“The sharp green mango bitten in turns,” writes Senegalese author Mariama Ba in her novel So Long a Letter. I am drawn to the imagery in those words, the vision of two young African girls in school uniforms passing an unripe mango back and forth between them, savoring its tangy flavor on their tongues.
I arrived in Sierra Leone at the end of mango season, and it is only now that the trees are growing heavy once again with bright green fruits. My students have assured me that once the mangos are ripe, they will bring me more than I can eat. I believe them, since that was the case with oranges at the height of orange season. But in the meantime, I watch the unripe mangos on the low hanging branches, tempted to stretch out my hand and take one. I see people walking around eating those mangos all the time, but I have the sense that it’s like eating the cookie dough before you bake the cookies – not really good manners, but delicious and absolutely worth a mild belly ache.
My initial craving for a green mango was based mostly on curiosity. I wanted to know what a “sharp green mango” tasted like. I was pleased when one of my JSS I students offered me a bite of his mango after school one day. The inside of an unripe mango is white and crisp like an apple. It is deliciously sour. The skin is smooth and soft and can be eaten. As the mango ripens, the inside grows orange and sweet; the skin toughens and takes on a reddish hue.
Ripe mangos are delicious and worth waiting for, but that doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the occasional green mango. After all, it’s not like I would ever make chocolate chip cookies without taking a few bites of the unbaked dough anyway.
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