I have now been living with my host family for 5 weeks and have had many adventures, as well as relaxing evenings with my family. I have come to learn their individual traits that make me love them even more and learning how to communicate with each member in their specific ways; sometimes with words, cooking together, winks of the eye, a hug, or maybe just listening to music together.
All those situations have beautiful moments and memories with them. But then there are other experiences that at first might not be thought of as beautiful. This is the case on the last Saturday that I had with my family. On Friday evening the night before I was hanging out in the dining room as normal, laughing with the family, mostly because of jokes either directed at Baba (Grandma) or myself, when Baba asks me if I will be around tomorrow. I sadly inform her that no, once again I must be gone for part of the day working on my Senior Thesis (a whole different story). She tosses her hand up and head to the side as she says “awww!” and then goes on to tell me why she is sad. She says “porc” (which means pig) and then gestures to her throat as if she is holding a knife. Oh dear. Instantly fascinated and not wanting to miss this I learn that they are going to start the butchering process at 8am. I am determined to be up and ready by then to see just how they plan on taking care of one of the two large pigs in the backyard.
That morning I wake up, quickly dress and head downstairs. I find them in their usual spots—Baba in the kitchen, Ady (Dad) outside putting firewood in the “centrale” that heats the house, Lili (mom) busy getting things organized, and as usual the two boys are still sleeping.
I am eager to help with whatever I can, but being the good Romanian hosts that they are they refuse my help and order that I should stand and watch. So I stand here, camera in hand, as they create a sort of platform outside (I learned later what that was for) and Baba comes out with food for the pig, his last meal.
I saw my Romanian Dad come out of the house with a large knife, the one I had used the night before to cut a few slices of bread, as Lili is tying a piece of rope around the pigs one leg. But I’m not quite prepared for just how speedy this Romanian family is, they must have done this a few times. Before I knew it, Lili, Ady, and the farm hand had the pig flipped on his side and Ady was already sliding the long knife straight into the pig’s throat. Never have I heard such a sound come from an animal before, and it just kept going.
What is going through my mind and how is my stomach feeling at this moment? Suddenly it dawns on me just exactly what I am seeing and at shocked at the fascination I feel instead of nausea. Watching this family work together so quickly and efficiently, everybody knows what to do, where to stand and what is happening next. I stand as close to the fence yet as close as possible to the action and watch with amazement and respect for these people. I watch them clean off the pig (now laying on the platform I had mentioned earlier) using a blow torch and salt, yet again, finding myself in amazement and awe rather than sick.
Later that day when I returned from senior thesis work I find Baba, as usual, in the kitchen. But this time the sight is a bit different. Laying on the table, yup, you guessed it, are all the organs and fat of the pig. But big fat is not just pig fat, it has a special name in Romania and they love to roast it above a fire—slanina. Over a fire it’s not too bad, tastes just like bacon. But there is Baba, cutting everything up into small pieces and setting it aside in a big bowl. I watch her with big eyes and she chuckles at my amazement. Soon Ady appears behind me with this contraption that he fastens to the table. One end has a crank and the other a small tube and immediately I understand what is going on. We are making sausages. Oh dear. This is the first time I feel my stomach flip but I quickly calm it down as I realize how resourceful they are. They are truly using every part of the pig and my respect for them grows.
Not all of it was an easy experience, however. While watching Baba add in salt and spices to the sausage mixture she urges me to try a piece, urges. In love and respect for her I take the piece and place it in my mouth. My teeth sink in and Baba, Lili, and Ady immediately start laughing upon seeing the look on my face. No matter how hard I want to quick swallow it and not offend them, my mind won the battle over the actual taste and thankful, with laughter, they hand me a napkin. Some things really are a mind-over-matter battle.
As I look back on this experience, I am just so thankful for my host family. They welcomed me in, laughed at my differences, laughed at their own differences, and were more than willing to take time out of their busy lives to spend with me.
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