The Leftover Count
Saving the scraps off the table
I watched them enter the compound where I live — a slim man with two little girls walking in after him. They didn’t shut the gate after them, and that got me pissed, after all they met it shut didn’t they?
I wasn’t going to challenge them, I just continued to watch through the glass doors of my house. I knew they couldn’t see me, so I was surprised when I realised that they were actually headed for my house.
As they stood in front of my door and knocked, I thought that perhaps they had the wrong house. I politely asked who they wanted to see.
“Please we want food,” said the man. It felt like someone had punched me in the stomach.
“What did you say?” I asked. OK, I figured he had asked for food, but a part of me just didn’t believe that it was what I had heard. While he repeated his request, I had a look at the little girls with him. They couldn’t have been more than 4 and 7, and they really did look like him — the younger one especially.
I promptly directed him to the second house in the compound. As he left, my heart knew that I ought to give them something, and I did have something to give them.
My husband asked if there was anything I wanted to give them. I had made a big pot of moin-moin the night before, and I had just warmed it. I quickly put some wraps together in a plastic bag, and just after their father had locked the gate (oh yes, he shut it and even slid the bolt in), I opened it and called out to them.
The elder daughter collected it, whilst their father thanked me. It was just the simple phrase “thank you”. No extras, no flurry of prayers, or gestures of undying thanks, just a simple thank you…and it was enough for me. Though I knew what I gave wasn’t enough.
I wanted to ask about his wife, his living conditions, why he was out on the streets on a Saturday morning going from door to door asking for food, what did he do for a living?…but I couldn’t.
I knew I wouldn’t be able to follow through, or provide a solution to his predicament…it was sort of a case of starting what I won’t be able to finish, so I had to let it be.
I continued to peep at them for a while, as he continued his door-to-door hunt for food. Less than 15 minutes after they left, a rainstorm started — heavy winds, and then the downpour. I said a silent prayer for them, hoping they were sheltered from the storm.
I am very guilty of wasting food, (tossing my leftovers with ease into the dustbin) serving up more than I should for myself and sometimes my children. Though recently, I have been trying to cut down on food wastage. And after seeing that man and his children today, I have this terrible pang of guilt.
Their hungry faces still haunt me, and would probably continue to haunt me every time I decide to throw away “those few last spoons of rice”, or “that part of chicken I don’t like to eat”.
My resolve not to waste food just reached it’s climax. I consider it a crime and a sin, but hey, that’s just me. If you decide to make the same resolve, there are lots of lovely recipes that are created from leftovers, when in doubt, just Google them out:).
Originally published at http://souldeepstirrings.blogspot.com an old blog of mine.
