Mankwali

Who are you? Is one of those blunt questions I dislike answering and I have found that a lot of people battle in answering them as much as dislike them. It has some sort of discomfort. Its meant to be obvious. And I have found that through the ever changing times, I am not only a sister of the soil but I am my mother and fathers child even in their absence.

Mankwali is my tribal name, a cupbearer for the King. So my praise names go something like: "Vutela, Mkhwanazi, Nkwali Yenkosi, Shamase, Ndonga, Bhukula, abanye bayazithwala abanye bayazibeletha"... I add on things like "isizukulwana seBhele" which means I am the grand child of MaMbhele, my grandmother...I have also added on my praises and included my maternal grandmother, who had her own special talents and stregths. A notable pig farmer, no doubt that I was taught to love pork from a young age.

I have grown in love with my roots, for my soul is inbedded in them and as I grow, I remember the modest and simple things that my mother and father taught me. Be kind to others, always say "Thank you" and  "sorry" without having to pull your lip.  Always greet and address a peson by their name.  My mother used to remind all  five of her children always say "Goodmonring Mom"  "Good-evening Mr Cedric.", "Good-day Mrs Jones" and always answer the phone with "Zookey speaking, how can I help you." Needless to say our home sounded like some formal firm, and there was an automatic recording of every phonecall. Yep my father on the other line eeves dropping!

Its the strict upbringing, that makes my life fee like a big fat party, now. A party of wanting to always share joy, peace, love, hospitality, good food, conversation and beauty. A party that says you have earned the right to host guests. You know how to pick up a paper, on the floor, even if you have not dropped it. My father was nerve-twitching and frustrating when he'd go on about, being responsible. His definition of being responsible had a lot to do with cleaning up and tyding up and picking up litter and putting things where they belonged.

http://www.mankwali.com/

Another man who taught me much in my life was my uncle whom I call Pabho.  He taught me my  love for beatiful feet. I love clean happy feet not because of anything special but because when I grew up in noble Swaziland, my uncle had gout and after writing my weekly essays, a lesson for me to learn to communicate better, he would make me massage his feet. A chore I took as punishment. Later in my adult life, I have found that the very chores I was taught and loathed, such as cooking, massaging tired and gout-ridden feet and stressed shoulders has become my hobby of sorts.

I love hosting and treating my guests as ROYALTY. My friends complain when I visit them, because I tend to forget that I am the guest and end up washing the dishes, fixing things like skew frames on walls and curtains that I think are flopping. Then when that is over, I sit in the lounge, not watching TV like everyone else but fixing toes, feet and giving tired looking faces a face massage.  

Just reminicing about my parents I guess and celebrating me. Welcome to my blog about the food I like to make and share, maybe one day we can share a bite. Maybe you can try out  my killer vegetable burger and potato wedges soon. Definately a treat and should not be a daily dose, otherwise your hips wont allow you to get through the door!...I write about my travels on http://www.mankwalidestination.wordpress.com/ and my facebook page is www.facebook/ZarlingZookey.com lets stay in touch!