A Single Grain of Rice by Nadia Kamrah
Imagine a place. A place of farm fields filled with little green plants, sprouting from the mud. Nearby a farmer tends new crops, while the sun remains high in the sky. In the center of the landscape lays a mighty water buffalo grazing through the vast muddy fields. Its muscular body moves slowly through the thick, gelatinized mud. Little sprouts and the occasional farmer dot the fields. Here in this place, this magical place … you can only hear the sound of the wind.
Far from my normal life, I have found myself in Hoi An Vietnam … across the world from everything I know. Today, I will try something I have never done before. This is something not many people know how to do, yet they rely on it for survival. Today, I will learn how to farm rice.
My fingers fidgeted with the buttons of the worn brown shirt that was lent to me. I sat and stared into the distance, beyond the walls of the farmhouse but found nothing other than rows and rows of rice, thriving despite the heat. My hair was tied back and a pair of rubber boots climbed up my thighs. I was filled with curiosity for what was to come in these muddy wetlands. I stepped out into the unknown, ever so eager to experience something new.
The kind farmer led us out into the heat of the day. We walked to the edge of the field, where solid ground met the silky mud. The man's father met us there, his deeply creased, smiling eyes welcoming. Next to him stood the beautiful water buffalo. My fingers traced his smooth, scorching skin. His big eyes watched me as I climbed up on his back. We towered over the land below us as he stepped through the mud. His name was Jack, magnificent and graceful, Jack.
Soon after I climbed off his back, I was balancing on a wooden platform attached to his rear, as we plowed across the mud. My legs shook as I held onto him, so as not to face plant into the murky sludge. I struggled to stay upright as we continued across the field. I’m still surprised I was able to.
When we finished, the next step was planting little seedlings into the ground, creating new life. With swift motions, we dug the small green sprouts into the mud, our fingers relieved in its coolness. Our tilted, uneven rows stuck into the ground as we attempted to make them stand upright.
We made our way back into the relief of the cool shade, and continued onto the next step. We took harvested rice and ran it through a grinder to separate the rice from the husk. Now we were faced with another issue, we needed to separate the rice from the empty shell.
My hands moved in a circular motion, clasping a wide basket full of the rice kernels. I attempted to copy the work that was being done in front of me. The mother of the kind farmer who we had spent the day with, moved her hands in a graceful motion that could only come from years of practice. I was a novice … in other words, I found myself picking up scattered seeds strewn across the floor. We labored for a long while until finally all we had were small grains of rice.
This work taught me that things don’t just appear with the snap of a finger, a swipe of a card. Somewhere in the world, someone is putting in the effort to create the food you eat. Someone is working every day so you’re not hungry. Before this experience, I didn't understand how hard it is to grow something. I had no idea how many steps were required to create something from nothing…. life saving food from a single seed. Many people rely on rice as a primary source of sustenance to keep them alive. It takes months for the seeds to grow into crops and into the food in your bowl. I didn't know how many days it took to prepare the landscape, the back-breaking work ... for only a single grain of rice.
