The title of this thread reminded me of something I hadn't thought of in years, a time when I introduced a strange food to a group of people. The food was popcorn and the people were Djuka children in a village towards the head of the Marrowijne River, about seven days upriver from the Caribean coast by dugout canoe.

THe Djuka are descendents of Africans slaves (they prefer to think of their ancestors as having been prisoners of war)who fought their way free in a rebellion at the end of the 17th century and resettled in the bush, a very thick rainforest.

A friend who has had much more experience in pre-technological cultures than I did made several suggestions that she felt would be useful in the villages to which I was going. One was to learn how to do complex string games based on Cat's Cradle (hear that kat and Cats?) and to bring dried popcorn. Both turned out to be very successful techniques for ewstablishing contact but the popcorn was especially fun.

It must have been just about seven one evening, just after dinner. Being so close to the equator, sunset is always around six and so is sunrise. A group of children approached our hut rather timidly and stood just far enough away to feel safe but close enough that they could observe everything that went on. When I invited them closer, they moved in a little but they were not comfortable around our little group of white people.

Actually, one of us was Afrcan American but the people in the village referred to her in the same way they did to us, Bakra, "white". So few outsiders had ever been to this village tha the language really hadn't developed a way of distinguishing between European outsiders by our color.

Anyway, to try to make contact with the kids, I took out some popcorn and made a show of pouring a cup or two of those hard little popcorn kernels into the pot. The rattle as they hit the bottom made it clear to them that these were tough little objects. In their experience, things like that would have to cook for a long time.

I put the pot on the fire and the kids watched. They knew something was going to happen but they had no idea what it would be.

When the first kernel popped, hitting the lid, they jumped nervously and then smiled nervously as their own discomfort. They shuffled a little in the dirt with their bare feet, waiting. Then another kernel popped and they got very curious. There was something going on inside that closed aluminum pot and they couldn't figure out what it was. Was there something alive in there?

As the popping grew more frequent they began moving in and as the sound changed quality as the pot filled witht he cushioning of previously popped corns, it didn't sound so threatening. They grew closer and began talking among themselves, trying to guess what was going on inside.

When the popping slowed down, I took the pot from the fire and holding it by the bail I took off the cover. I made sure that the children would have a good view of the inside as I raised the top.

When I opened the cover, it was as though I had performed a magic trick. The children gasped and then began giggling when firelight showed that instead of those hard little kernels, the pot was now filled with some white, fluffy material. They watched to see what I would do next.

I took some salt and sprinkled it over the corn. Then I did something that they were totally unprepared for, I ate some. I then passed it to the black woman in my group and to the group leader. I offered some to the boatman and to the translator who were all familiar with popcorn already. THen I held the pot out to the children.

A particularly adventuresome boy of about nine or ten came forward. I had already noticed him because he always seemed to be at the head of groups watching us. He took one kernel and tried it. The children of the village watched him closely to see what would happen. He let it soak for a moment in his mouth and then chewed down on it. He was clearly delighted by the new taste and texture. When I offered him more, he took several, The other children became bolder and they tried it. Soon they were crowded around me, reaching nto the pot for more wothout any shyness, alughing and talking, enjoying the totally new experience. Their parents who had been watching from the darkness just beyond the firelight came forward drawn by their own curiousity. Our relationship was the village was established thanks to several hundred kernels of popcorn squireled away in a back pack three thousand miles away. (Of course, when the Djuka served me piranha, they didn't think it was an unusual food.)

Sourdough