Yep, you guessed it, another post from my village experience! Don’t remember or you forgot to read past posts? Then click “village life” to the right under categories. You’re welcome.
I came home from working at Camphill (an hours walk through the village), and realized I had said I would cook that night. So I started arduous process. I was sweating buckets over the hot stove. Pots are bubbling and boiling over. I am trying to cook a Setswana meal, and of course recipes are non-existent. The morojo wasn’t looking right, the soup was too thick and then too runny…I knew I should have taken notes from Mma! But I could do this! As it got darker I had to turn on the paraffin lamps to see, but of course they cast very bad shadows. And so I lit a candle and kept on tilting it to see if the chicken was even cooked. Now, really I am not a good cook. I can do all right sure, but this was definitely not going well.
It sort of reminded me of that part in Bridget Jones’ Diary when she slaves and slaves, and when she’s down they sit down to a “gourmet meal” of blue soup, and well, marmalade. I was trying so hard to make a meal that they would eat (and quite frankly that there was ingredients for). Sadly, the first words out of Mma’s mouth were – you made too much rice! As if I wasn’t totally aware of that. Mma and Ra pretended like it was so good. It was almost embarrassing, because although it wasn’t inedible it wasn’t exactly tasty either. I think I might leave the Setswana cooking to Mma from now on.