The Kitchen

It is a place of creation, of expansion.

Outside of this place, women whisper greetings with bowed heads. Here, they boast of their superior strength and throw playful punches. Here are friendships forged during countless hours over many years. It holds contests and races - who can peel the most potatoes, who can fan the fire for the longest. Here are patient teachers who hover over foreign students as they clumsily chop onions and tomatoes. Women nurse and stir the soup. Men stand at the door and tread lightly within.

The kitchen is the center, the keystone, a sanctuary where friends rest and receive news, safe from the tensions of business. Cats and puppies lie beside the cooling charcoal stove and pots simmer over open flames. Hens followed by day old chicks are shooed by a straw broom. Kale, cabbage, rice, green grams, cassava, chipati, ugali; all rest in baskets or hang from the thatched ceiling. A paraffin lantern gives light once the sun has finished. The breeze clears the smoke and brings the smell of rain.

It is a place of welcome. It can generate thanksgiving or reminders of shortage. It is a sacred school where secrets are passed between generations. Here, soil, water and sun become the tie that binds.

It is a place of resolution, a kind and daily end.