Now that I am home, I cannot begin to tell you how much I enjoy my mother’s cooking. My mother is not a stellar cook, but her food feels like home. It feels like the food that I should be eating every day and not the overpriced Nairobi food or the under cooked meals I eat at klabu while in school. It is just homely, always on time, always warm, always with just enough salt and spice.
Before hedonism gets to me and I start complaining of the too much soup that she fills us up with, I consciously made a mental note to savor the dishes with all that I am. Because even on these desperate days that we endlessly scroll on our news feeds only to be met with more sad news, her food remains a constant of happiness.
And I urge you to please notice when you are happy and exclaim or murmur or think at some point, ‘If this isn’t nice; I don’t know what is.’
Throughout the year, I have had cloudy and hard days, as we all have had. But there have been exciting days that I have just paused and murmured to myself, “If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.” One of these days that first comes to mind was my first day of a political science class that I found out that we would be having a female lecturer. As mundane as this sounds, this is the first female political science lecturer I have had in my three years of school, and I pleasantly thought about how nice this was.
And the second is pleasantly this, as I reply to texts from friends and scroll through twitter when my mother is serving food, I often pause to think, ‘If this isn’t nice, I don’t know what is.’
Have a great week ahead!