Mama Nila

Cooking is something that has been around since the beginning and something that we cannot afford to loose. Cooking is what makes us human, what provides us with the right nutrients and what keeps us from falling into the industries trap. Michael Pollan’s The Cooking Animal reinforced my belief on the importance of home cooked meals and also expands it.

Growing up we didn’t have the riches or opportunities that others had but we were jubilance. I never kenned any woefulness because I was protected, like an angel my father guided me. In his eyes I was never wrong, his kindness and word of wisdom made me the young adult I am today. My father wanted to help everyone whether it was finically or emotionally he was there to help. On a rainy day my father was walking me to school when we came upon an eight year boy, he had no jacket or shoes. He was freezing cold, so my father took of his jacket and put in on the little boy shoulders to keep him warm. He asked where his family was only to discover the kid was an orphan. My father took me and the boy back to our house. I was watching my father bathe, clothe, and feed the boy. The boy name was Abdi; he stayed with us and went to school till my father was able to find a good home for him. The kindness that he showed Abdi made me want to help

I remember the first day I walked into my kindergarten class, I clenched my mother’s hand with all my might to prevent her from letting go. The kids around me, whom I supposed were my classmates, had long let go of their mother’s had and were playing together, and even as a five year old, at that point I felt like an outsider. I pleaded my mom to not leave but my attempts failed as I found myself alone yet surrounded by complete strangers. As I stood in the center of the room while pushing back my tears and eyeing my mother make her way out the door, I heard the teacher call my name. I timidly walked towards the spot on the yellow carpet she was signaling at for me to sit on. I heard Mrs. Ross’s soothing voice but no matter how much I concentrated

     Going back forty-five years is not an easy task to complete because I can’t remember some of the finer details of my childhood. I know I was born on a hot August afternoon in Birth Year at Place Of Birth in City ands State. My mother was just twenty-two at the time and was already the mother of two, I was her third child. My father was twenty-one and already a workaholic, I know because my mother would constantly remind me not to be like that. My mother and father were good parents and they tried to give us the best upbringing they could. My father was the kind of person that believed he should provide and protect his family, and he did a very good job of doing that.

  My immediate family built the basis for my knowledge of food with the atmosphere they created by gathering different descendants of my family to indulge on the cuisine of our cultural

As I added the finishing touches of friend onions and parsley to make it look aesthetically pleasing, I took a step back to stare at the masterpiece I had just created, a luscious and delectable Pakistani rice dish called “Briyani”. Making this dish is the epitome of success in every Pakistani girl’s lifetime. It’s considered an essential quality to add to one’s marriage “resume”. However, to me, it was more than just a future “in law pleaser”, it was my compass for life. A cook must be diligent and attentive to detail, conscious of every ingredient and amount that is being used. A cook is a provider, helping with the wellbeing of the people who are consuming the prepared food. The kitchen is their clinic, and the consumers are their patients. Nine years of cooking with my mother has taught me dedication, obedience, and tested my patience when some recipes would fail. Cooking, as a safe haven from the difficulties of everyday life, has helped me better connect to all my experiences throughout the years and has molded the foundation for my passion and calling, medicine.

Choose one of the main lwa discussed by Karen McCarthy Brown and discuss its Vodou theology – that is, its sacred persona, mythic biography, special powers, specific characteristics, ritual practice, and so forth. Situate this lwa in relation to his or her Black Atlantic history in Haiti and beyond. In what ways does the imagery associated with this lwa reflect the confluence of both history and mythology – in other words, what is this law’s mythistory? Then examine the place of this lwa within Mama Lola’s religious practice: what role does it play in her life? How does she relate to and serve this lwa? Has the role of the lwa changed in her experience over time, and if so, how?

associate the preparation stage with childhood, cooking as growing up, and the eating of the meal

“Chef girlardee” has been my grandparents nickname for me since I knew how to use a knife. After school, I would walk in the door and instantly be able to make out exactly what was cooking. As soon as I could make it out, I would rush up the small set of steps into the kitchen to see what I could help my Mamaw with. Even if it was a simple meal that could be prepared in ten minutes, she always let me help with something. This happened almost every day from first to fourth grade. Now at that time my skills were fairly limited I could peel potatoes, stir, mix, and go downstairs to get anything from the pantry she needed. Looking back, I know I wasn’t doing much but she still always told me how helpful and sweet I was for helping. Spend that time with my Mamaw and Papaw is what I looked forward to everyday after school. Going over there as much as I did and watching my Mamaw cook encouraged me to try new things.

I was born on December 25th on the Island of Jamaica, West Indies to Jean Banthorne and Ralston Reid. At the age of three and a half my mother migrated to the United States of America and left me and two younger siblings with our maternal grandmother. Soon after my mother my father migrated to the United Kingdom. I had a late start in school because my grandmother was of the opinion that we were not to remain long in her care. So she never enrolled me in school when I became age appropriate. Each day she would say my parents would soon send for me and it made no sense to start because I would have to leave. Eventually, she gave in an enrolled all of us in a neighborhood school that was run by a Seventh-day Adventist teacher for the neighborhood children. I started at the same time as my younger two siblings and was quickly labeled as a dunce as I was the oldest but knew almost nothing and was not able to grasps information as quickly as my sisters.

For this mini-project, I interviewed my 72-year-old grandmother. My grandmother, Dominga, was born and raised in the Agua Caliente, El Salvador. She lived in a poor rural area where her parents owned a strip of land where they were able to own animals. She was born to parents who were Mestizo, of mixed European and indigenous descent. My grandmother was around my age in the 1960s, so I wanted to know what her everyday life as a woman was during that time.

Nothing interesting ever happened to me except for mi abuelo. Me and him will always see each other over the weekends, that is when he told me stories of his friends, how he met my grandma, his regrets, from his proudest to saddest moments, how my parents are the best thing I can get even though I did not realize it then. Even when I didn’t have time to go over to his house I called to check on him and just tell him how I was doing at school and that I will visit him when I have time. By the time I turned 12, I moved here to Laredo, TX because of all the violence that was occurring in Nuevo Laredo, Mexico. Even though mi abuelo lived just across the river I started losing contact with him, but I always remembered him and his “lessons”.

My mom is a great cook. She has always loved cooking anything but the best thing she cooks is Green Bean Casserole, for Thanksgiving dinner. She always prepares it with so much love for us to enjoy. She begins by slow cooking the beans for two hours. They are hard at first but through

At the age of six, I, along with my sister, mother, and father, all lived in a small, overcrowded village near the Nile River in Southern Egypt. It was a sunny tuesday when I came home from school to find my pregnant mother smiling. After asking my mother why she was so happy, she proceeded to tell me that she had entered us into contest. When I heard contest, I immediately thought the prize would be money but I was erroneous. She told me if we win, we would go to America. She said it in such an astonished tone, as if it were a dream of hers that would never come true. She then sighed and turned her attention back to the kitchen. I didn't give it much though after that as I was six and didn't really understand what had just happened.

This true story is about me as a young girl trying to identify with the