Fresh Fish

Several times a week, a man selling fish arrives by bicycle at the school.  One of the teachers catching my glance towards the fish he was displaying asked if I would like a fish for dinner.  Admitting that it would be nice but that I had no idea how to choose, Teacher Berna took charge.  Sending me inside she said she would bargain for my fish (I think she could get a better price if the mzungu wasn’t present!).  Several minutes later, she came inside and in a very mockingly serious voice announced that it would be 2,500 Tsh, but that it was a VERY large fish.  The fish was huge.  Teacher Berna took it to the kitchen and had them gut it for me, and then she handed me the fish holding it by some palm fibers that were tied through its mouth and gills.  I had no idea what to do with it until Ester, an older Mama who helps me with cooking and cleaning, could come and prepare it for dinner.  Searching through my kitchen, all my containers were too small to fit such an enormous fish.  Finally I settled on my only frying pan, laying the fish in it, the head sticking out on one side and the tail out the other.  Both pan and fish went into the fridge, although only after one of the shelves had been cleared off entirely.  Ester arrived in the afternoon and I showed her my fridge, opening the door to display the fish that fit just barely inside as well as its inadequate container, my frying pan.  I couldn’t help laughing at the ridiculous picture.  She seemed to take it in stride, asking how I would like to have it prepared and donning the apron that she usually wears. 

I thought that my surprises with the fish were pretty well over at that point.  I was wrong.  Coming into the kitchen to watch Ester  – she is a great cook and I like to learn from her - I found her attacking my fish with my largest knife, raising the knife up high and bring it down on the backbone behind the head of the fish.  The backbone seemed to momentarily defy both chef and knife, only giving in to Ester’s brute strength as she used both her hands to twist the head off.  Not knowing whether to look shocked or impressed I decided to leave it all in Ester’s capable hands.  As I turned to leave she asked if I wanted to make a fish head soup with the head on Saturday.  Having just watched her struggle, and having had quite enough surprises, I decided to opt out of that particular cooking adventure.  Using my basic Swahili I gave her the fish head, a trophy for her epic battle with the fish (the fish head is considered to be a delicacy here, particularly the eyes and the meat found right behind them). 

The meal that evening was spectacular – fish baked in the oven with a creamy tomato sauce and tomato slices placed artistically on top along with chips (French fries) and salad.  I opened a bottle of wine in honor of the occasion and felt like I was eating at a five star restaurant!