Wednesday, April 22, 2015

The Outdoor Kitchen, An Exposé

The other day, the German was telling me about our friends who are expecting a baby this summer and just rented a new apartment in Germany.  When describing the great deal they got, he included that "the kitchen is in".

"Oh wow!  That is awesome!  That is going to make things so much easier for them when the baby is here.  They can be cooking while the baby naps, and get snacks after dark without getting eaten up by mosquitoes."  The German stopped me and clarified that he meant the appliances were included.  It was Germany.  Of course the kitchen is INSIDE.  Oh yeah.  Duh.  I forget this.

Because my kitchen is in my yard.

Anyone who knows me has heard me say this phrase... A LOT.  It is like my special forces badge I mentally tack on to my credentials.  "Ecologist and creative mother of two wild, free range toddlers, raising her children to speak three languages in Africa...and her kitchen is in her yard."

In my less gracious moments, it is phrase I use to one up my woe is me complaints.

"I know what you mean, it is so hard to make a dinner everyone will eat when the kids are hungry and crying and asking to be held but you are trying not to take shortcuts so the food is as healthy as possible...and plus my kitchen is in my yard."

"Bleh, rainy season, when you track mud everywhere and have to walk through calf deep water to get to you car...or your kitchen.  Because my kitchen is in my yard!"

"Hot season.  Man I miss America with it's central air where I didn't sweat the whole time I cooked.  And I wasn't outside.  Because now my kitchen is in my f-ing yard!"

It works it's way into most arguments between the German and I, and to be honest most of our arguments tend to be about whether or not we should move.  He loves our house and doesn't see a need to move, which makes sense because he doesn't cook.  In the yard.  But I even sneak it in places where it doesn't belong.  It is my equivalent of dropping the mic and walking off stage at the end of any disagreement.  "Baby, I'm sorry you had a rough day and spent hours in traffic and got puked on by our kid and stepped in dog (you hope) shit on the part of the street that should be a sidewalk if we lived in a country with sidewalks.  I did all that today too.  Then I came home and made us dinner.  In the yard. BECAUSE THE KITCHEN IS IN THE YARD."

But if I'm being honest, truly honest, there are days when I love my kitchen.  Usually these are days when Bean and Sprout are on my last nerve and I can pass the reins to the German, and retreat to my kitchen in the yard.  Sometimes I play the music my mom always played while cooking (The italian hippy mix including Rod Stewart, Janis Joplin and Frank Sinatra) , my phone propped on the window sill to pick up the neighbor's wifi, and dance around with a glass of wine while cooking an old family recipe.  And sometimes I make something that only takes 10 minutes, and I spend the rest of the time sitting on the floor, reading the news and drinking my wine from a measuring cup because there is no way in hell I'm risking going back into the house of crazy to fetch a real glass.  Like a good friend of equally wild toddlers, sometimes that kitchen keeps me sane.

If the German ever asks you, yes, it does take over an hour to make a quiche.


Baal ma

"Mama, look, another little boy at my window! 'Hi boy! Hi!'  Mama, what does he say?"

"He is asking us for money, sweetie."

"Do we have money, Mama?"

"Yes sweetie, we do."

"Let's give him money, Mama."

"We can't honey, because we don't want to support a system that facilitates child abuse."

One of the most amazing parts of parenting an almost four year old is watching Bean become more aware of her world and begin asking questions.  It makes me see things from an innocent perspective, it drives me near crazy some days ("Why? Why? But why?"), and then some days it breaks my heart.  Because sometimes she asks the tough questions and the answers are full of big words and bigger concepts and depressing truths.

Talibe of West Africa have hit the news this week as a new human rights watch report has outlined the continued failure to stop the abuse of young boys sent to Quranic schools Senegal: Decade of Abuse in Quranic Schools.  Every day, as I drive Bean and Sprout to school, dozens of talibe tap our car windows whenever traffic is slow enough.  When you arrive in West Africa, most people will tell you that when sales people or beggars come to your car, just to look straight ahead so they know you aren't interested or aren't going to give them anything.  This doesn't settle well with me, so for better or worse, when a talibe comes to me I have chosen to make eye contact, smile and wave and say "baal ma", a phrase my friend taught me which is roughly "forgive me".

Baal ma

I SEE you.

Baal ma

I won't give you money, but you have my respect.

Baal ma

I'm sorry your parents chose this fate for you, regardless of if they thought this was the only option, or if they think this is acceptable.

Baal ma

I would love to take a picture of your beautiful face, and show the world who we should be protecting, but I refuse to be another person who exploits you without your consent.

Baal ma

I feel so guilty that my well fed babies are filling a bucket with sand and laughter, while you, near naked, fill an old tomato paste can with coins and sugar cubes to give to the person who mistreats you.



Baal ma

I'm so angry that the people with the power don't put your well being above their wallets.

Baal ma

Maybe my spare change could keep you from being beaten tonight or put food in your belly, but I tell myself it is better to give it to a charity working as your true advocate.

Baal ma

I'm ashamed I don't do more for you.

I hope these boys forgive us for not saving them from this life.  I hope my children forgive me for not doing more to protect those who need protecting, and that growing up here will make them better defenders of those in need.  I hope I forgive myself for not doing more.  If anyone knows of reputable charities working for the talibe, please share them.