Pili Pili

There's a substance here in the DRC that is served with the previously introduced (See: Down on the Farm) bland manioc schwanga as well as any other Congolese food, that livens it up a little. PiliPili is made from a pepper that will put a jalapeño to shame. It's on the order of the chopped chutney-like stuff that is served in the Netherlands at a rice tafel. If you've ever tried that, you will remember. I almost died from the experience a few years ago. I know I'm a wimp when it comes to spicy foods, but I'm getting better than I used to be. I can honestly say that I like the flavor now of freshly ground black pepper on vegetables. But pili-pili is way over my tolerance level and I should have known better.

It was this past Friday night. I had been invited to a business attire (like black tie in the states) event at the Ambassador's residence. I wore my only black dress, complete with nylons and real shoes, not because I wanted to look finished, but because the pantie hose gave me something to spray Permethrin on to ward off the chiggers and mosquitoes. If you're not familiar with this amazing product, it's an insect repellent that you spray on your clothing, not on your skin. Grace and Jon brought me two bottles of it and I'm thrilled with it. Anyway, the previous week I had gotten multiple bug bites on my feet and I couldn't take the chance of getting the same fairly significant reaction from them. I had been popping 25 mg of benedril for days and I was tired of functioning "under the influence." Just a thought: Do allergies from insects have any correlation to allergies from hot peppers?

Anyway, I arrived at the party on time feeling very confident that the bad part of my day was over, having had a minor set-back at 6:30 a.m. due to a dead battery. Realizing I needed help, my sentinel, named Ndambele, called in two "mechanics" who gave me no indication that they even knew how to start a car, much less jump a battery. After completely removing the battery housing because the battery that they had borrowed to start the car was too long, I encouraged them to just get another battery that would fit. Once that was in place, they each held on to a wrench connected the contact points and I turned the key. The Pajero gave a lurch and turned over. The guys removed the replacement battery and attached the old one. Yeah! I was on my way to the university.

Except that a police woman decided to choose that morning to stop me, insisting that I give her my driver's license and car registration. Over my dead body, is usually my response, which here is probably not a terribly prudent phrase, but Abigail was with me by this time and felt in such emotional alignment with this lovely uniformed female stressing the sisterly nature of the relationship, that she graciously obliged. The second the officer had the cards in her hand she turned into something that could be likened to a cartoon she-monster. Abbey did her best to hold her own, but ended up in tears. I called the embassy safety dispatch. Then we called the rector of the university, who fortunately was on his way to work and only minutes away. When he arrived, he didn't mince words, just told me to follow him to the police station, which is actually a painted box car. He asked us to wait while he went in. A few minutes later he returned with the cards in hand. It is very possible a little exchange took place, but we were not privy to that.

It was a beautiful summer night setting along the Congo River. Music was playing, colored lights were twinkling from the tents, people were starting to mill around. The purpose was to give audience to the representatives of PSI, Population Services International, whose key spokesperson is Ashley Judd, sister of Wynnona, daughter of Naomi. Wanting to be sociable, I helped myself to a great Cabernet Sauvignon when a server walked by with a tray of baby shishkabobs that had some reddish sauce in the center. I helped myself and immediately began to hyperventilate, my eyes began to tear, my nose ran, the works. And then, who do you think walked up to me at that moment and said, "Hi Jane," but of course, the Ambassador and one of his top assistants. I did the only thing I could think of at the time, which was to make sign language as if I was choking, which I was. Fortunately, the aid knew his stuff and handed me a napkin which I promplty used to spit the culprit out and then did the only other obvious thing I could, which was to guzzle the wine in my hand. At least until Abbey showed up with a glass of Primus, which I grabbed and consumed on the spot. It was after that that I evidently had a few conversations during which I was not exactly congent. However, I do remember that when Ashley Judd spoke I was totally attentive and very impressed with not only the work PSI is doing, but also with the beautiful way she integrated her faith and values into the talk.

Nothing traumatizing occured after the soiree, we just went to the Grand Hotel for a little more wine and a pizza. Attached is a photo of me and my good friends from Holland/Zeeland, Ambassador William and Mrs Linda Garvelink. What a small world.