The Inside Story: Are you worth your s-a-l-t?

WE ARE halfway through dinner at this swank hamburger joint when my cousin Sahir nudges my foot under the table. He’s caught our youngest aunt, all cool in her flared jeans and linen top, cooing to her fiancé in the manner of all foolish couples on TV. Sahir, on the verge of a gust of laughter, doesn’t want to be rude. He catches my eye, then gives me a fierce kick that almost takes my sneaker off. As I turn my head to catch them being comic, my elbow turns the salt cellar over, right into the bowl of ketchup!

“Throw a few grains of salt over your shoulder! That will keep evil spirits away,” shrieks my aunt superstitiously, jostled out of her dream world. Sahir and I pant with laughter. She’ll never guess what it’s about.

But why is salt so much a part of our daily lives, I wonder as we all drive home, each as stuffed as a tubby hamburger. “Like plants, human beings need salt as much as air and water,” whispers a voice under my anorak. “Without it, we’ll all die of dehydration…”

I recognize the voice. It’s Iffy, my secret best friend. Invisibly, clutching his hand tight, we flit away to find out more. “Isn’t it strange,” he says as we float over a laboratory, “that common salt or sodium chloride or NaCl is made up of two elements that are hardly life-supporting?”

 I shudder with fright as white-coated science students below us place some metallic sodium in water. It bursts into flames! Next, they place a cockroach under an upturned jar into which they release pure chlorine. I almost puke when it dies, as if poisoned.

”And yet, these two elements make up salt, which has made empires rise and fall,” notes Iffy.

What does he mean? “Some historians say that, wherever there was enough salt,” he continues, reading from a book taken from his gigantic pocket, “the rulers could govern well. Take Britain, which is surrounded by seas. But look at early Sudan, where southern tribes had gold mines, while those in the north had salt deposits…”

I gasp as we watch tall, lean warriors in colourful robes and every-coloured beads meet in central Sudan in those days. Each brought animal-loads of their precious commodity, placed in ceremonial heaps in the no-man’s land between them. With much bowing and scraping, amidst fierce, guttural calls, the salt and gold were traded, each tribe delighted to have some of the other.

“You mean they were worth the same then?” I ask, puzzled. Of course, nods Iffy.

Before I know it, we’re in ancient Rome, in the thick of queues of toga-clad citizens and armed soldiers. What on earth is going on? “They’re receiving their salarium or salt ration,” Iffy points to what each is collecting.

Then, like our English teacher, he drones on, “When folks began earning money instead of salt, that was called a salary. Remember the expression ‘to be worth one’s salt’? It means that you work hard enough to earn your pay…”

He tugs at my hand. We’re airborne once more. We watch as angry masses trigger the French Revolution. I turn away at the sight of the executions. Too bloody for me! “Did you know that a salt tax was one of the reasons for that uprising?” Iffy surprises me with this information. 

Mahatma Gandhi leads the Salt Satyagraha

 

“Just like the 1930 Salt Satyagraha, led by Mahatma Gandhi, in Indian history? Why did the British expect us to pay them for our own salt?” I exclaim, thinking of dreary afternoons in history class. Exactly, says Iffy.

“I know, I know, salt is used to season our foods. And to reserve them,” I show off to Iffy. “But that’s not all,” he responds.

Then, what is? “Salt is used in over 14,000 industrial processes,” he says, as we peer into plants that make chemicals. Then, to my amazement, we look at steel, glass, leather, plastics, and even colour TVs. I’m in shock.

There’s more to come on Iffy’s list of surprises. Hovering over icy Sweden in winter, we watch burly crews sprinkle salt on to melt ice and snow as they build roads. Suddenly, a hum catches my ear. Because we’re in an ice-cream plant, where rock salt is used to freeze that delicious, creamy treat.

“But won’t we use up all the world’s salt at this rate?” I ask with some fear, thinking of nations warring over petroleum.

“In 1970, over 150 million tonnes of salt were carved out of mines or evaporated from salt water. The US came up with a third of it. Though the world has produced almost double its earlier quantity of salt since 1960,” Iffy reassures me, “I don’t think we’ll run out of it for centuries.”

The edges of the Dead Sea are encrusted with salt

How can he be so sure? Winking at me, Iffy takes me on a whirlwind tour over the earth’s surface, over ripples of blue where dolphins and sharks jump and play through the waves. “That’s why, dumbo duck!” he mock-scolds me. “Because just the salt in those waters is probably over 100 million times what mankind uses every year.”

I pretend to faint, double over like a bag of salt over my sneakers, and imagine Iffy’s expression. But I keep my eyes shut tight.

When I open them, I’m safely back in my own bed, far away from the rumble of ocean waves. Sahir, hugging his favourite teddy, is fast asleep in our guest bed.

Should I tell him of our salt adventures when he’s up? Let me know when I stir awake in the morning, ok?