I'll be with you in jambo blossom time

Adventures in Tropical Fruit

Chapter 2

The jambo tree (Syzygium jambos) produces bright pink flowers that are edible! The brilliant-colored stamen are tangy and refreshing, plus there is always the chance of getting a little extra insect protein. We have five big jambo trees in our yard. George and I picked several bucketfuls. The rest of the fruit provided food for countless bugs and birds.
The jambo fruit resembles an apple, in fact the people around here call it the apple of Para (our state).
The flesh of the jambo looks like an apple in color, but has a sort of melony texture. Hard to describe the taste. Some say Granny Smith, some say grape, most say jambo. It cooks into an excellent cobbler; no doubt one could also make a killer pandowdy, an astounding buckle, or an unbelievable brown Betty, if one had the proper ingredients and the appropriate motivation.

Nothing quite like a bowl of hot jambo crisp topped with cool whipped cream after a humid day in the tropics.

Market Excitement

It is the theory of some that all bus drivers in Belem are aspiring Nascar drivers, retired Nascar drivers, or failed Nascar drivers. These guys jockey for positions, tailgate, and defend their places vigorously. The paces they put their buses through are unbelievable, and all this while crammed full of human cargo.

The driver of the bus we got on a couple of Saturdays ago made all other Belem bus drivers look good. He laid on the horn, charged pedestrians (more than usual), and took corners at full speed. The bus was so full that I was standing in the entry, facing the driver. There I stood, hip to hip with other passengers, feeling like we might all vomit out of the door when it opened next. A kind citizen gave George their seat. The approximately seven-mile trip took one hour to accomplish, and by the time we arrived at the market, I was more than a little queasy. Quadruple strength Dramamine couldn't have touched this one.

Typically when we go to the Ver o Peso market, we try to arrive early. In such a hot climate, it is always the earlier the better. On this trip we slept in a bit, and didn't leave the house until 7.45 am, so by the time we arrived at the market the sun was already shining down like seven suns, and the aroma was in full bloom.

I breathed through my mouth and tried to overcome the nausea. We walked past the fruit section (sickly sweet), then the meat section (sickly savory), the salt fish section (bang!), and then the fresh fish building (BANG!). The sidewalk was swaying a little, lapping at my feet like a small river, but I kept walking.

That's when I saw him. A shirtless man stumbling across the street, holding his stomach. Bright red blood running through his fingers and spattering the road. He careened over to a couple of policeman and started pointing and yelling. His hot blood marred the pavement, flowing freely from the deep stab wound in his lower abdomen. A crowd began to gather and I ushered George away. Miraculously, George didn't see a thing, even as we stepped over the crimson flow.

I hurried us into the market, trying to process what we had just seen, but no rest for the nauseous. Fish monger upon fish monger yelled at us to check out their stuff, trying to sell us everything from a five-foot-long catfish to a mess of piranhas, from a small shark to a large stingray, from a bag of shrimp to a bag of gills.

We escaped the fish market, but there was no peace to be found in the open market. We squeezed our way past hundreds of booths and were offered more wares: some regional cologne, a large goat, a model boat. We wander for a while, and I 'chat' with a few people in fragmentary Portuguese, then my cultural tank is full, and it is time for a break.

I am not the kind of person who throws the idiom hustle and bustle around very often, but in this case it fits the bill. The hustle and bustle of the market was almost too much. Beware, I could toss out a part and parcel and maybe a rack and ruin at any moment.

We turn our noses toward The Estacao das Docas, a fancy tourist spot located in some refurbished warehouses--just the place to regain composure. Here one can enjoy air conditioning, cheese-flavored ice cream, and a cappuccino, as well as clean bathrooms and a little peace and quiet. Although it is right next door to the market, it is continents away in atmosphere.

As we stroll through the gates and are about to head inside, I stop to get my camera out of the backpack. It is then that I realize my wallet is gone.

On the bus ride home, I thank the Lord that we had just enough loose change for the bus fare, that I didn't lose very much money, and that the pickpocket didn't get my camera. George responded well to the whole event , "That wallet was old anyway, you needed a new one, and we can make some ice cream when we get home". But what about my coffee?!

We're Koo-Koo For Cacao Pods

Adventures in Tropical Fruit

Chapter 1

On one of our recent walks around campus, we found a ripe Cacao ('kuh-cow') fruit. It is where cocoa comes from, except we don't call it that down here, because the word 'cocoa' means feces. After cracking the pod, we sucked the incredibly sweet pulp off the seeds. I guess if we were really dedicated we would let the seeds ferment, then dry them, roast them, polish them, and make milk chocolate out of them. But this time we just marvelled at how sweet the pulp is and how bitter the seeds are.

The Whine of Procrastination?

I was hoping that this blog would be spectacular, as it has been sloshing around in my brain for a month, but alas, as it percolates out of my fingers, I fear age has not improved the overall quality. So here it is, more stale cola than fine wine, a month of blogging that has been hanging over my head like a flock of vultures. Speaking of vultures, as an English major, I have spent a lot of time analyzing literature, trying to find recurring symbols, themes, metaphors, etc. These literary devices are intentionally used by the author to create meaning, mood, etc. Vultures, like ravens, are often used in literature to symbolize death or foreboding. So how am I supposed to feel on my way to class, when I look into the sky and see the buzzards circling, sometimes as many as 20. I am getting self conscious about my teaching. Do my lesson plans stink that much, or am I getting just a little hypersensitive?

Vulture picture courtesy of George Stewart

Life has been a lot like Mr. Toad's Wild Ride at Disneyland. It is like we are in a slightly uncomfortable car, we have a steering wheel that doesn't actually work, and each erratic turn brings a new, exciting, or slightly terrifying sensation. Right as you are adjusting to the new scene, another improbable turn, and another new experience. Really the only difference between our life in Brasil and Mr. Toad's Wild Ride is that the ride lasts several minutes before bursting into the sunlight, where as ours keeps going on and on. We are enjoying most of the ride, although there are those moments, like the Disneyland ride, that are a little bit like hell. Yet always, always Jesus is ever close.

Several weeks ago, George and I took a trip to the Ver-o-Peso, a famous fish market in Belem. We marvelled at the powerful smells, amazing tropical fish, and the intense activity. Of course, we bought only the essentials: a soccer ball, a kilo of shrimp, hot peppers, and fireworks. Here are a few images from our excursion.

The last several weeks have been full to the brim. The graduates are all graduated, the finals are over, most textbooks are accounted for, and we are all ready for a break. My first "year" of teaching was such a blur...feels like about six weeks. We also celebrated AVA's 50th anniversary last week. Many alumni and former teachers flew in, and it was great to hear about their experiences here. The whole class of 1971 showed up, and as our director said, "We want to thank him for being here." This school has quite a legacy, and we are excited about being a part of the Lord's work here.

Pomp and Circumstance

Jill's interactive place mat design for the Senior Banquet

Teachers Past and Present

Hopefully it will be less than a month before you hear from us again! We will defy the heat, the weather, and technical difficulties (such as mangoes falling on the WiFi repeater) to write to you again--soon!