mzungu in the kitchen

Timid steps across the muddied backyard, the mzungu follows the sounds of banging pots and sizzling fire and women's laughter to the kitchen. Curiosity has gotten the best of her; she needs to see what's going on. She smiles at the women in the kitchen who are cutting and washing and frying lunch for the day. "Do you need help?" eyes search the faces, looking for someone who understands English. Later she would learn it was Mama Ebra who answered her, "You want to help us cook? Yes. Come help." 

(sorting rice)

She walks into the kitchen... a small cemented room with a wall-sized window on one side, pots on coals, and irish (potato) peels all over the floor. Mama Sara pulls up the only seat in the kitchen, a small three legged stool. "You sit here." the mama says, despite the auntie's voiced protests. "Have you used a knife before?" the question arises laughter- from the mzungu and the mamas, for very different reasons. "Yes, yes, I have."The small bin of green peppers and tomatoes and onions scrapes across the room and land near the white, barefoot feet.

(cooking lentils and irish)

The girl peels the onion and chops it while mamas watch on, laughing and speaking in a rush of unfamiliar words. She feels eyes on her, knowing every word uttered is making fun of her cooking skills. Hands take the plate of cut-up onions and peppers and tomatoes. "Thank you Auntie! Well done, well done!" The other mamas walking by stop to see the strange sight- a mzungu in the kitchen. She sits on the cement floor, cutting cabbage.. knife slices on the thumb, an accidentally kicked over plate of tomatoes, a flying matooke skin across the room, a dropped plate. The mamas look on with amused and yet disapproving expressions their faces. This mzungu girl is clumsy, she doesn't know what she's doing, but she is learning.

(stirring beans for the first time!)

She finds her way to the backyard kitchen every day after that. It becomes the hour she looks forward to. And after a week, she settles into the rhythm.. of chopping, and frying, and stirring. She's no longer afraid to pick the bugs from the beans like she was at first. She knows the order to making the sauce for the lentils (onions, then tomatoes, then pepper, then carrots). She knows to give one spoon of lentils and one spoon of soup in each colored, plastic bowl. Ebra -who shied away in the corner from day 1- sits in her lap now, kissing her face and hair, and laughing when she tickles him. The mama's unfamiliar words and laughter rush over her, while onions sizzle and white fire ashes fly and babies play by her feet.

(learning from Mama Sara)

She's happy here.. oh-so happy. She's found her place, her sanctuary in the midst of lots of crazy; words can't describe how she loves this little room. This room where ants crawl the walls and mamas laugh at her attempt to speak Luganda and children play with dull knives and potato skins and the word cooking takes on a whole new meaning. These mamas, these women, the children.. she realizes how much she loves being with them; bonds are forming and friendships starting, she's officially attached. She closes her eyes, content. This life she lives, this God she serves, it's all so good. She could stay like this forever.

(Mama Ebra and her son, Ebra. Love these two so much)

(beautiful baby Latif)

(laughing with Mama Hilda)