Packed Lunches

Anna and I studied abroad in Kenya with the School for Field Studies in 2009. Our school was very rural, ten miles from the closest small village, surrounded by electric fencing to keep out elephants. We had breakfast, lunch and dinner every day but when we went out for field work or if you wanted a snack when the kitchen was closed, you had to make yourself a sandwich. 

When I opened the call for submissions, Anna’s blew me away:

To me, sandwich can only mean one thing:

PB&J sandwiches during field trips at SFS in Kenya, back in 2009. I'd never had PB&J sandwiches before (and I don't think I've actually had a proper one since - I've only had the half-assed "tartine" version, with only one slice of bread. What can I say, my Frenchness came back when I left Kenya). That fluorescent, artificial - but oh so satisfying - jelly. That crunchy PB (well, on the lucky days at least - I remember pretty serious fights about whether we should ask Judy to order crunchy or smooth PB). All spread meticulously over whole wheat bread and packed with infinite care and love into my white and red Tupperware, along with the carrot and cucumber sticks and coconut "Nice" cookies. All at 6 am, with that unbelievable golden light shinning on the volleyball pitch behind the sandwich-making table, and the whole bush chirping and fully alive, acting like it was the middle of the day, while I was still feeling pretty proud of myself for managing to get out of bed so early. And then, the magical moment: when we stopped for lunch after hours of hiking or game driving, and I took out that slightly squashed (but never soggy! I always wrapped it in the bread bag to keep it safely insulated from the veggies) sandwich, which had been patiently bidding its time in my backpack. So much of the joy, and giddiness, and feeling of being really alive that permeated those months at SFS are packed in that PB&J sandwich. 

Anna Law appreciates multiple passports, library dance parties and enthusiastic eating.