bringing dinner back

“Don’t forget where you come from baby, ’cause there’s truth in it.” — Amy Ray of the Indigo Girls (Ghost of the Gang)

Time to eat!

Last night, the evening after Thanksgiving, I was sitting at The Nutcracker with a few dear friends, explaining why it is my favorite ballet. The first time I saw it, I was on the trip of a lifetime with my parents. I’d wanted to see New York City since I’d found out what it was, so my parents took me there when I graduated from Baylor University in the winter of 1988. We left my little sister at home and ventured out to a big city my mom had never seen and my dad hated. We saw Cats on Broadway and The Nutcracker at the Lincoln Center. We walked, ate, drank hot chocolate, bought a dress at Macy’s, and I saw my first outdoor ice skating rink (I truly thought they were all man-made in a mall before this).

I’m sure my eyes were huge on that trip, comparing New York City to Waxahachie, my hometown. And in every way, New York City was better. I couldn’t wait to get out of Small Town, Texas, and move someplace big and exciting. New York City was my first craving for new places. My parents indulged this desire, and I didn’t really realize until sitting at the theater on Friday night how that changed the direction of my life. I later moved to Florida, traveled through Europe for six months with a backpack and two friends, got married on the island of Crete, traveled to Mexico and Rwanda. I’ve never been afraid to travel. The site of a suitcase, the crowds of an airport, the smell of an airplane, the feel of a passport in my hand — all a few of my favorite things. And I believe much of it started with this trip to NYC.

Fast forward 21 years and here we are, sitting in Waxahachie with a family from Zimbabwe. This is where I came from. And, as I have many times since I left, I wondered how it would mix with who I’d become.

One of my goals with this blog is to feed my soul by enjoying a meal once a month with a family from Africa. Since I can’t get to Africa, I’m bringing Africa to me. I was thrilled that my first such meal was hosted by my sister and boyfriend-in-law at their home in Waxahachie on Thanksgiving. We invited our friends Prosper, Sarah and their two sons from Zimbabwe. Although this is Prosper’s third Thanksgiving in the U.S., this was the first for the rest of his family.

The spread

What would my family think about my idea of bringing our Zimbabwean friends to Thanksgiving? I wasn’t sure. I don’t believe we’ve ever shared turkey with anyone we aren’t related to. I was actually quite hesitant to ask at first. But my sister was totally on board, my dad was intrigued, my mom was a little worried what my grandmother would think, and my grandmother — when it all came down to it around the table — was uncharacteristically charming.

Really. It was a wonderful day of the small ups and downs any family holiday holds. We were late (and no one was surprised). We oohed and ahhed over everyone’s culinary efforts. Sarah cooked delicious chicken wings (Prosper had no idea what was on them when I later asked; it’s clear who cooks in that family!) and peanut butter rice (white rice with some PB stirred in at the end). Mom made our traditional lemon meringue pie (my grandfather’s favorite). My sister forgot to leave a few vegetarian veggies (we’re big on bacon in Texas) for my 12-year-old but we scraped potatoes off the bottom (Noah is much more flexible than he used to be) and gathered up some unbacon-wrapped green beans for him. Sawyer ate a turkey leg as big as his head.

Oh the pies we consumed

The kids played too many video games and ate too much sugar. One bottle of wine we brought was almost undrinkable (but we did anyway), and we discovered goat cheese isn’t that popular in Waxahachie. We talked about work and school. We talked about driving in the big city, my grandmother’s most recent illnesses, and a similar feast called “Harvest” in Zimbabwe. My sister’s boyfriend talked about his time in Nigeria. Prosper and Sarah told stories about how baboons sometimes steal food from women and children (but not men) back home. We talked about women’s rights (following, but not necessarily connected to, the baboon conversation).

Prosper, Sarah and the kids were fairly quiet, no doubt shell shocked from the chaos that is an extended family full of kids, traditions, and stories. They seemed to like everything, although I think the cranberry sauce threw them a bit. Who knew fruit molded in the shape of a can wouldn’t be appetizing? (To be fair, my mom makes a homemade version I don’t think they cared for either).

In front of the Waxahachie courthouse

After the meal, we headed out for a short driving tour of Waxahachie, a small town about 30 minutes south of Dallas with a beautiful historic square and many Victorian homes. When we piled out of our cars in front of the courthouse, the boys jumped out to play football, and Prosper and Sarah looked around in amazement. “This looks just like our town back home,” they said, using the exact same words a few minutes apart. Something about the square, the size of the buildings, the small-town feel, reminded them of home. Prosper said more than once he could imagine living in Waxahachie, that the commute to Dallas wouldn’t be so bad.

We stopped by Clyde’s family “compound” (his brother and family live right next to his mom) to say hello. The boys played more football and climbed in the tree in front of the house where Clyde grew up.

Later that night, while watching the UT/A&M game with Clyde’s family, they asked about Prosper and his family. How did they get here? What happened to them in Zimbabwe? What did they think about Waxahachie? I mentioned that Prosper really liked it and wondered how my small town would welcome a family from Africa. “This isn’t the Waxahachie you remember,” my brother-in-law said. Living in a big city and traveling quite a bit, I find it easy to underestimate the how openminded my hometown is.

The tree in front of Bee's house

While Prosper seems fascinated by America, Sarah is clearly homesick. I’m sure the boys are, too. English is difficult, and no doubt they miss their friends and family, half a world away. It was obvious they were thinking about where they came from as they spent the day in Waxahachie. Maybe they think Waxahachie would be a better home for their family while they wait for the political situation to settle in their hometown.

I thanked Sarah for joining us as the family loaded up to drive back to their apartment in Dallas: “It was a very good day,” she said.

I agree. It was a special day for me to introduce them to my hometown — a town that looked much better to me than I remembered as I saw it through the eyes of my friends from so far away and shared it with my family. Prosper is always telling me that someday he will return home and I will visit him there. That, too, will be a very good day.