4 April 2008

After four days of volunteering I was hoping I would have a handle on how things would work. But as I stepped into the bus leaving Sinethemba I still didn’t feel any more comfortable than I had my first time in Khayelitsha. Today was an adventure, somewhat like usual. Nolitha had asked me to pick up some dry soup mix because the kitchen had run out on Wednesday. I arrived at the kitchen and felt prepared. I knew where all the food was, I remembered the “recipe” (just watching Nolitha for two days) for making soup, the transport had picked us up on time so I had enough time, I was actually serving the community. However, it all went wrong when the soup never congealed. Now if I was having a bowl of soup on a cold night by a fire, then watery soup that I could drink from a mug would be great, but…we don’t give utensils to the kids or mamas who come to the soup kitchen. In reality we don’t serve soup but instead a chunky stew type of meal; a meal that can be soaked up with bread and picked up by hand. I was freaking out by this point, thinking I wouldn’t have a meal to serve. I thought it was funny and ironic that after starting with such confidence and really “knowing” what to do, I had messed up.

Because I cook the meal in Nolitha’s kitchen with the “garage” next door where I serve the kids and mamas, I am invading the normal happenings of her household. It is an interesting experience because they only speak Xhosa. Buhle, Nolitha’s daughter, has been around more often because they are on break from school, but she has not been taught all the ways of Xhosa cooking therefore she was just as overwhelmed as I when I stared into the brown liquid on the stove. One thing she did help me with was to ask one of the mamas doing beading in the garage to come and fix the soup. After adding some soya (I think that was what is in the soup mix they usually use instead of my instant soup mix) the soup thickened up, yay!

I take things for granted often. For example I assume that most people have been exposed to cameras enough to know how to turn one on. However, this obviously is not true. While serving, I handed Nolitha my camera and got back to work. Five minutes later she brought the camera up to me and asked where to turn it on. Another five minutes later, after joking in Xhosa with the mamas about them taking up so much space on the screen, she asked me how to actually take a picture.

The pictures she took were beautiful, check them out on Picasa. Monday will be a new week at the soup kitchen. There will be new mistakes, new experiences, and new memories. That is the beauty of this place called Africa…the mamas and children in the townships welcome my mistakes and successes probably because they are done with a willing heart.