Open-air meal

I sat on my haunches, a respectful distance from the men as they congregated in a circle to eat their lunch.  The dust from the threshing machine was still thick in the air, almost like a miniture snow storm.  Bits of white powdery flakes clung to there clothing and nestled in their hair.  All was quiet except for the clinking of the packed lunches slowly being taken from tightly knotted cloth bags.

I watched closely as each lunch was opened.  Two enamel basins, one on top of the other, resembling small flying sauces.  One to hold the lunch and the other inverted to keep everything from drying out and spilling over. 

As the second basin was removed from the top, I could see what each man has brought from home.  All had the staple diet of mealie meal porridge with something extra included.  Milk to pour over the porridge, a helping of beans, a portion of spinich or pumpkin.  Only one man had nothing extra in his lunch pack.  Just the cold stiff porridge.  I remember feeling a great sadness as I watched him slowly dig his spoon into his basin.  I knew from my father that he was mentally slow, and I wondered if this was the reason why he had nothing more than just the stiff pap.

With the meal over and the basins stored away in their bags again, the talk amongst them was in quiet, muted tones, almost reverend.  A couple of cigarettes were rolled in brown paper and passed around the circle from one to the other.

I had the feeling of being in a giant open-air church or sitting in the presence of God.  It was a very special moment for me being close to these very dignified men and to vacariously take part in their humble meal.