Thanksgiving

Mozambicans do not celebrate our American holiday “Thanksgiving,” but nonetheless, I brought our tradition here yesterday.

On Wednesday, I walked into town to the market in search of a pumpkin or sweet potatoes. The market in Inharrime is a haphazardly built conglomeration of straw tables and benches positioned behind a series of stores on the main highway that runs through the village. The result is a dark, maze-like structure filled with women selling the currently in season vegetables. I asked high and low for a pumpkin and explained to many of the market-women about the holiday in my county where we always make pumpkin pie. Each one tried to direct me to someone “down at the end of the line” who would have one last pumpkin, but to no avail – pumpkin season ended last week. By the time I came back through the market at the end – everyone was curious if I had found my much desired “abóbora.”

In the end, I made a banana-apple crisp instead of pumpkin pie, and, with the help of my Amercian-volunteer friend Stephanie, a feast of roast chicken, carrots, and mashed potatoes. The sisters and another Mozambican teacher that ate with us were impressed with their small taste of American culture.

And, in this faraway place, we transplanted Americans even took some time to reflect on what we’re thankful for this year. For me: The continued support of my family and friends from home topped the list. Thanks to everyone for your care even when I am far away. I miss you all and hope that your Thanksgivings were happy as well.