Rotten Salmon - by Monte Edwards

A great evening of fellowship and worship with our host church in Jos, Nigeria was wrapped around our evening meal. The concrete walls of the church trapped a blanket of stagnate, humid air that made my clothes wet with perspiration and tested the strength of my deodorant. Nigerians, on the other hand, typically did not concern themselves with such trivialities.  

While standing in line for dinner a particularly pungent odor burned my nose – one that reminded me of the rotting salmon that lined the banks of the Kenai River near my childhood home in Alaska.  A glance to the left and then the right cast suspicion on the Nigerian Pastor standing next to me.

A couple more steps in line brought me to a bowl of slimy green paste. As I plopped a spoonful on my plate, to my horror and embarrassment, I realized this was the smell – my dinner. I grabbed a big pile of bread and some salad in hopes of diluting the flavor.

With the back of my throat closed off to block my nose, I mustered my best manufactured smile and ate the paste with the greatest haste I could muster - only once did I have to choke back a gag that nearly revealed my disgust. 

I was back in Alaska a few years ago and took a walk down to where Soldotna Creek dumps into the Kenai River. The familiar smells ignited a flood of childhood memories that, now also included a swarthy evening, a plate of slimy green paste and a slightly repulsive ache in my stomach.