41 Marrara
Rick Bein
THE WORST THING I EVER ATE
By
Rick Bein
It was 1974. I had been in Khartoum, Sudan for a couple of weeks when I had the opportunity to travel into the rural area. Chris Winters, another American Geographer teaching at the University of Khartoum for the past year in Sudan, arranged for the trip to a village a two hours out in the desert. The villagers were honored to have American professors in their homes. Our host family prepared to have the best food and accommodations possible for us.
Sudan-administrative-map Copyright © 1998-2021 nationsonline.org. This village sits 30 miles north of Khartoum along the Nile.
Waiting for dinner, our host and several of his friends kept us company while we tried to be the best of guests. A plate of “marara” was served while the main food dishes were still being prepared. Marara is a traditional hors d’oeuvre in parts of Sudan and is made up of raw sheep organs covered with chili powder.
Example of Sudanese Marara made of raw sheep entrails tempered with slices of onions. Photo by Abdulaziz Muhamad.
My host gave me first choice of this variety of delicacies. I looked with alarm for Chris, but he somehow had disappeared, and I realized that I was to experience this new situation alone without guidance.
My highest choice would have been to thank our hosts and not take anything, but I felt that I would offend them by not being a gracious guest. I rationalized that “Maybe the chili powder will kill any living parasites or bacteria.”
I quickly scanned the array of blood fresh body temperature entrails including liver, heart, kidney, testicles, gallbladder and an unknown that I carefully chose because it seemed to be the smallest and least disgusting. (I learned later that is was the epiglottis) Not wanting to delay the process by thinking about it too much and becoming sick with the thought of it, I popped the inch long organ into my mouth and began to chew. I wanted to get this over with and if I could break it down to a size that I could swallow, I would be done with this little ordeal.
To my dismay I found this tiny organ was like chewing on an inch of garden hose and what’s more when it came in contact with my saliva it began to swell. Finally, I bit down harder than usual creating enough pressure to squeeze out some kind of bile which squirted into my throat.
Desperately, fighting the urge to retch, as my mouth became fuller and fuller, I frantically tried to think of a way out. Finding none which I thought would keep me in the good graces of my hosts, I took one desperate gulp and the mass of glop slowly slid down my throat.
I had passed the test. However, our hosts were delighted to see how quickly I had taken to one of their delicacies and eagerly offered me another piece. There was no way I was going to repeat this performance and I was highly relieved when my host accepted my sheepish “No Thank you”.
Back in Khartoum I related the experience to some of my Sudanese friends. They proceeded to gag and laugh and explained that they never eat marara and informed me that in fact, it would not have been considered offensive had I refused to eat it in the first place!
