Charcoal

When our gas tank ran out unexpectedly one evening we weren’t too worried. Bekah borrowed our neighbor’s charcoal stove, called a sigiri, and I ran to get some of our boys to help us out. The boys carried the tank to the center to meet our favorite truck driver who was just reaching our village.

There are currently three drivers, plus the new school driver, who make the route from our village and the surrounding area to town. Sebegara is our favorite driver because he not only goes out of his way to pick us up from wherever we are in town, but he also never charges, or tried to charge a ‘mzungu’ rate. He calls us his friends and we always laugh when riding with him because he is a large strong man, who growls at children who call us ‘bazungu’ and shouts at rude people on our behalf.

We knew Sebegara would take care of the tank for us, so we left it in his capable hands. Here, you buy a gas tank, and exchange it for a full one when it is empty. Well…. Turns out there was no gas in Kabale town. Three days he carried it back and forth from town to the village on his route. The fourth day he left it at the station, with the money for the full tank. We were a bit worried about the integrity of the station employees, but one of our boys reassured us- they can’t steal, they know Sebegara so much, and they fear him. Good to know.

Realizing we were in for the long haul, I asked our neighbor where to get charcoal, and asked if we could continue using the small stove. She referred us to our S6 students, so I asked one of them to sell me some charcoal. Charcoal is locally made, and some of the enterprising senior students took it upon themselves to make some. I don’t know if I have mentioned before, but our students generally take really good care of us. Any time I need something, even random weeds for supper, I can just ask and they will take care of it. The student told me one basin would last a week, and agreed to sell me a basin full of charcoal, rather than the usual massive burlap sack.

Day one: I start trying to light the fire at 11:30 in the morning. I have lit many fires in my lifetime; we have a fireplace at home. Generally I am competent. Generally things are not so very difficult when it comes to fire, cooking, etc… Now I know why the kids say you don’t use water to put out fires; Smokey Bear would find little work here. As soon as I would get a flame going and add some new wood, the fire would die. I decided to drench it in paraffin- nope, even soaked in the fuel the wood refused to burn. Let me clarify- you are supposed to use wood to start the fire and then add charcoal, or use plastic bags, cover the charcoal, and light the bags on fire. As burning plastic has been ingrained into me as a bad thing, I went for the traditional wood.

At 2:50 I finally served Rebekah scrambled eggs. As we ate, I informed her that we would be eating uncooked meals from that point forward. Three hours for scrambled eggs.

I go to bed that night hungry, tired, and thoroughly dejected.

Day two: I awake with renewed determination to best the tricky charcoal. New strategy: intermix charcoal with the wood, and get different wood. I go down to the school kitchen and collect the wood scraps that they don’t use in the fire- nice and dry. I soak them in paraffin; I mix what I guess to be an appropriate ratio of charcoal and wood. Nine matches later I have a fire. Lunch is served at a normal time, and I decide to be extravagant; keep feeding the fire with tiny bits of charcoal till it is time to cook dinner.

Day three: My two year old next door neighbor tattles on me to his mom- I spend too much time fanning the flame, trying to make the charcoal catch. I confess my struggles and she asks why I don’t just go down to the kitchen and get lit coals from their fires to start my fire. Oh.

Rebekah is getting sicker and sicker throughout this week, by day four she is nauseous and doesn’t want to eat anything. We can’t figure out what’s going on. As the week continues I take over all cooking duties and she sleeps when she is not teaching. Both of us are fighting headaches and head colds.

It dawns on me… smoke. At night, we were told to cook inside the house since it gets dark so early. Each night our house fills with the woodsy smell of campfire. We move the stove outside.

Then sad news: the gas station manager thinks they will never get gas. He sends the tank home with Sebegara empty. By now I am becoming more adapted to the charcoal stove, so I am only a bit despondent as I think of the hours of my life I am losing to the slow cooking process. We buy the massive sack of charcoal.

We have agreed to cook only twice a day now. Around 10:30 I go down to the kitchen with a funny piece of scrap metal I found and a cook scrapes lit coals from the fire for me to carry home. I boil our milk, boil water, and then I begin lunch. Cooking on the small sigiri takes much longer than cooking on the gas stove, and I have only the one ‘burner’. I am learning how to increase temperature by breaking the charcoal into small pieces and packing them tightly together.

Once we figured out the smoke was making Bek so sick, I took over all food duties. The house is shut up as tight as we can, and I cook on the far side of the small yard. I tie a bandana around my hair, and wrap myself in a large piece of fabric that I remove before going inside. The kids think it is hilarious. Whatever.

At night I cook dinner, and then boil water at the last possible moment to keep in a thermos for the morning.

My hands are often blackened by the charcoal, and my fingers are cut from the sharp pieces. I smell like a forest fire, and think my nose may be becoming less sensitive to smell from all the smoke- which is a good thing when you live with 140 adolescents who have an aversion to bathing. Rebekah is much better now that we stopped poisoning her.

And the gas? Still no gas in Kabale. I am not too worried though, the sack of charcoal we have is massive, seriously, I bet I could fit five small children in it. Acquiring life skills… some days harder than others.