Food

14.

Well seasoned banter. African Art courtesy of Pinterest

With the troubles back home preoccupying my mind, it is such a welcome relief that Abel is finally leaving the house. Angie mentioned that he will now be staying at the University hostels. Finally, I can be more comfortable. It has been such a struggle for me, working in this very same house, where a young man imagined how easy it would be to pounce on me. It has really made me question the male motive. I would rather carry on being a virgin than give in to such kinds of advances from the opposite sex.

Being 19, a lot of adult things do not make much sense to me. It is almost like being in a fog. You know that you are supposed to act like a grown up but the whole idea of being grown up is still not very clear. I wonder if my friend Priscilla goes through this too. But I have always known her as one who takes life easy. Even when teachers were openly ridiculing her at school for not performing, she took it in her stride. She never showed that she was affected by it up until the time she quit school.

Priscilla’s husband recently bought her a phone and the first thing she did was rush to mother’s and request for my number. When she called me, she sounded very excited just to get a hold of me. I asked about the baby and she said he was doing fine only that he kept her awake most nights. She equally mentioned that it was unfortunate that someone was malicious enough to steal from us.

We still do not know who took the coop and the chicken. I doubt we ever will. And then Priscilla’s credit finished. I could not call her back. I haven’t yet received my salary. The little extra I had, I sent it to mother the day she told me about the theft. Mama Ken is not the kind of employer whom you can ask for an advance. I can tell that she is very glad that Abel is leaving the house. More so because she thought me and Abel were up to no good. I wish she knew that I have always felt harassed with Abel around me.

But I should not expect anyone to understand me around here. I have since learned that adulthood entails handling some of your problems by yourself, the best way you know how to. By now you would have thought I would have been accepted in this house, but that is not the case. I am an outsider and will always be in this house. As a matter of fact, I ought to be grateful for the free lodging and food. Sometimes, when Mama Ken is really angry with me, she likes mentioning how she has provided me with a place to lay my head and food. I take it to imply that I’m the one who needs her not she who needs me although I’m very tempted to doubt this fact sometimes.

The thing with these urban dwellers is that they expect their domestic workers to always feel indebted to them, the same way uncle expects mother to feel indebted to him for getting me a job in Nairobi. They also have this weird attachment to food. An employer can lock up all the foodstuffs in the house when they are out, for some crazy reason that the help will spend the rest of the day binge eating, if the food is left out in the open.

They like to treat us as if we are greedy hyenas who cannot control our appetites. I keep hearing them giving the excuse that food is expensive yet they still get to stock up on all these luxury foods that us villagers have never even heard of. Sometimes we only eat what we are not supposed to out of innocent curiosity.

Koki, Mama Brian’s help from next door told me that when her employer is out, she makes sure that she has eaten to her fill whatever food is available. On some occasions, she also finishes up Mueni’s food, the 2 year old last born daughter of her employer’s, when the child won’t eat. I asked her why she does so and she disclosed that Mama Brian is very stingy with her food. She rarely gets full during supper. The woman’s eyes are always on her, to see how much she has served on her plate.

I did not tell her that I have my meals in the kitchen  where I have easy access to second helpings without my employer’s knowledge. Mama Ken barred me from the dinner table very early on. It bothered me for a while why they excluded me from the table until I realized just how much never ending house chores made you hungry. Now I can always choose the kitchen over the dinner table where nobody is monitoring my food intake. The employers can carry on calling it greedy, but we house helps know it is the only way we can keep our energies up, to effectively run their houses.

I know Koki always has these questions and stories for me because she likes to compare notes being way newer in the court than me. This is why I often times withhold information from her. You just never know whose ears the news would land on and I like to pretend that, I do not engage with the other house helps as per my employer’s instructions.

 

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5.

‘Supper Preparation’ – African Realist  Painting

Although I have suffered in this house, I must admit that there has been some positives. When I first came to Mama Ken’s house, I could only cook what mother had taught me. I did not know how to cook sausages, chips, pilau, meatballs and all those luxury foods that city dwellers indulge in. At least I could make mandazi and chapati. But not  to Mama Ken’s standards!

For a long while, I had to put up with her constant criticism of my mandazi and chapati making skills. If it wasn’t the amount of oil I used, it would be the shape of the chapatis or the taste of the mandazis that she would be complaining about. Tea had to be served in a certain way. The cups and plates arranged on the shelves in a certain way. It’s like Mama Ken had rules and regulations to how everything should be done in her house.

Surprisingly, I had over time grasped the routine perfectly and especially in the kitchen, just as she liked. She was not one to openly congratulate you for your efforts, but I could tell that she was pleased with my cooking and kitchen cleaning efforts. She rarely complained nowadays about my food.

Mama Ken is not your typical woman. She is well traveled. I hear she used to be an air hostess in her younger years before she had her kids. This I learned from Angie on those rare occasions, when she is not glued to her phone screen and seems to be in the mood for a chat.

“Mum was once an air hostess” She announced, out of the blues, one day.

“What kind of work is that?” I quickly inquired.

“The guys who work in an aeroplane.” Angie informed in that twang’ of hers. You would think this girl has lived among White people, for she always insists on speaking and acting like them.

“Oh,” I gasped, not knowing what else to say.

“But she quit when she had us.” Angie now switched to Kiswahili, noticing the apparent confusion on my face.

Sometimes I wondered if the only topics this girl was good at, were the ones with an intention to boast and remind one of how privileged she was.

“If I had been her, I wouldn’t have quit. Can you imagine mum has been to so many countries abroad? She tells us she couldn’t have been able to travel like that once she had kids. That’s why she settled for a job at the airport…” Angie carried on breezily.

I said nothing. What was there to say anyway? The only aeroplanes I had seen were the ones that flew overhead rather noisily. I had certainly never been in one. Only the privileged in society flew in those things not village girls like me employed as house helps.

But Angie’s revelation about her mother kind of explained some things to me.

Only a person who has been abroad acted the way that Mama Ken did. The insistence on neatness, the manicured nails, well done make up, smart clothes, neat hair, her love for spending, the way she carried herself.

I have had the privilege to see some of her friends whenever they come visiting. Well refined ladies who insist on conversing in English. Even if I tried to eavesdrop on their conversations, I cannot make out much. They speak of the schools they send their children to, the bosses they have to put up with at work, nice places to take the family on a vacation and such kinds of topics.

Nothing of much interest to me. But sometimes, I find myself admiring them and this lifestyle. I wonder if a simple girl like me can be able to lead such a kind of lifestyle. It happens in the Nigerian movies I have been watching though! Village girls with unkempt hair and drab clothes, who end up in the city and become refined ladies such as Mama Ken’s friends. But that is just acting. Acting is not real.

Or maybe it is! In Nigeria, perhaps.

But mother has always advised us to be content with our lot in life. She says that had she not been content with her life, she would have probably ended up married again after father’s death. But her only desire has been to raise her children. My mother is such a strong woman. However, being in the city for a year already, it is hard not to notice that there is a different kind of life, to that which I had grown accustomed to in the village. One that I’m increasingly getting drawn to.