Eating termites

This morning while visiting with the Principal of a local tertiary institution (something like a junior college in America), a lady who works in the building came running into the office where we were meeting, gleefully holding a sauce pan full of fried "ants" (actually termites).  The next few seconds passed without words, but she and I very obviously exchanged messages with each other.  Though meaning ... deep meaning ... was clearly, effectively, and immediately communicated, neither of us could plumb the depths of the source of each other's deeply held beliefs.  She seemed to be as mystified at my spontaneous reflex of disgust as I was at her delighting in what cannot, in my mind, conceivably be classified as food.  It was a fascinating moment.

I was reminded of the introduction of a book by Eviatar Zerubavel entitled, Social Mindscapes An Invitation to Congnitive Sociology, where he discusses the role society plays in shaping our thinking - even in such things as what is to be legitimately considered food.   "Why do we eat sardines yet never goldfish, ducks yet never parrots?  Why does adding cheese make a hamburger a "cheeseburger" whereas adding ketchup does not make it a "ketchupburger"? And why are Frenchmen less likely than Americans to find snails revolting?"  To his list of questions I might sincerely add, "Why do Ugandans find such delight in eating grasshoppers and termites and yet cringe at the thought of eating crawfish?" 

But this is the season for termites ... and the season for delectable delight for those Ugandans who enjoy them.  The rains push them out of the ground by the millions - millions and millions. They fly around and, well, I'm not sure what they do after that because I'm shut up in the house trying to avoid them.  All I know is that the next morning there are gazillions of individual wings floating across the ground in the breeze.  Their light membrane shape reminds me of those seeds that twirl and float down out of the pine trees at home in Mississippi. I suppose at some point in this process people go about gathering them up and cooking them, but up till now it has escaped my notice.

An expat friend of mine told me that their three sons were persuaded one evening recently by their young Ugandan friends that these termites were the best things they will ever eat.  In the early morning hours just after their induction into this new fraternity of insectivores, their young friends came knocking on the window to get them to join in "harvesting" the insects and frying them for breakfast. Each one of them, with the enthusiasm of a young Indiana Jones, ran into the yard and collected a bag full of these tasty morsels.  Some time later, the youngest (4 or 5 years old) came busting through the door with tears streaming down his face.  His mother worriedly asked him what was wrong and he bellowed out, "(sniff, sniff) I don't think I like terrr-miiites (boohoo)".  

It's ok, Zak, I don't think I like them either.