Your Shallow and Incomplete Guide to cooking food

For people who live alone or with cats and are tired. Man so tired of reheating that ugali from two nights ago which won't get finished. 

So ati my love language is food.

One friend told me.

And another confirmed that, "yeah it's true Cecilia you are into food."

So I asked if that made me a foodie.

"Well, yeah, yes and no.

It's like, in your house you express love by giving food to people.

But in other people's houses then, you kinda expect love to be expressed in the same way."

Really?

Gosh. I might be tiresome.

But it's true yes.

If I love you I want you to try this and that and when you finish would you like to try some of these sweet potato cookies I made? They are really good.

If I pack you a meal it's typically a love letter, if I pack you a meal with drinks just call it a proposal. I'll be home wringing my hands wondering will he say yes?

And I am also a healthy diet freak so it all comes together quite, hippie style.

I went to the posho meal. Because when Tata was asking what I needed from home I mentioned how about some wheat?

We grow wheat, where I come from.

Endarasha really is the promised land and if you are looking for a plot to plant onions  hit me up I can hook you up. You will soon be supplying onions to all Samosa street vendors and even to The Mayura, if you have the right connections.

This is a quick one. 

Baking powder chapatis with veg stew.

The chapati recipe is mine,  Davies The Chef gave me the recipe for the stew. His didn't have the option of a whole jug of water. But you know how it is. How would I be a whole Gathoni if I dared serve food without gathufu.

HOW TO MAKE BAKING POWDER CHAPATIS

You need:

2 cups of brown milled wheat flour 

1Table spoon baking powder

half a tea spoon salt

Half a cup warm water

You may add sugar if you like.

Mix with a spoon. 

See, you don't even have to touch it.

Then mix evenly with a wooden spoon.

Spread a tablespoon of oil on the dough and keep kneeding with the spoon.

Cover it and leave it for an hour or so.

Roll into thick chapati shapes.

Cook over a thick pan, little oil

Here is the stew recipe

                                                         

A trip with a couple friends: A cure for wretchedness.

I could see the confusion in the receptionist's face.

She was wondering:

Okay, this man doesn't look old enough to be a polygamist.

And if we argued this was their child, this woman doesn't look old enough to have birthed this grown up child.

Even if she came into the marriage with the child, it wouldn't be this big.

And even so, why would they bring their child on honey moon?

Or maybe she is driving them and going away?

Ai, no. Mimi sielewi, let me wait and see because I don't understand.

That was the soliloquy that went through her head.

I walked over to the pool, it was a decent enough pool. Medium in size.

I hate those tiny pools where you cannot do five wraps without hitting your wrists on the opposite walls.

They make me feel claustrophobic . 

I don't like very large swimming pools either. Unless I will be with someone all the time. Whenever I get to the deep end I feel so sure there is a whale lurking under the dark water ready to bite off my stomach.

This would do.

I would swim under the stars.

There was no mistaking that the cottage on the left was what was reserved for the couple on honey moon.

It had a big heart-shaped flower wreath of red and purple bougainvillaea.

This was going to be very interesting.

I went into the reception and Godi was just informing them yes, I would be staying the week as well. Yes I was their friend.  

No it was not their honeymoon.

And so we walked to the cottage, to find quite blush inducing bed.

We walked over to what would be my room. Nice.

'I should replicate this for my house.' 

I was thinking while 

the room steward came running and apologised and said she would also prep my bed. We went to look over at the kitchen and when I got back to my room my bed had the most beautiful model of swans made out of towels.

Three months earlier Maria had said they had a gift for me, I thought hmm...maybe lunch?

My cousin bro had died a few weeks before, I was still in heavy fog mentally wondering what had just happened and could  someone smart please explain to me in Kenyan English what was going on.

Also,my contract job had ended and I was wondering how I would continue to manage my volunteer work at the sign language department.

There were other subplots in my life as well.

So finally the day came for the trip to Diani.

It coincided with my last week at the Department. I at least had a distraction, else I'd really have crawled into a hole to die.

Feeling my purpose was over.

I was at first wondering how this would turn out. What would we talk about, how would we spend whole days together? The three of us. But by the second day I was wondering why this was not a one month arrangement. It was like being with my close family.

Cooking together, talking and walking on the beach together.

And when we went swimming I could be free because hey, there were two people who would come looking for me.

But most of all was that the wretchedness I had been feeling started to disappear.

