Meeting Jenny

The cafeteria at my school likes to employ people from the surrounding community. As a result, you get to meet people in the cafeteria that you don't see elsewhere around campus. Since we are across the street from a seminary, and since the church on campus has a lot of international ties, the surrounding community can produce a lot of interesting people.

One of the ladies who works at the cafeteria is from Africa. She's not especially tall, and her slight build makes her seem smaller than she is, but she's noticeable because she's so friendly. She always smiles and says hello when I walk by. Still, until a couple days ago we had never talked more than to pass the time of day.

This week I got to know her a little more. I came up to the cafeteria one afternoon, when no one was there, and we talked over the counter for a while while she made pizzas. Speaking in a rich African accent, she told me that she and her husband have been here for several years while he has been studying at the seminary. Both their children were born here. Although her husband has visited Africa a few times since they left, neither she nor their children have been back, and it was clear that she was missing her country. It's not that she hasn't made a place for herself here, but when she talked, Africa was home. She worries, too, about her children growing up away from their heritage.

She was curious about my accent, especially when she found out I had never been outside the US. She said I sounded as if I'd just come back from Europe (which I took as a high compliment). It surprised her even more since I've been living in Tennessee most of my life. I explained that neither of my parents are from Tennessee, and that I'm careful about my English. And watch a lot of British movies. I made the comment that English is a goodly heritage which I try to preserve. She was pleased at that. She said it was encouraging to her, because she's trying to do something similar for her children: to teach them their heritage and keep them involved in their native culture while living away from home.

We talked about our Thanksgivings, and she told how her family spent theirs. Her culture has no Thanksgiving tradition of its own. Since she and her family are in the US, they decided to celebrate the holiday, but in their own fashion. So they got together with a group of friends, mostly foreign students in the area, and had a party and made "gaught" for dinner.

At that point I lost her. My puzzlement must have been evident in my face, so she repeated the word a couple of times. I still couldn't make it out.

"I don't think I've heard of that," I said dubiously. It sounded rather like "God," but that didn't seem right. I know Christians are meant to take the communion seriously and all, but surely this fellowship of believers didn't eat God for Thanksgiving dinner.

"You haven't had gaught before?" she asked. I was flummoxed.

Finally her co-worker (who is from Jamaica) came over and joined the conversation. "You've never heard of goat?" he asked with some surprise.

Oh! I felt foolish. "Well, yes," I said, trying to cover my ignorance, "but never as a meal."

They were surprised. How could someone have never had goat? I must try it some time. She said that it's not hard to find. They get their goat from a local farmer who goes to the little church on campus, which is their church as well as mine while I'm here. She said they have goat three or four times a year. I asked what it tastes like; she said it was very similar to lamb. Which makes sense, I guess.

Then she asked me if I'd be interested in joining them for a goat dinner sometime. Of course I said yes. So perhaps one of these days I'll be able to tell you for sure what it tastes like. I'll keep you posted.