Cooking Mandazi

Kamondolo's coming to age was effected one unforgettable day. He was small before all. A young boy, not older than the he goat that he saw feeding on thorny matagaro. Even the matagaro plants were wiser than him –they existed before him too - for they irritated his bare feet while a young boy running to school. On this day as he sat on a stone up Emabungo hill, their site irritated his eyes. And out of nowhere, his eyes welled. He gave a deep sigh, looked beyond to the west over the darkening tin roofs and saw the setting sun being engulfed. It was going to rain heavily. At least he knew, and had kept observance, since his grandfather had mentioned, then when he was also considered too young to hear and connect anything, that when it thundered from the West, a hailstorm was nigh. 

"Rain on me," he called to the sky.

 

 "Raaaaaaiiiiiiiiin on meeeeeeee," he heard the echo. And he repeated uncountable times till the eyes dried. Each time with a raised pitch. His voice got lost in the sweeping rainy wind and the pebbles hit him hard that he held his hands by the ears, mouth shut and eyes closed. Exactly what he wanted for him – a heavy downpour. He wished the tributaries down below wallowed up to where he was and swept him away at the groan of the next thunder. He did not feel needed. He was not worth. He was too young. He was nothing. 

Holding himself to himself, accepting the beats as they came, Kamondolo healed from the previous beats his father had furiously inflicted on him. His father, Mr. Budaka had come home from church to find Kamondolo and his elder sister fighting. He did not ask or got hold of him and the sister. He went for Kamondolo. Kamondolo could have escaped after a few slaps but he had twisted his hand to his back making him helpless. He had gave up crying and calling for help when the blows ended. So he laid in silence at the verandah, bruised and injured, his body burning. 

"I will kill you next time, useless thing!" were the last words of his father. 

It was not the first time to be disciplined as Budaka called it. Kamondolo was always reminded what he did not do right and whenever he was not called a frog or a mole, he was offered a slap on his bonny forehead which could follow by a kick and swarms of strap. Budaka had no patience to hear what Kamondolo could say. 'Shut up you fool!' he would silence him. And Kamondolo learnt not to defend himself by speech and argument. He did not even challenge those who bullied him at school. He had learnt how to give his other cheek for a punch. But even from his sister?

When the father had left for church, Kakuni and Kamondolo were left to guard the homestead. Their mother was away, away in the city. She had left Kakuni at eight and Kamondolo at six. Six years later they were living as a family of three. Budaka never spoke of her whereabouts and was not interested. The children knew how to distribute roles between them. They fetched firewood, water, harvested avocados, farmed maize and beans, cooked and cleaned. Often the father would be out visiting faithfuls and engagements of sort. From there he would come home with an eighth kilogram of sugar, half a loaf of bread and packed meals whenever he went to homes that had excess food. Weeks went by and when schools were on holidays Budaka got more opportunity to be away.  And the children had their way. 

Budaka had just left in the morning as expected leaving Kakuni and Kamondolo to do what they could do. They knew and Kamondolo knew better that when he came up in the evening to find the grass uncut and firewood unsplit he would get the spoils. Kakuni was said to be self-driven but Kamondolo knew that his father avoided conflicting with her. That he would fury to her through him. And that gave Kakuni leverage over him. And she could blackmail him to report a past incident to the father if he did not help her fetch water, light the firewood and sweep the house even when Kamondolo was occupied with outdoor tasks. Yet in this they derived a brother-sister bond. Sometimes they could conflict and have an exchange but laughter and tells occupied their moments. 

To make fun of the day, it was their task to bring happiness home, they had a day for that and it was good it started soon after Budaka was away. Sooner than later both would get individually engaged and lonely to smile at the other. It made Kamondolo's days empty despite working hard in the day. 

"I am feeling hungry," started Kakuni.

"Now?" Kamondolo pretended to be puzzled. He would otherwise have asked the very question. But would he cook? For Kakuni would have asked him to do as he wanted. She would have helped least but got a share of the food anyway. One had to support their own wanting fully – unless otherwise. 

"It was an empty breakfast. No bread, no mandazi! Papa does not care much about us. He is gone to eat in people's houses and pay them with prayers.''

"The day Papa will hear you speak that way…''

"He won't do anything to me, he cannot beat me.'' She affirmed

"He can only cane me. He hates me."

"Because you are a boy. I am feeling hungry!" She rushed her speech, unconcerned. 

Unwilling to argue, Kamondolo asked, "What do you want to eat?"

"Mandazi!" she asserted. 

"We have no baking flour left."

"We have. Though little. I told Papa it was over thinking he would buy us bread for breakfast."

"If he knew you lied he would…"

"Still beat you. I would tell him you are the one who told me to hide and ask for bread. You remember you said we missed bread?"

"I did not – "

"Will you help me cook? I will help you wash those clothes."

It was an undeniable call for teamwork. 

"You are not a stone, be good for peace sake," Kamondolo told himself in a shrill he could not understand its right. 

In a speechless moment the frying pan was warming with oil. Kakuni had searched deep in the cupboard to remove a squeezed packet of Ulafi Baking Flour. They did not check the expiry date. They did not know it existed. Change of form was poisonous – not at least to them. Milk was edible in either conditions so could be all things that were edible. Nothing lasted long at the house anyway. Stomach aches were rare. 

"I love mandazi. It is my favourite snack. If it were my wish I would make one big mandazi in the sky and be biting a piece each time I look up." She dreamt.

