Sensual City Studio

COLD MEAT 3

I got on the train, and began to wander through the train corridors. Suddenly, I had the feeling that it would be a longer trip than I had imagined.
Whole families were filling the gaps between seats. Walking through the train, I discovered three-storey compartments and row after row of bunk beds. I arrived at my seat. The man beside me saw my face (which must have betrayed the fact that my stomach wasn’t quite feeling up to such a long trip, alone), and offered me the window seat. We were seated four face to face with another four passengers, 50 cm away from other eight, and so on. A small fan moved its blades, but no wind seemed to follow its instructions. The train was now in motion, and, as if following an order, everyone took something out from their bags. A piece of… what was it? Now, I understood : dried meat. Dried meat in diverse forms: diced, in ribbons, and in flat rectangles of all sizes.
However the treats didn’t stop there. There were also chicken feet, available in white and black versions. Oh yes! They would eat the meat, gnawing off the flesh until they arrived at the bone, and then the fun would really begin. They would break the bones and suck out the insides in order to extract every last morsel. I was kindly asked, many times, if I wanted to eat some of these bones, probably because of my gaze, which was too inquisitive, and possibly interpreted as linked to a stomach that was craving some of this train food.
I opened the cola, and started forgetting that I had a sense of smell; I just wanted to forget everything. However, I had brought some dried soup with me, and there was a place on the train where you could get hot water. So, the next morning, I would be able to reconstitute the noodles and fit in with my travel companions, by slurping on hot soup.
I was shown that, throughout this long journey, I was never alone, I would be taken care of, and our differences were not  categorical differences. Later on, I wondered how a whole culture could derive so much satisfaction from sucking bones and gnawing away at dry meat. The answer made me love this culture even more than I could ever imagine. The answer was the love that parents give to their children.
In the past, Parents would tell their children that the bones were the most delicious part of the animal, in order to justify why they, the parents, were not eating the precious meat, which would be reserved for the children’s plates. In this way, several generations grew up believing that bones were more precious than meat, as they were never given them to eat.
I understood more closely the feeling of “community spirit” and “neighbourliness  ” in the lilongs during those unforgettable 18 hours of travel. I became a temporary part of a tight-knit community. Even without trying the bones. Yet they understood that I wouldn’t have the skills to enjoy this food, made for the road, for the transition from one story to another.