Potluck

This past Friday evening I was invited to a potluck dinner at the new apartment of one of my colleagues in the General Education Division.  “Potluck” also seemed like an appropriate metaphor for the faculty of the General Education division that were in attendance:  Nazul, our host, is a sociologist from Bangladesh; Victor, my upstairs neighbor, is a historian from Panama, Mat is a philosopher from the U.S., , Milen is a sociologist from Bulgaria, Ivette is a Buddist scholar, from New York City but returning to a job in Texas at the end of this term, a friendly woman whose name I don’t recall, is a Chinese language scholar, from China, but recently returning from 15 years in Australia and a few others who’s names and disciplines I don’t recall.  My favorite moment was just before we were about to eat and Nazul was explaining what was in the Indian rice and chicken curry he had prepared, and a few latecomers arrived.  Nazul said, “I was just introducing the food.”  After the food had been properly introduced, wine and orange juice was poured, toasts were made and we dug in.  Ivette had celebrated a birthday the week before and brought a lovely strawberry cheesecake so that the celebration could continue. 

Unfortunately, right about that time my cell phone rang, and when I answered it, Josh said, “Mom, I don’t feel good.”  Fortunately, the party was just two building away, and I was able to scoot home quickly.  I am not sure if it was a type of stomach flu, or some kind of food poisoning, but suffice it to say, he had a very rough evening.  By about midnight the worst of it seemed to have past and he slept quite soundly until Saturday morning.  It was a weekend of Sprite and Saltines for Josh, and catching up on grading for me. 

Both Saturday and Sunday, I did walk to Tangjia to pick up a few groceries and just get some fresh air.  I had not been in Tangjia on the weekend, and did not realize the extent of the huge market that spills over into the commercial area.  Both times I brought my camera, but only managed to take a few photos.  Walking back I thought more about my reluctance to take photos.  Here in Zhuhai, the college and university faculty are considered among the financial elite. While our apartments are modest by U.S. standards, we do live in a “gated community.” But just beyond that fence are parts of Tangjia that, to most American eyes, look like a slum.  It is not all that way, but there is significant poverty pressed right up to modest, yet working class, establishments.  

I want to take photographs because I want to remember this experience and I want to share it with others.  I want to photograph the woman on the bicycle selling chickens out of the cage on the back of her bike, and the fish venders, with plastic bins and children’s swimming pools filled with fresh fish. Or the multitude of individuals selling produce along the sidewalks in the main commercial area.  But I don’t.  I try my best to always ask permission before I include a person in a photo, and as of yet I don’t know how to ask that in Cantonese.

There are so many fruits and vegetables there that I don’t even recognize.  Today I bought strawberries, kiwi and oranges.  I need to get one of my students to go to the markets with me and tell me the names of some of the produce.  Once I know the name of something I can always “google it” and figure out what to do with it.

I often write down bits and pieces of language that inspire me.  In a collection of the best of women’s travel writing Andrea Oseas wrote, “Bring an open mind, comfort with ambiguity, and a measure of recklessness, the siren breathes in your ear, and each day will be exhilarating.”  Fortunately for me, I do not have to be too reckless to find a market full of fresh produce  - exhilarating.