Everything is cooked in the kitchen. The kitchen is where everyone converge. The joy of mealtime is how food was prepared. Food is a great way to gather people. Reminding me of Maslow’s hierarchy of needs; Food Shelter and Clothing. Cooking is an art. Blending the richness of spices giving distinct flavors. The kitchen is an exciting place to be.
I listened to full flavoured stories that comes with each dicing and slicing. From our kitchen in the Philippines to Africa then in Europe; they all come from all walks of life too. Cooking with family, friends or household helpers. Seeing people cook meticulously, lavishly, sometimes people who almost have nothing or just empty plates was in itself an initiation towards life.
Our kitchen was the busiest place in the house. A place where there is so much laughter and joy. We had a number of household staff. From a distance, you would appreciate their coordination without knowing their pretty little secret. Synchronicity in how they function was most apparent yet each one has a specific physical disability to share. Watching them how they relate and work together; no one cannot deny that there is so much passion for community living. Three sisters manage the kitchen, the eldest and youngest were deaf, middle sister was deaf – mute. They worked so well. In their quiet world, you can hear their enthusiasm in their silenced gestures, frozen words and expressions locked somewhere in time. You will know that they are there because the pots and kettles are making the noise. A falling glass perhaps marks their presence. They worked as though there was no physical limitation to restrict optimum work. Disability was not a form hindrance to get something done. Besides what my grandaunt would emphasize is to focus on what they can accomplish together. Setting aside differences for the welfare of a greater whole.
At a time where washing machines are a remote idea and laundry shops were not yet conceived in my hometown. A big woman does the laundry from clothes to linen while another one woman does the pressing. She was a stocky and big woman who likes to smoke cigarettes with the lighted portion inside her mouth. She loves to sing while washing the laundry. She would scrub, squeeze and rinse clothes with ease and style. I would always ask her why she had to do this and why that? And she never seems to run out of answers for everything that concerns the washing of clothes. Her daughter was one of my nanny. She was s licensed midwife sent to school by my family. One of our household help had poliomyelitis so, she had to limp around the house. However the disability she was organized in her work. Carpentry was maintained by father and son. The son had visual impairment and occasionally stayed with us along with the grandson of one of our drivers. I admired them for their capacity to rise above their condition and still move forward with their lives. They are able to find humor in their own disability and are not bogged down by criticism.
As I observed each one of them, what I saw is the value of human effort rising above personal disability. What is important is the human being and not the disability. It makes a big difference.
The kitchen was a melting pot; a blending of personalities, a balance between skills, a harmony in principles, and a collaboration between diverse people.
We all lived under one ceiling enclosed by the same walls on common grounds. Along with the other staff who did not have any physical disability; they made my life easy and a little too pampered to live like princess in my own accord. In my childhood, I never had to lift a pitcher to pour water in my glass, tie my shoe laces, carry my school bag or open the door. Things they would always do for me not because they were our household help but they cared for me well beyond their work. We had three drivers, one gardener, one errand boy and one more who maintains the upkeep of a clean and tidy house.
When everything is done for you the next thing to ask is what I can do for myself. I thought of changing my attitude towards work and work. My grannies taught me how to do things but doing each household chores consistently everyday was the hardest part managing my own household without helpers. Transforming myself into what I might become was possible.
The important lesson I learned from them is to see people for what they are given that perfection is an illusion. That is to cherish people for everything that they are, not only for what they can do for me. Both the person and what he can do is of equal importance. But in the manner of order, people comes first as his work is just an expression of one’s being. In managing people and relating with them is to recognize them for what they can do best and support them for what they can do least. And to always look at the “Good” first as the basic “Truth” in everything helps to find what is “Beautiful” sometimes disguised in disability.
From my sheltered almost cloistered home life, school and community, Life gave me the chance to experience the different shades of perfection in the abilities and skills of people I encountered thus made me see the value of human effort. That in the end what matters are people because you will always encounter persons who are greater or less than what we are. The people whom you care the most are the ones who make a difference positively or negatively in our lives.
We shared time and space giving me my first lessons on Ethnicity followed by ideas about Race.
Transported in Africa, I lived in a multi-Racial community of different religious affinity and affluence in life.
Ethnicity gives a sense of camaraderie – a community held together by common characteristics such as language, religion, or origin. Social Integration as part of their identity creates a specific community. Race is unitary and sometimes carry a socially imposed hierarchy. There is a sense of inequality built into the system. Anyone can claim multiplicity of ethnic affiliations but you are essentially Causian, Asian or African. Race is how you’re perceived by others.
I grew up without seeing the lines dividing people because of religion or race. Learning to accentuate on the positive and choosing to build. The importance of giving each other the space to make things work was something I gained from them.
Still in the kitchen, at home in Tanzania, our staff were Muslims and Christians, Tanzanian and comes from different African tribes. I learned their language, ate the food they prepare, loved the flavours, fascinated by their “ kanga or Kitenge” clothing fashion. They showed deep respect for each other.
In his broken English, Shaibu explained to me that “ colour is skin deep.” I appreciated the truth in its simplicity. It was something that my dad affirmed by showed me a number of human bones passing through burial grounds just a few meters away from our house in Africa.
We played tag under the hot African sun as children. Run around barefoot. It did not matter whether we were brown, black or white. When meal time comes, again the kitchen is a haven of good food and friendship. My birthdays were celebrated and hosted by families of different nationalities and religions.
Living in the same community the lines blur and differences fade. What we saw were people – of children and mothers. Of families with the same daily struggles. I guess beneath colour and creed, simply just live life looking at the bigger picture in life.
In an age where geographic boundaries are changing marked by diminishing cultural borders, this Cultural Revolution is the dissolution of ethnicities that may forge the “collective“ towards the real sense of Globalization. It is not the monopoly over resources but in recognizing that there Is only planet to share. Though transitions towards collaboration can be challenging owing to Man’s Nature to rule over. Perhaps, all in “Due Time” what we labour to unite today will bring forth the consciousness that is expansive. The choice is forced by the circumstances facing all of humanity.
This of course is a thought of a fool like me and a scribe lost in time.
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Maria Lourdes de Vera is an artist and author.
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