Things that Crunch…

I hope this finds you well, hydrated, and not suspicious of the things that crunch where they shouldn’t. Actually, a little suspicion is healthy. It means you’re still alive.

I’m back home for work. (Yes, actual work, not the kind where you sit in cafés and call it “thinking.”) We’re running some sessions on alternative proteins – very serious things involving sustainable foods and nutrition, climate change, and those charts that make donors nod slowly. But the real work, as I’m discovering, is convincing grown adults that eating insects will not end their lives. Or worse, their dignity.

Yesterday, we had a tasting.

The farmer who supplied the crickets arrived early. A calm man, the kind who looks like he has accepted everything life has given him, including drought, taxes, and now, people like me asking him about cricket feelings. He carries a bucket. Not a fancy one. A kawaida bucket. The kind that has seen things.

Inside: crickets.

I try to look professional. I have, after all, written proposals about this. Used big words like sustainable protein systems and circular economies. But nothing in my research prepared me for the moment a bucket opens and the thing you have been calling “protein” suddenly has legs.

Many legs.

Someone next to me whispers, “Ziko hai?”

The farmer says, very gently, “Zilikuwa.”

That “zilikuwa” does something to the room.

Anyway, they have been processed; cleaned, dried, roasted. There is even a flour version, which everyone prefers because, apparently, once you remove the face, morality also disappears. You can eat anything if it no longer looks at you.

One lady refuses completely. She says, “Mimi siwezi kula kitu yenye ilikuwa inaruka ruka kama mapepo.”

Fair.

Another one says she tried once but couldn’t get past the “crunch.” Not the taste. The sound. “Ni kama unakula radio,” she says.

I don’t know what that means, but I respect it.

Then there’s a young guy, very confident, the type who calls everything “easy.” He takes a handful and tosses them into his mouth like groundnuts. “Hii ni kama njugu tu,” he says.

We all watch him chew.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

He slows down.

You can see the moment where confidence meets reality. The eyes shift slightly. The jaw hesitates. But he cannot go back now. There are witnesses. Pride is a powerful preservative.

He swallows. Smiles. “Ni poa,” he says, but softer now. More reflective. Like a man who has seen something.

Then it’s my turn.

You see, I cannot stand there and talk about protein quality, iron bioavailability, and environmental sustainability while hiding behind PowerPoint. Integrity demands sacrifice. Also, people are watching.

So I pick one.

It’s light. Deceptively so. Like it’s pretending to be nothing.

I put it in my mouth.

And then—

Crunch.

There it is.

Not violent. Not unpleasant. Just… present. A small announcement. “Hello. I was once a being.”

I chew again. Slowly. Respectfully.

The taste? Nutty. Almost familiar. Like it wants to be accepted. Like it has tried very hard.

I swallow.

And just like that, I have crossed over.

I am now the kind of person who eats insects and says things like, “It’s actually quite good.”

Which is how you know life can humble you.

Later, the farmer tells me, “Hizi vitu zina nguvu sana.” That they are full of protein, iron, all the things we keep telling people to eat more of. That they use less water, less space, and don’t complain. (Unlike cows, I assume.)

I ask him what people say when he tells them what he does.

He laughs. “Wananiuliza kama nimeishiwa na chakula ingine.”

And maybe that’s the thing.

We think food must look a certain way. Must feel familiar. Must not remind us that we are, at the end of the day, animals eating other things that were once alive.

But here we are. A world getting hotter. Resources getting thinner. And somewhere in a bucket, a quiet solution is waiting, minding its own business.

Crunching, softly.

Anyway, I just wanted to share this with you. In case one day you are offered something small, brown, and slightly judgmental-looking.

Try it.

You might find that courage also has a texture.

And a sound.

Crunch.

May your days be filled with unexpected nourishment.

And may you always be brave enough to taste new things.

In fact, Happy Crunch day.