Breakfast with Angina

It was 8 am and I had just walked into the kitchen to make breakfast when I heard a little girl joyfully squeal, “Bonjour!”.  I looked up to see Angina prance into my kitchen.  She was alone and about an hour early then her usual arrival time, which is often accompanied by Sonja and her little brother.   

“Bonjour Angina! Ca va?”

“Ca va”

“Bien dormi?”

“Oui”

“Y votre famille?”

“Oui”

That’s about as far as our conversations go, as she knows very little French and just answers “oui” to everything I say, whether I say it in French or not.  She walked over and stood next to me as I measured out the rice.  I always use measuring cups and the children seem to be very intrigued by them.  I was out of oatmeal or cereal and eggs are out of season, so decided to make sweet rice for breakfast.  As I walked over to the water bucket she ran ahead, eager to help, and unscrewed the lid for me.  Even as a 5 or 6 year old she knows you have to wash the rice and look for stones before you can cook it.  We walked over to the doorway and I swished around the rice water, trying to get all the bugs to the top, then drained off the water.  Angina put her little finger over the rim of the bowl as I drained it, careful to be sure no grains were lost.  Then the two of us sat on my stoop and searched for stones and unshelled grains of rice.  I tried making small talk, but she doesn’t understand a lick of what I’m saying, so it’s mainly just smiles and giggles.  As we waited for the rice to boil I thought it a good time to do the dishes from the night before.  Angina dutifully took her spot at the rinse bucket- I washed and she rinsed and put away.  Just as the last dish was washed the rice was ready, perfect timing. 

I looked at Angina as I scooped out my bowl of rice and added a little sugar and powdered milk to it; children are almost always in my kitchen as I cook and I often wonder if they expect me to feed them, but they are usually in a group and I’m not their mother.  In Burkinabe culture you almost always invite people to eat with you if they are around during meal time, but the children are at my house during most of the day.  Not to sound selfish or like I’m depriving the hungry African children, but as a volunteer I simply do not have the means to feed 5 to 10 children everyday.  Plus these children are the sons and daughters of the Chief and are in no way starving.  Malnourished, maybe, but only because of a poor diet.

Before really even thinking about it, I said “Tu voudrais en peu?” I immediately prayed I wouldn’t regret that; I just imagined the children coming in droves asking me for food, just like they do for water or books or candy.  I had broken my golden rule, never give the children food or else they will always expect it.  “Oui,” she replied.  “Get the other bowl” I said in English.  Didn’t matter, she picked the other fish bowl off the drying table and brought it to me.  I spooned her out a small portion, what I thought was the right amount for a little girl.  I had made plenty thinking I’d eat the rest for lunch. “Sugar?” “Oui” “cinnamon?” “Oui”.  I’m sure I could have asked her if she wanted hot peppers or vinegar and she would have said yes if I was eating it too.   

As we walked to my other room I carried both our bowls.  I didn’t want anyone else to see her with a bowl, as I’m sure any child that saw would come running.  Safe in my room I set up my only other chair facing where I sit and she gingerly climbed up on it.  As we ate she was all smiles, this was the first time she had been invited to hang out with me in my room, much less to eat with me.  I couldn’t help but notice how awkward the spoon looked in her hand as we ate.  Was it because it was a big spoon?  Nope, that wasn’t it.  Then it dawned on me that this was probably the first time she’s eaten with a spoon.  Burkinabe of all ages usually eat with their hands.  She was holding the spoon slightly awkwardly and I could tell she was trying to imitate how I was eating. Every time I scrapped the sticky rice into a mass she would to the same.  She did pretty well with the spoon, but there was still a scattering of rice grains that made it onto the floor. 

After we’d eaten I gave her a glass of water to drink and a stack of magazines to look at while I drank my coffee and read a Time I had gotten in a care package.  Burkinabe may let their children drink coffee and beer, but I’m not about to let them.  It was precious, how grown up she was trying to be.  She kept looking up at me with a huge smile plastered across her face.  Finally just after 9 it was time for me to go to the CSPS.  She helped me clean and lock up.  As I got on my bike I looked at her and said “ok, Angina, a plus”  “A demain,” she replied, till tomorrow.  She doesn’t know what it means, just knows it’s something you say when someone is leaving. 

I suspect that our breakfast has remained our little secret, as none of the children have asked me for food.  She gets a little shy and stand-offish when lots of children swarm the house; I think it’s partly because she can since how overwhelmed and agitated I get when there are 10 or more kids demanding things from me.  I think it’s also because she wants to keep the things I allow her to do with me special between the two of us.