Of late I find myself thinking of my mother MaHadebe's kitchen in Block 23 in Mpopoma. The way it was when I grew up before the house was extended. The kitchen was always clean. And the white stove was another story. It had to be cleaned before you served food.
There was an unwritten but very important rule in that kitchen: “Always dish out an extra plate or two, in case a visitor or someone less privileged comes.” And they always did. One regular visitor was Michael ‘Madlezibabayo’ Moyo. Come to think of it, he was like an extension of the family. He always had a plate waiting for him.
A lot happened in that kitchen. I (along with my siblings) learnt how to cook, clean and wash plates. I hated washing plates but MaHadebe did not care. She would state as a matter of fact "This is my house; you do what I tell you to do. If you want to do your own things, the gate is wide open." In those moments she called herself Manyofo. She was a no-nonsense type of woman who did not care that you appeared to be sulking. In fact, sulking was a no-no.
I started cooking isitshwala (sadza) for everyone in Grade 4. I was only given three chances to cook imboza. After that a beating was enough to remind me how to measure the mpuphu (mealie-meal) and water properly. The meat had to be fried until it was brown. The gravy had to be thick. MaHadebe did not understand how one would not know these things anyway- one was supposed to be paying attention to one’s surroundings. And a girl definitely had to know how to cook: “what kind of woman are you going to be if you cannot cook?”
A lot of growing up took place in my mother's kitchen. Of course I always had some level of defiance but in the end she won. It was clear that you did not just wake up and bask in the sun. You cleaned the house, especially the kitchen, first. Then the cooking and washing plates followed. Then you could do the rest. The kitchen had to be spotless to avoid germs. That word was a nightmare for most of my childhood. I asked myself what was so bad about germs that I had to be reminded of them so much.
I miss MaHadebe’s kitchen. I guess the older I grow the more I realise I learnt many valuable lessons and skills from my mom. And I am now proudly imparting these lessons and skills to my offspring. I am very conscious of the fact that the kitchen is a breeding ground for germs. I have to soak the dish towels in Jik. I have to scrub the floor with some disinfectant. In fact, I can do household chores quite well.
My gratitude goes to my mother for all the lessons-intended and unintended. They have made me into the woman I am today. Thank you mom. As is the Ndebele tradition, I am obliged to thank her as follows: Ngiyabonga Hadebe, Dlomo, Mthimkhulu, Bhungane, Makhulukhulu, Gobizembe, Tshwabada- wena owatshwabadela inkosi kunye labantu bayo, nzalo kaMzanywa loMatshazi. And a big Thank you to God for giving me the best mom anyone could ever wish for.
There was an unwritten but very important rule in that kitchen: “Always dish out an extra plate or two, in case a visitor or someone less privileged comes.” And they always did. One regular visitor was Michael ‘Madlezibabayo’ Moyo. Come to think of it, he was like an extension of the family. He always had a plate waiting for him.
A lot happened in that kitchen. I (along with my siblings) learnt how to cook, clean and wash plates. I hated washing plates but MaHadebe did not care. She would state as a matter of fact "This is my house; you do what I tell you to do. If you want to do your own things, the gate is wide open." In those moments she called herself Manyofo. She was a no-nonsense type of woman who did not care that you appeared to be sulking. In fact, sulking was a no-no.
I started cooking isitshwala (sadza) for everyone in Grade 4. I was only given three chances to cook imboza. After that a beating was enough to remind me how to measure the mpuphu (mealie-meal) and water properly. The meat had to be fried until it was brown. The gravy had to be thick. MaHadebe did not understand how one would not know these things anyway- one was supposed to be paying attention to one’s surroundings. And a girl definitely had to know how to cook: “what kind of woman are you going to be if you cannot cook?”
A lot of growing up took place in my mother's kitchen. Of course I always had some level of defiance but in the end she won. It was clear that you did not just wake up and bask in the sun. You cleaned the house, especially the kitchen, first. Then the cooking and washing plates followed. Then you could do the rest. The kitchen had to be spotless to avoid germs. That word was a nightmare for most of my childhood. I asked myself what was so bad about germs that I had to be reminded of them so much.
I miss MaHadebe’s kitchen. I guess the older I grow the more I realise I learnt many valuable lessons and skills from my mom. And I am now proudly imparting these lessons and skills to my offspring. I am very conscious of the fact that the kitchen is a breeding ground for germs. I have to soak the dish towels in Jik. I have to scrub the floor with some disinfectant. In fact, I can do household chores quite well.
My gratitude goes to my mother for all the lessons-intended and unintended. They have made me into the woman I am today. Thank you mom. As is the Ndebele tradition, I am obliged to thank her as follows: Ngiyabonga Hadebe, Dlomo, Mthimkhulu, Bhungane, Makhulukhulu, Gobizembe, Tshwabada- wena owatshwabadela inkosi kunye labantu bayo, nzalo kaMzanywa loMatshazi. And a big Thank you to God for giving me the best mom anyone could ever wish for.