"Like the dense nimbus clouds?" Kamondolo asked as he rolled the dough.

"Yes. And I would cut for no one! I would even place it in the sun's direction. Just in case I felt it was too hot. I would be a happy girl."

"It was a good idea for me to think I was hungry, was it not?" she challenged.

"Everyone gets hungry. I am too."

"Nooo, had I not spoken of being hungry we would not be getting ready to eat. It is my idea." 

"Yes," Kamondolo was occupied to listen.

 The fire had even dimmed and he bent to blow the firewood. Kakuni sat besides stroking her neck with an eagle's feather. If she ever were anything, she wished she were an eagle. It is why she never sympathized with the hen in one of the stories that her primary school teacher read to them. That the hen had borrowed a razor from the eagle and one of its chicks had lost it before she could finish shaving them and return it. That the hawk had gotten impatient of waiting for the razor that was not coming. And in pay, as long as the scratching of the hen in gardens went on, the eagle would keep taking a commission. The razor seem to have been swept by rain to the stream and hens could not dive. 

The teacher had asked the pupils if they had any questions about the story. And Kakuni had lifted her hand up. 

"If the hen found the razor today, would the eagle return the chicks it took away?"

The teacher had waited for the class to sense the agony in the statement but they were too young to get the innocent question. 

"I doubt the eagle would agree to take the razor. All the eagle nestles have been taught to eat meat. Not fruits. Not grass. They would say it was a different razor. They would claim it took too long and lost value...." She Paused and followed by asking, "Do razor blades shave nowadays?"

The class laughed. All of the boys had well cut hair done at the barber shops. They could not imagine that long then people shaved with razor blades. 

"I love eagles," she said to Kamondolo

"I do not like them. Yesterday it took Chakuza's remaining chick. His hen had only hatched three and all of them have gone. Can't they hunt wild birds in the air? Why go for helpless chicks?"

Kakuni sneered. 

Kamondolo had rolled flat a large dough so that it would be one fryer size mandazi instead of several small sized ones. Kakuni had agreed to it too. To Kamondolo it was time saving while to Kakuni one large piece was satisfying enough than many small ones. They did not have a diverting opinion on the size. 

Chalalalala! The mandazi started to cook in hot oil. 

"I did not expect you to know it well. See how delicious it is turning out to be! You will make a good cook in the future. But we girls will still cook better." She did not see Kamondolo make a smile out of her words for he turned to pick a tray that he would place the mandazi on. 

"Remove some wood to keep the fire low," she advised him and he bent to remove. 

The glowing fireplace was hot enough for the needed heat. Kamondolo kept turning and turning to ensure the whole mandazi was well cooked. At the last turning he left Kakuni to observe it as he stepped out. She would then put the mandazi on the tray, eject the fryer from the cooking stones and calm the fire with water. 

Mandazi was ready. 

It had not cooled down before Kakuni asked Kamondolo whether he was going to eat. 

"Why have I been cooking if I was not going to eat?"

"It is mine, Ndolo. So I have a right to ask you if you would like to eat. If you are not hungry then I can eat alone." She defended.

It was not Kamondolo's element to argue in stupidity. His sister could act strangely sometimes. Yet he always thought she would be considerate after all. So he did not mind her words. 

"Why do you think the mandazi is yours?" he calmly asked. 

"Ha!" she thrust herself up. "Is it you who came up with the idea? Is it you who had the flour? Is it you? Or because you rolled it there?" she pointed the kitchen table with her lips. 

"So what has been my contribution?"

"You were helping. I only asked for your help. I even said I would help wash the clothes for you.  Why do you now think of equality?" she spoke in quick deep cutting ends. "You should remember that your contribution is just what I could have done. Do not be unreasonable, it is not proper."

At this point Kamondolo swelled inwards. It would be too little and unfair to hit her head by the wall. His sister needed an understanding. It could be he was wrong. He had little know-how how sharing happened. He was too young and naïve. But then it would have been satisfying had he made the mandazi with full knowledge it was her sister's and he was not going to partake. And then had his sister also asked for the whole piece to eat by herself, he would think her a little polite. She was mutating so quick, he exasperated. 

"It is me who has risked anyway. If Papa finds out I will be in big trouble." She added to her advantage yet Kamondolo knew he would still be the one to be responsible. "I can only cut for you. Would you mind this?" she held to Kamondolo's face a small cutting as she held the rest of the tray. 

It was a joke to Kamondolo's eyes. A serious joke. A solution was needed to keep himself away from the embarrassment. He could have wished to run away and never see his sister again. But she bedeviled him, stern in his face. A huge urge sent his right hand against Kakuni's face. The tray toppled. She fell down in a bitter cry that had both justice and pretense of being offended. 

Hardly had she breathed for a second wail than the father entered the kitchen. It was as if he was right outside waiting for the right moment to enter and save his innocent daughter. He found Kamondolo in the act of adding her a kick. 

How could he escape?

Such was his fate for the day. And as he froze on the stone he felt at ease. Pain had ceased. He could have died had he remained by the stone till morning. 

Luckily the shepherd had come for the goats and seen a boy lying on the rock in after rain drizzle. It was dusk and chilly. He picked him to his house and wrapped him in warm wool blanket. At morning, thinking the boy would wake up to be asked why he was lying helpless on the stone, Kamondolo had woken up and ran away. 

"Boys will be boys," he sighed.