And when Maria sang to me one evening.

I really felt awful for not paying attention to people more, you know?

Flash forward to a few months later when my bottom really felt out for real and here we are discussing postmoterm and other unpleasant things with my aunt's and uncles and who comes trouping in to our Umoja house.

Godi and Maria and Ayler and Liz and Swaleh and another couple from TZ And Rosemary and I can't remember who else because I have tears in my eyes.

It's probably 10.pm and we are singing -life without end at last- and they are now singing -precious daughter, he will be there for you, he will care for you- and Ayler is talking and reading something from the Bible and Swaleh says a prayer.

And I stop mid flight. 

I've been running.

Since the day they told me my mother's body was on it's way to outspan in a hearse, I've been running, running as fast as I can. I donno to what destination. I'm just running as fast as I can. I'm screaming too. At the top of my voice and I'm kicking the ground as I ran because I'm angry and I'm scared. And All I want to do is run away.

This is a story of thankgiving.

For these to lovies who held me up when my spine gave in.

And for the lessons I've learned from my own experiences.

That when someone is falling into abyss, you don't walk away. you grab a rope and go down with them, because after a while they will stop and start climbing up, and going back is a lonely journey. But not so painful when there's someone's voice in that darkness.

I'm thankful for those that didn't disappear.

Those who called even when they didn't know what to say.

Thos who gave me things when words were missing

and texts.

If Jehovah had not come to my rescue, I'd surely have ceased to exist.

Psalms94:17 If Jehovah had not been my helper,

I would soon have perished

But now oh Jehovah, I'm constantly with you. You have taken hold of my right hand.

Embracing Vulnerability: The anger of a polymath in a specialist society.

My friend said maybe I should try to less angry at the world. I had mentioned I was having a problem making simple decisions.

 (Me? Angry at the world? Nooo. I'm one of the happiest person I know in this world.)

But when your friend something you should take notice because she must have observed something. And the kind of relationship my friends and I have is, a friend won't say things to build up their own egos. 

No. We say things to improve each other. 

I decided to take it easy and check my behaviour for a while. 

But I had questions to myself.

 I know I used to be angry and did some anger management work and successfully acquired calm. 

And for years now I have been able to control strong angry feelings. 

But could it be as I worked to remove the hurt and bitterness out of me I may have just moulded it into a ball which I project to the world as I carry on with a cynical outlook to situations that try to upset my in-ward balance? 

Or might I still be holding it all in with a smile and just needing one thing to light me up and off I'll go off like a faulty firework? I also thought about the reasons that I could be angry at the world. 

Do I feel like the world owes me?

 Like it hasn't given me what I deserved? 

Probably. 

But that would be a narrow approach to it because. 

What of street kids being raised by druggies.

 What of those born in dire poverty where an egg is a luxury? 

What of those born sick? 

I remembered an interview I read in True Love magazine. 

Muthoni the Drummer Queen. She mentioned that She is a Polymath . 

A polymath is defined as a person who gains expertise in more than one field. Simply put, someone who has many interests. She said that she realised that in school she realised the best way to get her parents off her neck was to score good grades then she could focus on the things that really interested her. 

Thus blankets and wine and all her other awesome pursuits. That way nobody got hurt. I felt like to me, that was advice that came too late because unlike her, when I got bored with school or a job I simply wandered off.

So I was angry that, despite knowing exactly what I wanted to do with my life at 15. Here I was in business school trying to understand probability. Or here I was doing this job that I  have absolutely no idea how to do but because that is what is available. I am doing it for the rent it affords me, and food.

You've got to keep a certain balance between a boring job, your interest and hobbies and your personal life.

 And when I realised that that is how the world works I started to shape up and try to get into the job market but there is a big difference between a fresh hot college drop out and the same person ten years later. Your CV gets more scrutiny 10 years later .

 And I guess therein lies my angst at the world. 

When I have raised my arms and said okay world, I will do it your way. 

I will do the 9-5 and work on my interests at night. 

Then the world turns round and asks about gaps in my CV. 

How about experience? 

How about hard knocks? 

How about learning the hard way that early to bed and early to rise makes someone wiser and I can't remember what else but all I am saying is. 

Look here world. 

I'm done being sceptical. 

I will take your dry bread. 

I will sit in long mid morning meetings that could have been and e-mail. 

I will put on silly chiffon blouses and carry a bag with shinny knobs to show accomplishment. 

