The phone cards we used were expensive, Australian $20 for 10 minutes to Dhaka. Even if the call wasn’t connected, money was deducted. Some days, I got lucky––

“Hello! . . .” the ever-beautiful-magical voice took away my stress-pain-isolation, filled my world with the familiar perfume she wore, warmth that clasped my heart . . . the aroma of love that was only her . 

Mom and I

Early on, I understood (in addition to other things), food would be a big challenge for me in this fascinating-island country. The popular Calrose-rice was imported from Australia, a sticky texture, soft and white, possibly introduced by missionaries along with white flour, sugar, Christian churches. I am into Basmati . . . daal/lentils were not available, fresh vegetables were an anomaly.

 Local Kiosk

There were no bees, butterflies or birds in Tarawa (only sea-gulls hanging close to the port in Beito). Growing vegetables was next to a mission-impossible. Khim, my friend (wife of Andre, head of WHO) painstakingly hand-pollinated her bell peppers, pumpkins, cucumbers (extremely difficult as the flowers are minute, delicate). The kind woman always shared her vegetables ––her special gift to me.

Khim (on extreme right), Nuzhat and wives of diplomats

With assistance from the Taiwanese-embassy, locals were learning to farm pumpkins, papaya, chickens. I discovered a location where the islanders sold their produce––coconuts, bread fruits, sometimes snails, taro-roots/Babai. I never found pumpkins––most were sold to the local Chinese eateries.

Paradise Chinese restaurant––our favorite

The soil in Tarawa was sandy, shallow, coarse with low organic matter content. Bread fruit, loaded with nutrients and coconuts grew in abundance which were staples in the islands, and the ocean was brimming with Tuna . . . red snappers . . . lobsters . . . while the crabs crawled on the beaches and the waves brought bounties from the deep ––oysters, snails, aqua-lives.

Girl with Tuna

 Coconut trees

Banana and papaya were sold at the road side. I would spot the fruits while on my way to meetings at Beito, at the other end of Tarawa where all Ministries were located. During the initial days, I would think of buying some on my way back––but they would be all gone by then.

Banana Entrepreneur

“You buy, when you see it, Nuzhat,” Matike, our driver bestowed his wisdom with a smile.

I began eating Tuna, eggs––a compromise for survival. For food (mostly) we were dependent on import––two shipments from Fiji and Australia/NZ (I guess) by sea. Those were celebratory times––we rushed to stores in Beito to buy whatever was in acceptable condition. Often the ships were delayed. Islanders accepted it as normal (Tuna was in abundance!). We, the foreigners, were tormented.

On the weekends, I drove around the island hunting for eggs (imported, 1 @ $2-3) . . . If lucky, I would manage two eggs from one roadside kiosk, 3 from another, etc. And the hunt continued. . . Matike sometimes drove me to houses with pumpkin patches. On my behalf, he made requests . . . I lived on pumpkin-leaf-charity of islanders.

. . . An international colleague on mission was upset . . .

“I drank expired milk, Nuzhat––bought from a store,” He showed me the carton.

“Do you feel sick?” I asked––he shook his head. “All is well then.”

“How could they sell much-expired-products?” He sounded scandalized.

“Welcome to my world.” It was my turn to educate him . . .

Special offers!

Irresistible!

Neighbor’s pumpkin patch

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