I am blown away by the hospitality and the grace with which the Ndalasi family host people. Twice now guests have come over the visit Nolitha while I have been cooking. The first time I was called into the living room and one woman introduced herself. She went on to tell me about challenges she has in living in Harare, about her children and the child her daughter has just had, and the importance of maintaining friendships. She concluded her monologue with “and will you make me some coffee?” Yhooo! Hold up! I stood there wide-eyed; I had no idea how to make coffee in Nolitha’s kitchen. That usually takes being comfortable with the kitchen; knowing where the milk and sugar is, where the coffee, filter, and machine are. I didn’t know any of these things. I looked to Nolitha and she nodded toward the kitchen saying ask Buhle, her daughter.
Well I wasn’t gonna just stand there and I wasn’t going to go all around Harare looking for Buhle. Instead I went into the kitchen and started rummaging through cupboards. I realized after a full search of the kitchen for a coffee machine that they don’t use those but instead drink instant coffee, whheww! One problem solved. So now I looked all over the container for how to make it…I didn’t want to give the woman either too strong or too weak coffee. Just as I was pouring the hot water into the cup Buhle walked in. She looked at me with kind eyes but a look of “this is not that hard”. I saw her grab a tray by the fridge, pour just hot water into the cup and place the coffee tin on the tray as well. She said to me bring this out to her and she will make her own.
As I sat the tray in front of the woman she smiled and began the ever so personal task of making a cup of coffee. I am amazed that in a home of such poverty that the courtesy due guests is possibly higher than at home. When guests are over at Nolitha’s she will drop everything to entertain and will try to be as formal and accommodating.
A few days later there were more guests. A group of men. We served them lunch before going over to the soup kitchen. I brought out full bowls, a loaf of bread on a tray with a knife, tea and coffee on a tray. It was a beautiful spread. But for the chipped cups, the mix-matched spoons, the non-refrigerated milk, and instant coffee; the lunch could have been one set up for the President or at least the in-laws. I have enjoyed learning about the traditions and customs of the Xhosa culture; the hierarchy of their families and community. It is interesting how I fit in there, they are finally warming up to me but maybe that happens when you stay around long enough to see these small formalities that keep a life of poverty looking more like a life of privilege.
