My Life Story
I come from a culture where food governs various aspect of the social life. Through food, we show and receive appreciation for one another. As a small child, I was known for eating everything and anything presented to me. I was the opposite of a picky-eater. I loved food so much, I did not miss dinner even if I felt asleep before super. My family would wake me up, feed me, and put me back to bed. Eating was not the only thing I loved, I was fascinated with the art of cooking, culture, and rules surrounding food. At six years old, I argued with my grandmother regarding the arbitrary cultural norm of serving men first. I would watch her cook, and I would insist that she serves the youngest member of the family before anyone else.
By the time I turned nine, I had learned to cook the basic such as rice, beans, vegetables, and chicken. We had a private chef, who eventually introduced me to the world of culinary arts. His name was “Shetani”, which mean evil in Shwahili. He was ruthless in the kitchen. He taught me how to make bread, introduced me to French string beans, and most importantly the love for cooking. Shetani continued to work for my family for many years until he past away.