My sister had very high standards in everything, including the way they cooked and served their food. First off, all her sufurias looked new. They were scrubbed with steel wool after every use making them look new. Our sufurias in OlKalou were all black with a thick coating of accumulated soot (mbiro) that was permanently caked on the outside. Any contact with them left you with black soot all over your hands.
And here I was now standing in my sisters’ kitchen, and there was nothing with black soot on it. The sufurias were all shiny like they just came from the shop. After the food was ready, it was put in beautiful serving dishes.
Her cabinets were full of beautiful China. Ten inch ceramic plates, cups with saucers, mugs, water glasses, water jugs and a drawer full of cutlery. She had chopping boards, can openers and other gadgets I wondered what they used them for. The dishes alone made the food taste even better.
My only worry was how to handle those breakable dishes in a house that had cemented floors. Our dishes in OlKalou were not breakable. The worst that could happen was chip the paint off but they were still usable. I had to be extra careful for this one month otherwise my sister would have to go shopping to replace all her dishes. My sister was diplomatic but firm, I knew she could rebuke me gently, but my worry was if she told mother about anything I did wrong for that entire month.
After a month of eating delicious food, sleeping in a clean bed and bathing every day, I did not want to find mother waiting for me at our OlKalou gate with her leather belt in hand, ready to discipline me for all the “sins” I committed at my sister’s house. To avoid that from happening, I said my survival prayers every day while I was visiting my sister. They worked. I am still here. Ain’t I?
