My Ration Challenge Experience (Part 1)

In 2014, a group of Australians called Act For Peace decided to create an epic fundraiser for refugees. I imagine the conversation went something like this:

An opponent: “I just don’t think it’s that important to feed refugees when we already have so many hungry Australians to attend to first.”

 

Act For Peace: “How can you say that? Do you even understand what refugees go through on a daily basis?”

 

Opponent: “I bet it’s not even that bad.”

 

AFP: “Oh yeah? Care to put a…wager…on that?”

 

All jokes aside (because this is a very serious matter), the Ration Challenge has ballooned in popularity and efficacy since that first year. Now, the fundraiser has been extended to New Zealand, the United Kingdom and for the first time in 2019, the United States.

And you know that this rootin’, tootin’ American right here had to partake. It all started with a Facebook ad. A picture of two weather-worn Syrian refugees holding their ration packs was accompanied with the statement, “Eat like a Syrian refugee for a week and raise money for food, medicine and education.” Or something like that. I was intrigued. If anything, it sounded like a profound and empathetic way to help refugees. (God, at least I hope so. I’d be devastated if refugees felt affronted by privileged Westerners doing the Ration Challenge and griping about not being able to have a donut.) I figured that if the ration box was affordable, I’d go ahead and do the challenge.

It was more than affordable. It was free. If you register early enough, Church World Service (who helps to host the Ration Challenge) will send you the box for free. The entire Ration Challenge is one big honor system. They’re counting on you actually eating the rations. They’re counting on you actually raising the funds. They’re counting on you to actually earn your rewards and to use them accordingly. (Just a note: whenever you hit certain tiers in fundraising, you earn more ingredients, such as a spice, salt, a vegetable, a protein or a treat.)

When I saw how this organization operated, I felt I could trust them to further the cause of refugees. So, I signed up for a ration box, set up my fundraising page and prepared myself for whatever would come my way during World Refugee Week.

 

Pre-Ration Challenge Week

 

Because I was feeling miserable in May, I didn’t bother to start fundraising. I regret it now, because I could’ve raised so much more money. But, let’s go ahead and sidestep the multiple reasons for my misery and jump straight ahead to June.

The week before the Ration Challenge, I shared my fundraising page and an unboxing video of my ration box. With a few paltry ounces of rice, beans, chick peas, lentils and oil (plus two “coupons” that allowed me to go out and buy more rice and flour), I hoped to garner some sympathy for the daily struggle that refugees go through. (Another note: ration packs usually come with a can of sardines, but I opted for the vegan pack instead.) I didn’t expect much. But if you know me, I never stop trying. No matter how dismal a situation looks, I can’t find it in me to give up or give in. My efforts rewarded me, since my meditation teacher, my boyfriend, my little cousin and my mother were all touched by my cause and decided to donate. In my first week, I raised $132.50! That’s enough to provide five refugee children with a pack of school supplies and more.

That entire week, I shared Ration Challenge and refugee-related posts to garner as much sympathy as I could. But this wasn’t about the money. This was also about the awareness. If I could show my friends and family this one hellish aspect of refugee life, I could perhaps soften many hearts and minds. But I didn’t know the half of it until I got around to actually doing the challenge…

 

Day 1:

 

Unfortuantely, World Refugee Week started on Father’s Day. I thought about pushing the challenge to the day after instead. (Another note: challengers have the option of starting the challenge at anytime. As long as they finish fundraising by June 30.) But, in order to make this the most authentic experience possible, I had to roll with the punches. If refugees are forced to eat meager rations no matter how much effort they must exert on given day, then so must I.

As I expected, it was quite a hellish day. My dad wanted to go out to lunch, then to a Dodger’s game, then out for drinks. Because it’s such a meaningful day for him, I wanted it to be great. And no father’s Father’s Day is complete without all his children in tow.

But, that doesn’t mean that I was having the jolliest time. I was forced to drink nothing but water as I watched everyone around me getting miniature Dodger helmets filled with nachos or ice cream. But, that wasn’t even the worst of it. My beloved brought me In ‘N’ Out the night before, so the cravings hadn’t kicked in just yet. No, the worst part of it all was the noise and the people crowding all around me.

I’m an introvert. I like peace and quiet and…NOT people. Any event that forces me to be around people is mildly uncomfortable for me. Compounded with hunger, it’s torment. Compounded even further with only five hours of sleep, it’s hell. (I didn’t get much sleep the night before because I couldn’t stop dreading this day.)

And of course, my dear family, to make my experience even more burdensome, decided to drag me to a noisy bar in LA to have drinks afterward. It was one of those bars that are so small that you’re all pushed up against people all around you. And on top of that, the music was thumping so loud that you had to yell to talk to anyone. I don’t know what kind of person enjoys that atmosphere. I’m fully judging anyone that does. But, my dad said one drink only and I kept it together for him. I wanted him to enjoy his day, so I could manage to hold it together through one drink.

I endured it by frequently retreating to the quiet of the bathroom. Of course, I didn’t go outside because the cardigan and sundress I was wearing clearly marked me as an outsider. And why would you stand around looking like an outsider, clutching your purse on a sidewalk in LA? That just isn’t safe.

When I returned to find a second drink in my dad’s hand, I lost it. I screamed and yelled and said some hurtful words. And I regret it, but I constantly reassure myself that my family pushed me to that point. I was hungry, tired and I had a headache. I was done exerting emotional labor. My cup was empty and I couldn’t endure that day any longer.

Unfortunately, my night wasn’t over because I had to drive my dad to my house and on top of that, my boyfriend still wanted to spend a little bit of time with me. Fortunately, he’s quiet and accommodating. So, it wasn’t such a terrible way to end the day. But all I wanted was to sleep and forget that this day ever happened, if I was completely honest.

