I couldn't stand it.
I had to get out of the kitchen. I
stood outside the kitchen, looking in from the outside. It wasn't the heat. The heat I could take. It was the swirling, thick smoke from the
damp wood that was heating our lunch.
I wandered into the school kitchen one morning and told
them I wanted to learn to cook like a Rwandan.
Mama Shukuru smiled, handed me a chef’s hat, and brought me out back
where Isaiah was already hard at work.
Isaiah told me I was chief chef for the day. Thankfully, that wasn't really the case otherwise the student’s would still be waiting for Wednesday’s lunch.
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| Isaiah hard at work. |
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| Me posing so it looks like I'm hard at work |
Wednesday is a busy day in the kitchen at Rwamagana
Lutheran School. Our typical lunchtime
spread rotates between rice and beans, Irish potatoes and beans, sweet potatoes
and beans, boiled green bananas and beans, or posho and
beans. (I know this might sound like a
monotonous diet, but I tell ya, a plate full of rice and beans done right
really hits the spot. Or bananas and
beans in a warm ground nut sauce… Yum!)
On Wednesdays though, the kitchen prepares us a feast.
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| Posho, a porridge-like dough cooked of maize flour and water |
First, Isaiah put me to work peeling ibitoki (green bananas) which we would cook with onions, oil, and
tomato paste until they become soft and delicious. The hard, uncooked bananas ooze a sticky sap
causing me to spend as much time washing my hands afterwards as I spent peeling
them. Next, it was time to slice the
potatoes. Isaiah handed me a knife and
showed me how to slice them into thin wedges so that we could deep fry them
like French fries. Isaiah’s knife moved
with speed and agility as he sliced potato after potato. I hacked at the potatoes, trying to mimic
him.
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| Peeling ibitoke |
Isaiah brought me into the small shack where fires were
already going heating a giant cauldron of ginger tea and boiling water for
rice. I tried to slice and dice my way
through a pile of onions and carrots that would be tossed into various
dishes. The smoke swirled thicker and
thicker as lunch time neared. It didn't
seem to bother Isaiah but it caused me to spend most of my time standing by the
door just watching him slice, dice, and stir our noontime meal.
Finally, it was time to serve the fruits of our labor. (Or I should probably say the fruits of
Isaiah’s labor.) The students and staff
were amused to see me donned in my chef’s hat and delivering their lunch.
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| The final dish - Rice, meat, ibitoke, beans, chips, and salad |
Now, they told me, I am one step closer to becoming
Rwandan.
