Pride: As Recited by Nanny

She had soft silky skin even at age 63
Nails beautifully shaped
Epitome of class and elegance

Once the wife of the aristocrat &
Life partner of a Business man

An ivory white cane in the left hand
Pressing down the cushion of the chair with her right

Her hair whisked neatly as always
In a roll at the base of her head
In her ear lobes rested golden studs

I sat on the floor at her feet.
My degree in an envelope 
Eager to share my success

She smiled but that's it. No words to share
No comments made.
A little bit of confusion mixed with sadness
Especially being the first...in everything
 
She said my name softly
And she followed with a question.

You have a pen and paper?

I dug through my purse and found a
Tattered and crumpled opened bank statement.  The back of the envelope was blank. This should suffice I thought.

A blotchy blue pen to follow, no lid but still worked

She began to recite:

Half carton Colourin' - should be black
Three-quarta pound Demerara sugga
One pound Butta

You gon need half pound each:
Dry Currants
Dry Prunes
Dry Raisins
Dry Figs
Dry Cherries
Mix peel is nice, mus put only Quarta pound

You can use too de cranberries, dry...umm wha you call it? Not peach, de other one...Pammy! Wa you does call...APRICOTS.  Yes you can use this too

You ga soak it from now.  I use a nice nice sweet red wine.  One bottle.  Throw one bottle Rum too.  Those two you need.  Don't worry with brandy an'all. 

2 to 3 months it need to soak.

It's now August, I thought.
A rose coloured coffee mug was now in her hand
On a plate on the edge of the seat beside her, sat the Bran muffin I baked her - sugar free

When I was your age, I had 5 out of de 7 of my children.
You mommy and your uncle used to steal de jar of nut-butta
Run and hide under the bed and eat like Christmas!

Lilian use to catch dem by de ears and put some lix on them.
Cry!

She laughed out loud. Her voice still soft and raspy.

I miss her laugh...I really do

When it reach time to make it, you mus grine the fruits.
Fine fine
Pick the stems and all out first. 

Beat the butta and the sugga. It gotta change colour. Almost white
Den you trow the colourin' (which I soon discovered was black-strap molasses, go figure)
Half dozen or 8 eggs. Beat that too, and put inside.
It gon look watery like.  Don't worry. Once you put the grine fruits, it gon catch-up itself.

Take you flour, baking powda and so-much salt (she showed the measurement with her index finger and thumb)

You need to make sure it has spice first before
Clove, lil nutmeg, cinnamon, and pimento, you can grate the fresh ginger inside
Pimento like dem Jamaican does use for Jerk chicken (aka all-spice mom explained)
Mus trow your flour easy easy. Not all one-time. 

Her instructions coupled with her hand actions
Made for an interesting story-telling moment
Like theatre, her expressions were grand

Appearing beside me was a bowl
Four amber brown orbs sit, the scent of cinnamon & nutmeg
Black chewy jewels of raisins peaked out
A hint of banana - Gulgula and a cup of tea.

Oven gotta be slow.  It gon take 2 hour fa bake
Y'all use electric, Guyana I using the gas.
Flour you pan and allow to cook slow

When it done, pour rum over it.
It will take one whole bottle rum.
And dat is it!

That's it. Okay, that is it then.
My degree sat on the top of a side table
Next to a lamp.

Not sure what to think. Or what to say.
I wrote deligently regardless, as per request.

I was 16 when I marry your grandfather.
Didn't know anything. See him once before on
The engagement day.

He had left me in a big house to run supplies up Essiquebou River then
Come back. I didn't know to cook.
He had gone to Trinidad and use to bring nice things back for me

"West Indian Cookery"...Small red book he bring back one time.
I still got it. It got everything inside.

I had 7 children. I cooked from dat book. All 7 big now, got big children of their own.
13 of y'all.

She fell silent. Then distant. She sighed as if her memories were running away from her and she was running to catch up. As if to put her out of breath.

And then she glaced down at me.
Kind of smiling, and in a way kind of not.

I sat with folded legs, a creased evelop and a pen.

She stood up bracing her balance with her cane
Her coffee mug and saucer in her free hand
Waltzing slowly towards the kitchen.

This Christmas you will make it. And you will tell me, right?

Just try and see, it gon work out.

With all my love,

A Girl Who Likes to Cook
xo