@WINTERABC2021 @AFROBLOGGERS
Her mother's mother lived her life, her mother watched her and later got around her day a lot like her. Her mother lived her life, she watched her and later got around her day a lot like her. That's how a book was written, a book not visible, a book not written by hand but by grooming habit that turned into a lifestyle, handed down to the lot that came after. The book of culture!
He frowns at the mention of "matooke," a type of bananas cooked while still unripe, actually the most popular staple food in Uganda. He then goes on to ask what else is being served with the matooke, as insurance from having to be a drag king with his plate at the table, unhappy, forcing his equivalent of medicine down his throat and eating not to waste his hard earned cash. So, I learnt to make an extra dish for his peace of stomach, whenever I cook matooke. His mother ate and still eats matooke at every meal, he watched her and he ate a lot of it under her roof, he developed a fatigue associating himself with it but he was without option as he was still under her roof and the stomach well, it didn't entertain excuses when it was due. He now is the living example of the missing gap in the line of the matooke culture.
"Matooke," a staple Ugandan food..
I prefer to make my "posho," what others may know as corn meal, soft but not fluid, without a trace of a pimple, neatly shaped into a ball or oval when fresh from the fire and most IMPORTANTLY, finally eaten using my hands. I'm not letting some metallic aids dilute the taste and feeling of handling this treasure, live! If you thought we just throw posho into the mouth, think no more and begin imagining the journey I am about to take you on.
You remember the neatly shaped ball or oval of posho, fresh from the fire? I serve that when it has semi cooled, more like warm at this point. I start to pick little mouth size portions off of that. With every fingerful I pick from the big parent posho ball, I curve into a baby ball, then use my thumb to pierce a small pit through the ball, you know why? The pit creates a space where I can dip this posho ball into the accompanying sauce for instance beans sauce and Voila!! A mouthwatering combo created. The way that thing goes down feels like a sweet dream and there's no lie there. My mother lived her life, she cooked, ate and indulged in posho this way and I watched her. I later got around to eating a lot like her and I could not be more thankful to be a part of this satisfying posho culture.
Culture of the days before us was a pretty forceful one, without options but that of our times has changed to more of ambidextrous! Culture of these days is clearly, a matter of choice. You can choose to go with or cut yourself from the pack without much of a consequence. Oh, the times do go by!
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