Sunday mornings drenched with fog were the worst. You’d straddle from the kitchen door to the coal barn with the taste of sleep still lingering in your mouth. The few steps I took before dunking my hands into the coal-filled barn were such a chore.
Reaching there, I’d pick them one by one as if I sensed the most flammable one’s as I threw them into the yellow bucket that used to contain Mango atchaar. Once filled, I’ll straddle my way back into the kitchen, get the wood and match and fill those into the stove chambers.
Today was chicken day, accompanied by yellow rice, pumpkin, beans and potato, betroot and spicy cabbage. Even though the Sunday lunch was commonly referred to as seven colours, we were always short of one or two colours, depending on how Ma worked for that month.
A good overtime month at the local supermarket where she worked meant that we would have some beef or lamb with one or two extra veggies. This was routine I could do it with my eye closed. Defrost the meat on the Saturday night. Chop the pumpkin, beans, potatoes and cabbage.
Peel the betroot. This made the cooking quicker on the Sunday mornings so that I make the seven a.m church service like a good alter boy. When the stove is ready and the smoke has settled, I’d bring the rice to the boil together with the beetroot. Mixup the potatoes and beans.
Pull the Hart pot from the ‘oven’, drizzle some sunflower oil and then put onion and wait until it’s almost brown before following with the cabbage. Chop the defrosted chicken into twelve pieces. Drumsticks. Wings. Thighs. Breasts. Back. And then bring them to the boil with stock
I’d then put the pumpkin to boil, as it was quicker than the rest. Pull the urn from under the table, film it with water and boil it for bathing. Pull the iron and place it on one of the plate, rush to the bedroom and pick my Habit shirt, pants and my only and favorite shoes.
Next to them were the long red gown and white overcoat for a perfect slyer boy outfit. Back in the kitchen, the table was the ironing board. I’d diligently iron my entire attire so meticulously the crease wouldn’t even be visible. In between the ironing I’d be checking the pots.
Making sure that none of them burns. At this point Ma would be up, and then help the other two to get ready for church. She’d nervously check the pots to ensure I don’t overcook or burn anything even though I’ve been doing this for weeks now whilst she bathed the terrible twins.
Once everything is ironed and ready, I’d then take a bath from the tub whilst she spice the food. Chicken spice. Salt and pepper for the beans and potatoes. Peri-peri in the cabbage. Some butter and sugar for the pumpkin. And let the beetroot to rest for grating and vinegar later
After bathong, Vaselined, dresses up and combed, we’d all congregate in the kitchen with our prayer books and bibles ready for the Jesus trek. Ma will be donned in her black and white women’s regalia. I’d have my alter boy attire over my shoulder. Jesaya and Sepeke in their best.
It wasn’t much each Sunday, but she’d make sure we are well dressed for the weekend. But this morning, fog and all, was mom and the boys. She’d set aside the pots from the plates and off we go to the lord’s house...
