This week we were invited to visit the home of Margaret, one of the teachers at Namitembo Montessori Nursery School. She lives in Chinseyo, about 8 km. from Namitembo.
We’d been warned to drive carefully in Chinseyo’s crowded market area so as not to run over any toes! As we arrived, Chet slowed and watched for a place to park. Margaret suggested we pull in next to the tiny shop owned by her husband, Enoch. The wooden structure is about ten by ten feet with a screened window at the front. Enoch sells matches, brown sugar, cooking oil, salt in bags of about a cupful, and other cooking essentials. Bottles of Coca Cola for 60 kwacha and Soba orange soda for 100 kwacha lined the windowsill. He closed temporarily to join us at their home.
We threaded our way through the market stalls to the back where we entered a residential area. The house, built by Enoch, is red brick with a thatched roof and a small cement kondi, or porch. To one side is a small vegetable garden. Inside, the floor is packed earth. There was some light from the front doorway, but Margaret soon shut the door because so many neighbor children were crowding in to have a look at us. At that point, a small curtained window and the open back door provided the only light. At night, they’d use candles or lanterns. Next to the main room, behind a curtained doorway, was a sleeping room.
One corner of the main room was filled with ears of maize, already shucked and waiting for the family to shell it, or remove the kernels by hand. Shelling is the usual evening activity at this time of year. The kernels will be spread out on large mats to dry in the sun and then stored in 50 kg. bags inside the house. A fortunate family would be able to store enough to provide staple food until next year’s harvest and perhaps even have enough extra to sell.
Margaret brought chairs for us and we met Mary Prudence, their lively four year old daughter. Mary Prudence had told her mother that she wanted to feel white people’s skin, so I offered her my hand and then part of my arm for a feel. Enoch sat on a woven mat and leaned on the wall. His mother, who lives nearby, also settled on the mat and two of his little nephews climbed on his lap. A smiling young woman, introduced as Enoch’s sister, lingered around the doorway. She appeared to have Down’s Syndrome.
Margaret asked if we would like to see how she cooked a meal. She disappeared for a little while and then began carrying things outside from a small storage room. A hen, setting on a clutch of eggs, occupied one corner of the storage area. The cooking area is in a small brick building with an open doorway a few steps from the back door of the house. She had made a small fire with four sticks pointing into the center alternating with three rectangular stones that formed a support for the pans.
She began by cooking chopped tomato in oil. She added salt and some water and let the mixture simmer for a few minutes. This would be the “relish” to accompany the nsima. Next she got a large pot of water warm. She sifted maize flour through a square sifter into a large flat basket. She scooped several handfuls of flour into the water and stirred until it was smooth. At this stage it is called porridge and could be a typical morning meal. Margaret kept adding flour and stirring until it was quite thick and bubbly but not boiling.
She used a wooden nsima spoon to scoop the thickened mixture onto a plate. Each spoonful, one portion, was laid down separately so the finished dish made a flower like pattern.
Back in the main room, we shared their lunch. Chet and I occupied the chairs, Margaret and Enoch sat on the mat and a string of kids lined the wall, watching us. Mary Prudence having already eaten at her nursery school, cavorted around us.
First Margaret offered to pour water over our hands into a bowl. Then she placed scoops of steaming hot nsima and tomato sauce on our plates, along with pieces of dried fish that she had fried in oil. She showed us how to divide the nsima into small chunks to use as scoops for the relishes. The salty fish and sauce were a pleasing contrast to the nsima, which reminded us of very thick Cream of Wheat.
At the end of the meal Margaret again brought the bowl of water for our hands. We said good-bye to the group of children, snapped a few pictures of a friendly neighbor and headed back to the truck. Along the way, we saw kids chewing on sweet seeds from baobab pods. We learned that these could be soaked in water to make a tasty tea. I wanted to buy some winnowing baskets to take home, but the basket vendors had gone for the day. I did succumb to the lure of a couple more chitenjis.
Near the truck a crowd of kids was gathered around a galimoto. I stopped to take a picture of the toy vehicle but the view in my lens immediately filled with wiggly hands and faces clamoring to be photographed. Further on, we passed a busy maize mill and a stall that offered fresh fried potato strips. We stopped for family photos in front of Enoch’s shop and then eased the truck out onto the muddy, rutted road for the trip back to Namitembo. It was a wonderful afternoon!
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