Life is not all that serious. So today I want to talk about
how I acquired a life skill and mentored so many afterwards. The story may have
lessons here and there, especially on how we can co-exist regardless of where
we come from, but it is purely for the read.
For starters, ugali is a rarity in Somali households. Kenyan
staple food it may be but Somalis cook it only once in a blue moon. It is never
cooked when visitors are around. When it is on the menu, those who don’t like
it are informed well in advance so that they make arrangements for an
alternative meal.
Personally, I have been eating Ugali as long as I can
remember. It literally flows in my blood. I went through boarding schools both
in primary and high school where ugali was a daily affair. In high school,
ugali nights were my favorite. At least you get to fill your stomach with
something heavy. Murrum (Githeri) and quarter Maji (quarter bread and cabbage
soup) were in such small portions that they were just meant to keep soul and
body together. Though my favorite, I never bothered to know how it is prepared.
I reported to the University of Nairobi as a fresher on a
Monday morning. On that first day, I picked the key to my hostel room and
disappeared for a week. When I came back with my luggage, I found someone in
the room. I quickly scanned the room and realized there was only one bed. I remembered
there were two beds on the first day. I inquired from the guy where his roommate was. He said he
was alone. I told him, “I am the one”. I asked him in an authoritative voice,
“Where is the other bed?” he told me it is under there, pointing to his bed. He
immediately assisted me in retrieving and assembling it. On his own admission,
he contemplated asking for a change of room because he was scared of living
with me. within the first day, the initial mistrust dissipated and we became close friends. We were roommates for two years
and neighbors even after we moved to single rooms in third and fourth years. I
introduce this guy because he plays in the story the same role that won Lupita
the Oscar Awards; Supporting actor.
After the first two weeks and with the "mess" food not
exciting the taste buds, we decided to cook. We joined hands with my roommate’s
kinsman who lived in the next room. The menu was mainly pilau and
ugali. From the
onset, I confessed my inability to cook ugali.We decided that the next person following my day will cook ugali on my behalf
and I will cook rice when it was his turn. Life continued smoothly for a while. I observed my roommate cooking ugali once
in a while and it looked effortless. Within five minutes it was ready.
One day when it was my turn to cook ugali, both my friends disappeared.
No one was picking the phone. I got the message; I was on my own. A man has to
do what a man has to do. I decided to cook ugali for the first time. It turned
out be a big mistake. The first mistake I made was adding the maize flour to
the water when it was barely warm. To add salt to an injury, I added a handful of
salt. I stirred the mixture for 30 minutes and it still tasted raw. I removed
my shirt and continued stirring with all my effort. I adjusted the regulator to
add more heat. After 2 hours, I was sweating profusely and had blisters all
over my hand from the friction with the cooking stick and from heat burns. The bottom was
completely burnt while the top tasted raw and very salty. The room was filled
with smoke. Some students thought the room was on fire. I gave up.
My roommate came back an hour before midnight. I was already
in bed. I told him I don’t feel like eating but food was ready and they could
serve themselves. He immediately sensed something was amiss. As he opened the
sufuria, I held my breath muttering something to the effect “bon appétit”. He put
a small portion in his mouth and since the lights were off I can’t tell whether
he swallowed it or spit it out. The shops were already closed and therefore we
had to sleep on an empty stomach. Up to date I feel guilty for that.
In the morning, a special general meeting was called. It was
similar to the type called by the UN Security Council when discussing “serious
issues” like the Iran nuclear. I feared I may be sanctioned. I apologized for what happened and they
confessed to me that they disappeared to teach me a lesson because I was not
making any efforts to learn how to cook ugali. My grace period was over. But fortunately,
it was certified that I don’t know how to cook ugali. I had to learn. I was to
be present to learn whenever someone was cooking ugali on my behalf. I slowly
learnt that the water must reach boiling point before the maize flour is added.
I learnt that salt has no business with Ugali. I had seen my sisters add salt
to ugali and up to date I can’t convince them otherwise. I slowly learnt the
art of cooking ugali the" Kenyan way”.
When I went home the following holiday, I bragged to
everyone who cared to listen about my skills in preparing ugali. One day I was
allowed to cook for the family. To the dismay of my elder sister, I made the
water too little. She kept telling me the ugali would turn to be very hard and I
would not be able to stir it. It turned out perfect. But Somali ugali is never
hard. It is something between porridge and ugali. My mum refused her
grandchildren to eat what I cooked. She said it was too hard and they wouldn’t be
able to digest.
I passed on the skill to all the guys I stayed with after
campus. Thanks to my two friends.
No comments:
Post a Comment