Muni...Who me?

The Boy who turned into a Muni bird is a story from the Papua New Guinea area about a little boy who asked his sister to give him a crawfish, she refused, again he asked, and she refused, again she asked, and as she refused the third time her brother began to turn into a Muni bird and fly away. Now she feels horrible, for everyday she can hear the cry of the Muni bird as her brother sadly cawing about how his sister did not share her food. Instrumented as a scare tactic to ensure that older sister's continue to provide for their little brothers' first, the story of the Muni bird is reflective of the food culture from which it sprang. Within this tribe they are ritualistic in their eating and often provide others with more than enough food during gatherings, using the coy "no thanks I have enough" "no really I insist!" "okay, I guess just one more..." as a way of showing gratitude and acceptance.

However, when the more than enough quota of food is not reached and a member is left "hungry" the closest translation for hunger implies solitude, emptiness and a degree of loneliness that can spiral someone into a depression. This sounds a bit familiar, America. As survivalists here in this dog-eat-dog world, Americans have been taught to pull themselves up by the bootstraps, get over it, and move on. Yet, we are not doing a very good job. People are more depressed and medicated than ever, more worried about bills and not having enough, more stressed day by day about relationships and how to keep back that creeping suspicion that there is more to life than mere survival.

I think about this sometimes when I see people eating alone at restaurants (not that there's anything wrong with that!) and then I think about people (especially age 36+ men) preparing a humble meal, maybe even a microwave dinner, and sitting down in their ritualistic position in front of the t.v., tuning in each day as a way not to feel left out. Why do we obsess over not having enough friends, not being in a loving relationship, or not being able to find Mr. Right, but then settle with the act of eating alone? The Papau New Guinea tribe knew that resources are better when shared, people are better when taken care of. Have we lost direction to what the real meaning of food is? In all major religions there is an act of sharing that revolves around food. And yet, the second that hunger strikes, Americans are quick to pull up to a drive thru window and grab whatever they can get there hands on. This not only leaves us still aching for something more, but it cheapens the very nature of food. Like a quick hooker, get what you need, but check all feelings at the door.

As we caw ourselves to sleep, feeling an emptiness inside, crying for someone to share in this moment, I can't help but wonder what if we all met up and talked about it over dinner. Then I wouldn't have to be making this gourmet meal for one and you wouldn't have to be feeling like there is no one out there in this whole wide world that cares enough to make enough and share with you.

We have more than enough food, just like there were more than enough crawfish, to share. Why are we so stingy? But more importantly, how can we reach eachother to pull us out of the depths of solitude for just a moment, in the act of sharing a meal? It is the people who have to power to give food meaning, which values are we as Americans perpetuating?

I have always thought about doing large spaghetti dinners... Food Not Bombs is also a group using the abundance of food as a means to reach out to others, rescuing the hungry from being alone.