When The Mangoes Are Ripe

The next time the mangoes are ripe.

That’s when I’ll leave the red island for good. It’s not that I’m counting down the days, I daydream about living here for the rest of my life. It’s that I’m preparing to go to the capitol for a Peace Corps training.

I’ve been spending the last few days telling everyone that I’m leaving town and that I’ll be back in a few weeks. I shouldn’t be surprised that people think I’m leaving for the states for good; that’s what the last volunteer did. But it’s not easy convincing people that I am really going to come back. To one of the elders in the village, I explained that I was leaving my things in the house and that I would be back for them, he still didn’t believe me. I showed to him the 300+ kilos of rice that I have stocked for the next two years; he was hoping to inheret it when I left. I had told him countless times that I will go back to the states May 2010 but he still didn’t believe me. Seeing the budding mangoes, I thought about things in a different light... I returned to the man’s home and over a spoonful of rice explained to him that I would be returning to Belitsaky during the next full moon, he seemed to understand. I continued, explaining that not this season, but the next time the magoes are ripe... that is when I’ll go back to the States; it all fell into place.

That’s what these first three months have been all about; seeing things in a different light. My days start and end with the sun, months are decided by the moon cycles and meetings depend on the heat of the day. I’ve stopped asking why when things are taboo and begun to read my shadow to decide the time of day. The rice isn’t done in 25 or 35 minutes, it’s done when you can smell it burning to the bottom.

I realize now how far removed I have been from the essentials of life. In the States I can get tomatoes any time I want; I don’t think about where they come from. A bag of rice might cost $10; but I don’t think about how the rice was seperated from the rocks. A cap full of soap and the push of a button washes my clothes; where the fabric came from is beyond me. In the States, I buy an extra large grade AA chicken egg and don’t stop to wonder how far from the hen’s ancestor’s genetics she has come.

At first I dreamed of living on my Grandfather’s plot of farm land and living off of it and only it. Whatever I couldn’t make or obtain from the land I wouldn’t have, that simple. It made me think of even the simple things I wouldn’t have... metal knives, iron tools, glassware, etc. Then I started thinking about different concepts and inventions... a butter churn, heirloom tomatoes, the pasteurization of milk, the wheel... is it cheating if I am willing to use inventions and concepts developed by others? And where to draw the line; if it’s ok to use the improved techniques of others then why shouldn’t it be ok to use products from other people, we’re all in this thing together right?

So I started changing my mind. And now, I don’t propose that we undo thousands of years of changes to the way of life... millions of inventions, improvements, and backsteps, but that we choose conscientiously the inventions, improvements, and backsteps set before us. That instead of retreating to my secluded farm and living removed from the rest of the world, we do our part to encourage the positive investments that others have made to our way of life, that rather than looking to “sustainable” and “organic” products to change the world, we encourage the sustainable and organic lifestyles and actions. The plastic between us and our food doesn’t change it’s origin; it only means it comes from much farther away to make it to our mouths. I encourage us to eat what is in season, to realize it’s presence, not just on the plate, but in our world. Grow some basil in the kitchen, a tomato plant in a bucket, and some corn in the yard. Eat those three things only when they’re ripe, it’ll bring us all a bit closer.