Mama Momo
When I was in Lhasa my friends discovered an innocuous little shop on some side street that made the best momos ever. Momos are little potato balls, often with a meat center, and they are so good. What first attracted them to the shop was a funny English slogan on the window, though now I can't remember what it said. Sorry. "Flied potatomomos" or something. This shop was run by an elderly Tibetan woman, and a nun who helped her in the afternoons. They were the sweetest ladies ever. We named the elderly woman Grandma Momo, though she preferred Mama Momo, and she was always happy to see us and would often not accept our payment, no matter how hard we tried to give it to her- a few dollars to us can go a long way there. So we visited and did our best at commuicating. I always make it a point to (at least) learn how to count to ten in whatever language the country I'm in uses, so I amused her by counting to ten in Tibetan, a very difficult language. She was always laughing at us and getting us to tell her how to say words in English, then she would repeat them and giggle endlessly. Oh yeah and she was amazed at the presence of hair on my arms and . . . other places. She would rub my arms and laugh, and the nun would come and do the same and it was all quite hilarious to them. The nun even lifted my shirt to see what was underneath, which I'm pretty sure is unnunnish behaviour, but fine by me.
Here is a photo of Mama Momo, I love this picture but I can not take credit for it- my friend took it. And here is a picture of her nun helper making some momos. If the pictures don't open, just hit the refresh button until they do- my photo site has been acting pooey lately.
I bring it up because I finished reading that book I mentioned the other day about Ama Adhe, the Tibetan woman who was imprisoned for 24 years by the Communists. The cover photo on the book reminds me of Mama Momo. Although when I compare the two, I see there is really no resemblance.
I think unnunnish is my new favorite word. Hmmm . . . hold on, I feel a poem coming on . . .