A Ugandan Meal

A couple students from the catering school appeared at the pharmacy window, but not for any medical reasons.

“Delivery?” They asked.

Their evening menu was pasta and minced pork – this is entirely different from the daily food I've eaten since I arrived. I do not suppose there has been reason to mention the food, as nothing will quite compare to the experience in St.Marcs, Haiti. However, if you have had one lunch here, you probably have had them all.

Pharmacy Window

Stomach grumbles. Enter. A counter laid out with pots and containers of various shapes and sizes. I pick up a plate from the front of the line, and search for a fork (usually, I find one). The first lid opens, revealing a mass of greenish-brown leaves; of course, this is not to be eaten. The beauty is what lies underneath the foliage. Matoke – mashed and cooked, green bananas. It's fruit, right? I shrug and accept a dollop  Moving on, a container of white rice. America! I take two dollops  Next comes the meat container. I peer in and find a sea of murky brown broth, with few scattered chunks of various shapes and sizes floating. As I am not sure what kind of meat this is, and the remainders are usually more to do with animal aspect, but not always the meat part of the mammal, I politely continue down the line. Another open lid. The color is green; the consistency is stringy. I call it the Cooked Cabbage Creation and don't miss out on my vegetables. Now I'm wondering how many pots there are. Next...potatoes! They are small and round, fried and then boiled. It is like Sunday lunch and I take a few. Funny, I spot another Sunday lunch dish...mashed potatoes? I don't mind the double potato portion and take a scoop. No, it is not mashed potatoes.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Posha!” Or more literally, it is flour and water. I am told that you can either have maize mixed with water, or millet and maize mixed with water; millet on it's own with water will give you an upset stomach. I am confused. Won't they all? Posha is a local favorite.

I am reaching the end of the line. Brown beans.

“What type of beans?” I ask, curious.

“Beans!”

They taste quite like re-fried beans, and are flavorful. I take some. Now for the topping – a light, purple sauce to pour over your plate. Just before the liquid-paste engulfs my plate, I ask. It's purple peanut sauce. The color confuses me, but I accept and sit down to enjoy, yet another, Ugandan lunch.

This was the only meal I ever got with noodles, and a noticeable chicken leg. Hmm