Eating hamburgers in Benin

We found the sliced, processed cheese first. From there we searched for ketchup. When we heard one of our moms knew where to find ground beef, we knew we had struck a gold mine.

We gathered at Dave’s house, the stagier whose mom had found the coveted boeuf ecrase. In a fashion similar to the US, the men grilled the hamburgers over the charcoal. And then the rest of the women in Dave’s family got a kick out of making the guys prepare the rest of the dinner. We fried some igamnes slices, our Beninoise twist on the French fry. Another stagier brought four Coca Colas, the one thing we have found so far here that is almost identical to the product you can find in America. (Although high fructose corn syrup does not exist here, so the soda is still manufactured with real sugar.)

We popped open the sodas and the seven of us gathered around the table while Dave’s host family looked questioningly at the patties of meat covered with melted cheese on the tray in front of us.

For a vegetarian, I get quite a number of cravings for hamburgers. Or that could be precisely the reason why. But in Benin, eating a hamburger is more of a statement of what it possible than a defiance of the nutritional values to which I’ve attained for the past four years. If you can make a hamburger in Benin, almost anything is possible.

We spent the rest of the night wondering how long it would be until we all ended up at the medical office in Cotonou with food poisoning.