After I’ve finished a day drinking tea, reading about theories on post-conflict development, arguing over cricket, and filling my belly with super-spicy rice and curry, I usually walk home. It takes about 22-25 minutes (which is why I stopped taking the bus, that takes at least 30 minutes, and I don’t show up any less sweaty). Upon my arrival Ethel is usually either in the kitchen or watching some TV. She asks me how my day was and frequently asks if I’ve eaten my dinner. On more than one occasion she has spent a few hours in her little kitchen brewing some lovely sundry up. I count myself lucky when she’s made string hoppers from scratch or a deep dark brown beef curry that is so rich you don’t even mind your lips burning for another hour after your done. She makes dhal that is so complete you’d forget it was a boring old yellow lentil. And then there are the days she’s planning a lunch or cooking for her family…oh lord! That means she has either made a cake or brownies. Oh my, oh me oh my, where did she get the recipe for those brownies!
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