Home Sweet Home: Night One

I was overwhelmed by the many faces greeting me after we pulled up to the house, but the caregiver offered me water and quickly escorted me to my room. I’d prepared myself for shared quarters, so I looked around with surprise at the large room—all for me!?!? I was then shown where the bathroom was and I just about giggled with delight at the large, blue bathtub—oh yeah! She suggested I take a short nap and I figured,

“Why not?”

I woke to a knock on the door and a voice that said, “Your bath is ready.”

Wowzers, talk about service—I didn’t even have to draw my own bath! This was going to be cushy digs! I gathered all the accoutrements and made my way to the bathroom. I put everything down, decided to check the temperature and stopped. There was water alright, and there was steam rising, but it was from a small, white, 2 gallon basin. I’ll admit that I was disappointed, but in later days and weeks I’ve come to value and appreciate bathing myself in those two gallons of water just as much as, if not more than lazily laving in the luxurious liquid of a bubble-filled lagoon of a bathtub (then again, considering all the adjectives used (and the time spent coming up with them), I’m definitely going to savor the first bubble bath I get upon return!). Even though the bath was smaller than expected, I felt much more refreshed. 

Supper wasn’t ready yet, so the caregiver sent me out with some of the girls to look at the surroundings. Talk about beautiful! Grass, numerous trees, and a large garden surrounded the house. It was at the garden that I was the recipient of a bit of a joke.

Feeling awful that I could not remember the girls’ names, I figured the least I could do was be an attentive listener and do what was asked. They handed me a small, light green fruit/vegetable and encouraged me to eat it.

“It tastes nice, yes?” one of the girls asked.

“Mmmhmmm,” I managed to mumble out as I forced myself to swallow the bitter, seed-filled bite I had just taken. If I had been by myself, I would have spat it out; as it was, I took another bite and then another, “Wow, I’ve never eaten this before!” I said with forced enthusiasm. The girls seemed delighted that I had eaten it and I decided their grins were worth the bitter film still coating my tongue—yee-uck!

I steeled myself for the next sampling when we came to another row of plants—there was no fruit so I figured I was okay. Not the case. One of the girls pulled off a leaf and handed it to me.

“Here, eat this. Try it.”

I figured it couldn’t be worse than the last sampling so I took a bite. I mulled the leaf around my mouth a few times; the texture was fuzzy and the taste a bit, well, it didn’t taste bad!

“What do you think?” one girl expectantly asked while the rest looked on with grins.

“Well it has a very unique flavor—I kinda’ like it.” The fact of the matter is that I did like it. Though I might have liked anything after the bitter little veggie I had forced down!

Suddenly, though, the girls burst into laughter. “You are not to eat that! That is the wrong part of the plant!”*

I, have two options: react defensively (which I am prone to do when teased) or join their laughter at my gullibility. Considering that I’m supposed to be an adult and I’m going to be spending the next 10 weeks with these girls, I go for the second. It’s a good choice, because this is one of the stories the girls and I both look back fondly upon weeks, months—and probably even years—later.

* Interestingly enough, I recently found out from Bombuya Zulu (a grandmother who used to cook for my family occasionally) that my favorite vegetable as a child was kalembula--or cooked sweet potato leaves. The only thing is that I liked them even better raw!