"What are you going to do with that fish?"

Amos, a man that works at the apartment-complex we stay at who has become a good friend, asks me, “What are you going to do with that fish?”

We are walking back from the market on Benson Street in Monrovia where I had just purchased a small fresh fish. I find myself miming with my hands when I speak even though Amos speaks perfect English, Liberia is an English-speaking nation. I picked up the miming habit from my time in the Peace Corps, teaching English in the Republic of Georgia, and now it has become a terrible habit of speaking with my hands even when I don’t need to.

“Well, I usually just filet a fish and then fry it with a little oil. Sauté it.” I say, miming the fish with one hand and the knife with my other hand.

Amos disagrees.


We decide instead that Amos will show me how to make a local style of fish soup. It’s called ‘Pepper Soup’ because it calls for several of the very hot habanero-ish local Liberian peppers.

Back at the apartment Amos de-scales the fish and cuts it into width-wise chunks unlike the traditional length-wise cut of a filet. The upside is of course you keep more of the fish, the downside is that all of the bones are still there.

I bring a small pot of water to boil on our propane stove and add the fish, head included. Then we add the other ingredients: half an onion cut into strips, two chicken bouillon cubes, 6 Liberian peppers, a plentiful portion of salt and finally some black pepper. I also prepare a small bowl of rice because Pepper Soup is meant to be served with rice.

Unfortunately I do not have time to eat the soup after it’s finished, instead I am late to see the England vs. USA game of the WorldCup at a nearby bar. The soup waits until morning in our fridge.

In the morning I discover that the soup is almost too spicy for me but has an amazing broth. The cooking style makes sense to me. A good broth is more important when meat is so expensive. You can add more water and feed more people if the broth is that good. To filet a fish and throw away the head seems wasteful now.


-


When telling the story to my Mom over the phone she asked, “Well what do you do with the bones?”
“You spit them out” I said smugly. It seemed so obvious to me by then; my third week in Liberia.