Right now, I’m not much in the mood to be thankful that I even have a dad to celebrate Father’s Day with or that I don’t have to evade bombs or whatever half-baked, insidiously self-serving platitudes people hit you with in order to invalidate your personal suffering. Right now, I’m doing the Ration Challenge while I still have depression and I don’t have the fortitude to care about anyone besides the refugees. But enough of my griping, right? Let’s get to the part that actually deals with the rations. Fortunately, I had the foresight to follow the meal prep guidelines in the Ration Challenge recipe book meal plan.

 

If I hadn’t prepared all this stuff ahead of time, I would’ve been more disgruntled to have to cook it all individually. Granted that I whined about other people’s--what was it? Something about half-baked platitudes? I’m thankful that I have a fridge and storage containers to keep all this stuff in and a microwave to heat it up in later.

 

For breakfast, I had a type of rice gruel called congee. When I sponsored myself, I had the option of using a spice in all my meals. I chose cumin. But no matter how much I seasoned my congee as I made it, it just came out so watery and tasteless. I’m a big baby when it comes to foods I can’t stand, so I almost threw up on the last few bites. The tastelessness of that congee and the water were imprinted in my soul. I never knew you could have an aftertaste of something that tastes like nothing at all.

Lunch was a lot more eventful. The mujadara (rice and lentils that I seasoned with cumin) was more filling and somehow, more flavorful. Combined with one flatbread, it was actually quite delicious. (At least, as delicious as a meal can be for a refugee. Or a Ration Challenger.)

The flatbreads added even more flavor to it. One of my fellow challengers posted about them in the Ration Challenge Facebook group, saying that they’re tasteless. Another mentioned that when you char them, they add a little flavor. Since I charred a couple of them, I decided to eat the charred ones first and to save the good ones for later. Turns out that the char combined swimmingly with the mujadara.

On top of that, I also earned a teabag as a reward for messaging five individual people about the challenge. (My tea of choice was Pau d’Arco, which is sweet and earthy.) I tried to maximize its use by steeping it two times. So, I made one batch of weak tea and one of strong tea. I decided to save the strong tea for Day 2, so I had the weak tea with Day 1’s lunch. No matter what the strength, the tea improved the meal by leaps and bounds.

 

After my grueling day, I simultaneously dreaded and relished the thought of my final meal of the day. Although my stomach clenched at the idea of eating flavorless rice again, dinner was a lot more bearable. Instead of congee, I just had plain cooked rice. Accompanied with three flatbreads and the remaining weak tea, it was delicious. However, not nearly as filling as I wanted it to be.

Overall, Day 1 mostly sucked because of what I had to do and not so much because of what I had to eat. But at the end of day, as long as I’m allowing people one tiny, muddy window into the experience of refugee life, I feel like my efforts have been fruitful.

 

Day 2

 

Fortunately, the second day of the Ration Challenge was far more merciful. I’m not employed full time right now, so I got to sleep until midday to catch up on the sleep I lost from the day before. Cravings still haven’t started to kick in yet, but I do have some pretty bad brain fog.

For breakfast, I had a third less of the congee I had the morning before. You’d think that was a bad thing because I’d have even less food to eat for Day 2. But, since the congee made me wretch, I was glad to have a smaller serving of it for breakfast. Now, I only need to eat it for one more consecutive morning, until Day 6. (Imagine being excited for the day you don’t have to eat runny rice for breakfast.)

Since I was still hungry, I had to keep myself busy in order to make it until lunch. I decided to work on this blog post and my little cousin’s Portuguese worksheets to keep my mind off of FOOD. (She never learned. And since I’m fluent, I’m teaching her how to speak it right now.)

After about four hours, I allowed myself to have some mujadara with two flatbreads this time and the stronger batch of tea. For a refugee, this is what a good meal must look like. Never have I relished such a small portion of something so simple and so unseasoned.

Until dinner, I had to keep myself occupied once again. I decided to clean my bathtub as well as my windows and mirrors and to cuddle with my beloved.

I must warn you, because eating is almost an involuntary reflex in most Americans, I almost had a bon bon from the box of See’s Candies that my boyfriend brought home. Luckily, I fought through my brain fog and remembered that I was still on the Ration Challenge.

The second half of the day was especially a beast. My hunger wasn’t as bothersome in the former half as it was in the latter. It’s not so much that I have cravings or that I want to shove junk food down my throat. I just want more rice, beans, lentils and flatbreads. That’s it. I just want one more helping to keep my hunger at bay.

Dinner was good, but it wasn’t satisfying. Once again, I had plain rice, two flatbreads and some strong tea.

 

As I write this right now, I’m trying to figure out how to stave off my hunger until 8 AM tomorrow. I may do some writing. (Even though my brain fog is especially terrible right now, I can always edit later.) Or I may go to sleep early and hope that my exhaustion is sufficient enough to keep me asleep until morning. I’ve got cramps in my legs, but fortunately, I don’t have a headache.

At the end of the day, I’m just grateful that I’m safe. I have a roof over my head. I don’t need to be exposed to the blistering days or the freezing nights. All my loved ones are alive and with me and I’m perfectly healthy. My fat ass is just learning what it’s like to starve. That’s all.

So, if any of you feel moved by this tiny glimpse into what refugee life may be like, please consider donating to my fundraising page: https://my.rationchallengeusa.org/savannahsalazar?fbclid=IwAR1ocmabQL3JtJDlRKoyIuxZ1Kzhwx_XR-zo6uhyE-YhaPh595B31WlXoAY

I’d appreciate the donations. But most importantly, refugee families around would appreciate them more. Until next time, I’ll be grateful for the chance to have lentil stew for tomorrow’s lunch.