The King of All Fruits

If somebody were to ask what is the king of all fruits, many would not know how to respond to such a query having never considered giving a fruit a name of such praise. Others, the ones who rightly personify their foods, would pridefully defend either the apple, orange, pineapple, or other petty fibrous protectors of seed. Well I can attest that the only fruit that was ever given divine right was the mango. I know the other six Jesuit Volunteers whose faith has led them to a part of the world which cultivates and nurtures this heavenly being as well as most Belizeans would agree with this statement and would consider the papaya and grapefruit to be on the lower end of the social hierarchy of fruit. And so should you.

First of all, unlike fruits that are available year round, the mango only graces us with its presence for a few short months. I say short because what has already been a surreal rendezvous will be over before I even know it. Though this is sad, waiting in expectation for something that brings so much pleasure and fulfillment allows one to really savor and appreciate its existence. The “weeping and wailing” that comes towards the end of mango season, as Henri Nouwen, a spiritual writer who I am sure was making Jesus a metaphor for mangoes, would say, “becomes the purifying preparation by which we are made ready to receive the joy which is promised to us [next season].” The mango, therefore, speaks to the human condition of longing for something that it purely beautiful. The pains that come with it are testaments to the joy and grace it will bring.

On a more sensible level, this fruit which is referred to on a superficial level as “a” mango, comes in a myriad of shapes, colors, tastes, and sizes all of which possess an individuality and uniqueness of its own. There are probably at least fifteen different varieties in Belize, if not more. Their names resemble their shape (such as the Slipper mango), their taste (the Apple mango), and color (the Black mango, which is actually green, and the Blue mango). The names of some mangoes don’t even have a logical explanation let alone a sensible title (such as the Number Eleven).

My affair with this fruit officially began last Friday. My second form social studies classes went on a field trip to the Blue Hole, a small pond in the forest fed by an underground river, and St. Herman’s Cave. On our way back to Belize City we stopped in Belmopan for lunch. The bus let us off in the market. I descended from the bus and saw that nearly every stand was selling one variety or another of this fruit. Mango season began.

Mrs. Tillet introduced me to the Number Eleven, her favorite, the Slipper, and the Haden mango. I found it fascinating that a fruit that I considered to have a standard flavor, could have diverse tastes, textures, and aromas. From that point on I tried to remember the shape, color, and flavor (if it was subtle or robust, tangy or sour, and the degree of sweetness,) so that I could become a mango expert myself and impress some Belizeans. Whenever I went to the market this week I asked vendors if they could tell me differences between each mango. Unfortunately, they’d either give me awkward stares, wouldn’t know the name, or were Chinese or Spanish, didn’t speak any English and would faithfully repeat “mango” whenever I asked a question. My attempts of finding a mango guru were, as one could say, “unfruitful,” until today.

This afternoon I was gluttonously gorging on some mangoes in the staffroom at school. Mrs. Hyde who sits a couple of desks away from me asked if she could have one. Wanting someone else to take part in this small but aesthetically pleasing feast, I happily obliged. I gave her what I believed was a Black mango. She told me in a serious tone that “dat de no da wan black mango!” She grasped it from my hand, cupped it in her’s, anxiously brought it to her nose and with a stern face sniffed it like someone who is a connoisseur of such fruits.

“Dis smell laik wan hairy mango,” she said (at this I began chuckling under my breath). “No, no it too sweet.” She bit the end, pulled the skin off with her teeth, and sucked out some of the juice. “It da sweet...... but no... no... ,” she was saying as she examined the specimen for any more clues that would reveal its identify, “eh ga no hair... dis da wan Judgewig mango! Yes da Judgewig.” “It sweet (she said sternly and took another bite)..... juicy (slurping the juice that was running down her hand)..... and no hair (she said this part with a smile on her face and an elation in her voice as if she is talking to a baby).

Excited by her knowledge of and passion for mangoes, I enthusiastically asked her to tell me all the varieties, how they can be identified, and what they taste like. A couple teachers laughed at such a question and so did she. Wanting to get specifics, I defined my question more narrowly by asking her about the Haden and the Hairy mangoes. I had Haden a couple of times and remember its tart flavor and dark aftertaste. I was eager to see if her description matched mine. However, she said the Haden has a subtle flavor. I asked why mine tasted differently. She explained that a mango can be picked and eaten during one of four stages: when it’s not ripe, turned, ripe, or overripe. Supposedly you can differentiate between a mango that was picked and eaten when it was ripe and one that was picked when it turned, ripened, and then eaten. I’m still unclear on the difference between ripe and turned. The Haden mangoes I ate were probably picked before they turned and then ripened afterwards. That would explain their tartness. I now realize that my attempts to classify each mango according to taste these past two weeks were hindered by the time it was picked. I was very disappointed in myself but understand that I still have at least a month to develop a fluency in this area.

The conversation then evolved into the Julie Mango, the sweetest and most pleasant of all mangoes to eat. A couple teachers were sighing just at the sound of its name. I was told that the Julie mango has a beautiful yellow color. Its flesh is juicy but not soft and it free from stringy fibers found in the majority of mangoes. However it is not easy to come by. Mr. Middleton despondently told me how she was only able to find one Julie during mango season last year. After that everyone was became silent. I’m sure many of the teachers were silently reminiscing about the times they came in contact with the Julie or that one perfect mango—the one that for them embodied heaven on earth.

I still have a lot more to learn about mangoes and experimenting with different recipes. But I hope after reading about my encounters with the mango, you can see that any fruit that can rouse such passion, dedication, and longing must posses some godly quality. For that reason, I urge you to strip yourself of any pagan loyalties and exalt the Mango as the one and only king of all fruits.