We come back after a long day and there she is, in the very spot where we left her. Venus is crouched over a bowl on the dusty floor and her hands are still meticulously preparing the last touches for the meal. Her cooking assistants, two young girls with neatly braided hair, are giggling beside her in Creole. The kitchen is dark, but even though the sweltering sun doesn’t reach it, it’s still extremely warm. A drop of sweat falls down Venus’ right temple. “Mesi Venus,” we say as she brings out the bowls of food to the common area. Her striking beauty is evident as she smiles and nods shyly, making it look like cooking for one hundred volunteers was no big deal.
Dinner consists of rice and beans and one small serving of meat. Those of us who have been here the longest know the difference between the goat meat and liver, but we only learned that after our rookie mistake.
Haitian cuisine is not world-renowned, as it is quite similar to the foods of the region. But in Haiti, a country where people don’t have much, food holds great value.
A few days ago, an old man was so pleased with the new large tent we helped assemble where his family home once stood, that he ran off to fetch five small coconuts. His calloused, wrinkled hands hacked off the top of each coconut with a blunt blade in a swift, experienced motion, revealing fleshy coconut meat and hydrating water. After an exhausting day, drinking it was as refreshing as a taking a cold bucket shower. “Thank you,” we said. “No, thank you,” he replied as he flashed his crooked, toothless smile.
Ironically, in a country, where the circumstances have been anything but, Haitian cuisine is simple. People humbly make the most of what they have – every day. It’s not the tastiest food in the world, it's not the most famous, but it has character, just like its people. And right now, I’d do just about anything to be back there, sitting in the hot sun, cheering on a local game of soccer and eating a plate of Venus’ rice and beans.