I'll do excel sheets and colourful word tables. 

Just give me that cheque. 

Never mind I will use it on art paper and paperback classics. 

Then I thought perhaps my anger was because of restrained grief from middle age tragedy. 

I may have felt anger but helplessness is the encompassing feeling that remains when grief subsides so no, not that.

 And then I got it.

 I take myself too seriously. 

And maybe if I learned to take a chill pill from time to time I may just refocus the strong feelings.

 I've been told I take things seriously. 

I do yes. 

I'm strict And rigid And a recovering perfectionist But it comes with trying to keep my world from toppling over. 

But just to see how it would feel. I'd let myself slow down a bit. 

I'd drink coke, leave my data on at night, pick up calls after curfew hours, and sleep in in the middle of the week. 

So I've slowed down in my expectations. 

And I just finished this book by a Kenyan writer. It's fiction. Best humour I have read since Trevor Noah's Born a Crime.

links: https://medium.com/@kkaitue/3-reasons-why-generalists-rule-the-future-77fb4f9ad430

          Nairobiwire

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Your Shallow and Incomplete Guide to Cooking Food.

For People who live alone or with cats and have eaten too much indo mee and are starting to wonder 'what is the purpose of my life?' 

 Relax. Good news here.

 I had an interesting conversation today. Do you know what is the difference between Kenyans and Americans during this Covid? Trump? 

No. Our poverty. The fact that we can grow our own greens behind our house and the landlord will think 'or nice, some landscaping at last' means while many in the developed world are affording vitamin suppliments and health insurance, 

sisi tunakimbilia ndimu za mbao hapo nje. (Lemons are five shillings each) 

 Have you been to the market lately? 

Have you seen the potatoes? 

Have you seen the cabbages? 

Na minji? And the Avocados?

 One theory is that last season was so productive in-spite of the locusts and despite the floods that spoilt most of the September and and October crop. 

 They other theory is that with restaurants and hotels shut down, the Grade one vegetables have been redirected to the mwananchi markets. 

Does this apply to flowers I wonder. @Homegrown si you just send me one bunch of yellow roses. 

Moja tu. 

 So when my uncle's wife (Tata) called to tell me she wanted to send me a package from home. I was thinking. Eeeeeeeee. I'm not sure.

 'The country is open and I know someone who is coming to Nairobi this week.' 

She said. She asked what I need. 

I said maybe beans? She asked which beans. I said 'let me try the yellow ones, I've heard they don't give gas.' 

Then she said she had pumpkins.

 'Ai Tata, mūrenge ngūtwara kūū?' 

(What will I do with a pumpkin)

 I eat pumpkins. The problem is Tata's pumpkins grow into such huge sizes it would take me a whole month to finish one. She said she had a small one. 

 Then she said she had Pamelo. 

 Pamelo is a fruit they discovered they could grow on the farm recently. It looks like a green eggplant. If you eat it on a cold day you might think you are eating something of a goat's menu. 

 But if you eat it it standing in the middle of the farm on a hot day with the hot soil under your feet. Then it's refreshing. 

It doesn't even occur to you that you are eating the sweeter version of ndongu (Sodom apple). 

Ma. 

 Ouch. 

I did press ups this morning and now my chest hurts. 

For a moment I thought corona was creeping up on me. 

 So Tata packed a package and of course she packed one month supply of potatoes because 'what else could I be eating' and when I got them in the evening and told her she scolded me. 

 'You mean they were brought to your gate? Now see. I could have even sent you maize but you are too wishy washy. Now see. But he is faithful for bringing you today. Ata I could have sent you milk and eggs.' 

(kione ii, kione ii uria uranyamarika, ni mwiiro wa ngoro ii ouria utakinyaga... 

) humming in my head because she was basically telling me 'I told you so.' 

 'Tata you said you packed Pomelo. This is white sapote.' 

'Ooo, ah, I mixed them up.' White Sapote looks like a Japanese Apple inside but with a smooth skin. 

So the pumpkin came. 

And I cut it in half and gave away half. 

And made bread with the rest. 

That is the very thing I want us to cook this week. 

And that story about yellow beans not making you gassy is not true. 

 Pumpkin Pan Bread.

Embracing Vulnerability : Parallel Homesickness, a poem.

Your Shallow and Incomplete Guide to cooking food for people who now have to catch and kill their own food.