Odd Help

There she stood at the kitchen sink washing the third batch of dirty dishes in less than an hour. Suleta was so fed up of her boss. Today she wasn’t in a position to let off steam with her colleagues who hung their clothes in the airing area at the rear side of the flats that faced Suleta’s kitchen window.

Suleta’s back faced the stove where Mama wa Nyumba was cooking. The room was cold as ice. Suleta was really fed up of being treated like crap. Mama wa Nyumba had spent so much time chasing paper, she had completely lost the ability to cook. The food was horrid and Suleta would occasionally make a simple suggestion with cheap ingredients but that would always end up in, “You think you know everything just because you went to cooking school?” Followed by clicking from Mama wa Nyumba.

On this specific morning Suleta was tempted to respond, “YES!” out loud to the usual snide remark and throw in the towel literally. She had gone to culinary arts school worked in numerous 5 star hotels. Then what was she doing in some middle class family home housekeeping? Her family was baffled by it, she was being paid a measly salary yet she gave so much of herself. Suleta had been tired of the cut throat professional kitchen and sought new inspiration to maybe start a restaurant or some form of high end catering.

Suleta had once been told by a chef who trained her that the “mundane at times inspires the exquisite” at the time it sounded like a whole bunch of hogwash trying to water down her culinary genius. But Chef Linguini was not far from the truth. She had made some really simple pastries from left over cereal and cookies that the children loved and carried for lunch with a fruit and veggie smoothie that seemed to strike a great balance between healthy and delicious for children. She had made progress and it was about time to leave.

“What are you looking at Suleta? Suleta! Suleta!” Mama wa Nyumba was at it again, trying to nag her way to Suleta’s heart. What happened next; Suleta could not explain but to say the least, her next destination wasn’t going to be a five star restaurant.

She lifted the skillet she was rinsing and smacked Mama wa Nyumba with it, who hit her head on the cooker. Suleta pulled her off the stove and slumped on to the couch, went to her room packed her bags, dropped a note and walked out.

“To Billy and Joseph, your crunchy bars are on top of the fridge in the cookie jar; remember to take your milk with it so you can be super strong like me.” And that was how Suleta signed off the note. She was never seen or heard from again.

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