Who's on First, What's on my Plate?

There are a million things that happen in a day that make me laugh, and most of them revolve around food. I’m usually laughing alone, because what I find funny is totally normal to everyone else. My cue that something is a little different is when the teachers pause to observe my reaction after I put something in my mouth. I totally had a “Who’s on First?” moment today at lunch while Thy (pronounced tea) and I tried to figure out the name of some fruit. He placed the plate in front of me, and said “Wut”. I repeated what he said, thinking he was teaching me a new word. “Yes, wut,” he said. I was proud of myself and repeated it again, thinking it sounded similar to the word for water.
He kept looking at me, waiting for an answer, so I asked, “What?”
“Yes, what?” he asked, as he cocked his head.
“Oh, what- what is the name of this?”
“Yes, what?”
“I have no idea.” I never know what I’m eating.
We both started laughing – and this might be a “guess you had to be there” moment - but it’s a good example of most interactions. I still don’t know the name of the fruit – it’s like a grape with pink spiky skin, and it has a pit like a swollen watermelon seed in the middle.
The other day I thought I was gnawing on a root vegetable – it looked like a soft pumice stone and had a chewy, starchy texture like a potato. I asked what it was: “pig skin.” Mmmmm. I kept eating. I eat everything, and the cooks love me for it, but I have to eat gingerly. With a mix of four meats in one soup comes the challenge of navigating four different types of bones. Spitting them out gracefully is not my forte, and I usually end up with fish on my chin. Shrimp soup is kind of dangerous – their antennae (or whatever shoots out of their heads) are pretty long and get stuck in my throat. But really, we’re eating shrimp for lunch instead of corndogs and stale tater tots – I love it!
I also love that everything is handed over in a small plastic bag. We went to a potluck the other night, and my roommate wanted to stop for fish. We pulled into an ally where a few women had tents set up behind a building. There were wicker baskets containing fish of every shape, size and smell. Two whole grilled fish - completely stiff, curved and black, like old bananas with whiskers , were pulled off the skewers and thrown in a bag. Iced coffee and sugar cane juice – pour it in a bag. I’m always looking for hooks to hang my drink.
The last adventure with food made my stomach turn, and there were more gasps than giggles. When I got home the other night, our guard was getting food from a woman selling eggs, fish balls and hot dogs. He asked if I wanted some eggs, so I said sure. I was excited, and carried my little bag inside. They were still warm, and I had another little bag of pepper, limes and fresh cilantro. I cracked my egg on a plate… then started sorting through small strings, brown fluid, and little clumps that felt like clay. The yoke was there, yellow and chalky, but when I peeled away the layers, I ended up holding a tiny head, neck and beak in my hand. I couldn’t do it.