Yesterday Rugi handed me an itty-bitty mango and gave me step-by-step instructions on how to eat it.
Rugi: Bite here. [I nibble off a piece of mango skin near the bottom]
Rugi: Spit. [I spit out the piece of skin]
Rugi: Suck. [I suck the mango juice and pulp out of the hole]
Pateh, who has been observing the proceedings: Mango fell on Binta’s shirt.
Rugi: Where?
Pateh: Here. [he points to the spot]
Rugi examines my shirt carefully, then turns to the mango in my hand and examines it carefully as well.
Rugi: It isn’t mango. It’s breast milk. Binta, Pateh is lying, you hear?
Me: Okay.
Rugi: It’s breast milk.
I wonder if "breast milk" is Rugi’s word for the milky white liquid that oozes out from broken mango stems, like “moons” was her word for stars, or whether that’s the generally accepted term. Because if “breast milk” is generalized to mean "any liquid produced by an organism for nurturing its offspring," then really, she's not far off.
No comments:
Post a Comment