For supper, Gaynor and I ate an egg with cheese, bread and maybe peanut butter and jam.
I’ve always been fond of fruit, and Khartoum has an interesting variety of dates, grapefruit, bananas, guavas, oranges, and mangos. The cheese was not what we expected at home. Feta, a crumbly, salty cheese, was common. Delivery men brought it to the shops in large tins filled with brine. The shopkeeper weighed it in quarter- and half-kilogram amounts and put the cheese in thin plastic bags. When I got it home, I often rinsed it with water to get the salt out. After a hot, dry day at the market, it was just what I needed to replace the sodium my body had lost.
After a few hours in the scorching sun, upon returning home, I started drinking water. Notice I said “started drinking,” because I couldn’t stop after gulping the first glass. After the second glass, I might pause and sip the third one. Then the sweat would break out. It took from sixteen to twenty-four ounces of water, at least, to restore enough fluid to my body that I could actually sweat again. What a country.
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