I knew something was wrong when there were no flies

A very good and close friend of mine is coming back home to Uganda for a couple of weeks. He told me I would be his first stop when he arrives and immediately I started thinking: what is the most Ugandan meal I can cook for someone who has been away for a while?

Fish. Yes! Fresh tilapia from Lake Victoria. Nothing beats that for sure.

So I went to the fish market to buy a nice big fresh fish. Many of us know what it is like at a fish market - the smell, the water on the ground with fish scales, smoke, women shouting prices and calling you auntie, mummy, mukwano (friend). And flies. Thousands of flies. Big fat blue and green flies buzzing everywhere.

I hate those flies so much. I dread them. The way they cover the fish and then land on your nose with their cold legs. Fish sellers sit there with small branches chasing them away. It is impossible to buy fish in peace at the fish market.

But this time something felt different. This was not the usual fish market... 

Then it finally hit me - there were no flies.

None. Not even one fly. The fish looked too clean. 

I was happy that I could finally buy fish in peace. Wow!

But hold on! Something felt wrong. Hold on! Why would there be no flies on the fish?

Huh! I then remembered those stories from years ago about formalin being put on beef to preserve it. Yes, there are outdoor butcheries where you ask how can meat fail to attract flies in this heat?

So I asked Goretti, the woman I buy fish from. "Have you put 'eddagala' on the fish?"

She immediately knew what medicine I meant. "Yes," she said casually.

I just stood there. Formalin. The same chemical used in mortuaries to embalm dead bodies. 

I asked her where they get it from. "The pharmacy," she said. I asked her if it is easy to get and she said it is readily available at the hospitals too. 

The pharmacy. The hospital. Hmmm.... Then she explained how they spray a little on the fish and it stays fresh longer. I asked her whether everyone does it. She shrugged and said many people do. 

At that point I was just disappointed because all I wanted was fresh fish for my friend returning home. So I asked her whether it is possible to get fish without formalin. She said yes. "Just call me before you come. I can keep some aside for you before they put the medicine." 

Before they put the medicine! Now formalin-free fish has a limited time window.  I mulled over that statement the whole morning, because what does it mean now?

It was then that I realised something strange. The flies that I used to hate were actually reassuring me. A fly has no reason to lie to you. If even a fly does not land on meat in Owino at midday, then perhaps we should investigate. The flies are an indicator that the food is fresh and without chemicals. The more I thought about it, the more disturbing it became. We have reached a point where decay itself has become artificial. Things no longer rot naturally.

My mind went to what we eat today... a lot now is preserved, enhanced, or modified. Milk takes forever to go bad. Tomatoes look beautiful and last months, chicken matures in six minutes, apples shine like they've been polished, watermelons glow in the dark.

The scary thing is how normal these conversations have become. We discuss chemicals in food casually in markets, laugh a little, buy the food anyway, and continue home because life has to continue. People have to eat. What exactly are the alternatives?

Now, I will probably be relieved when I see a few flies hovering over fish or meat because now I understand what flies mean. Imagine that is the point I have reached from where my feet are. 

In the end, I abandoned the fish idea completely and will take my friend for pork kikalayi instead because it does not get more Ugandan than that.