I tried to wash my own laudry this morning. Josie, one of our housemaids, was out visiting the doctor for her cough. Going on a long hike this weekend, I needed my clothes washed and dried by tonight in order to pack them. With the sun as the only form of a dryer, I knew that the clothes needed to be washed and hung by midday in order to dry in time. As I paraded my clothes through the kitchen and dumped them into the cement basin, Serafine (our cook) followed curiously. No sooner had I turned on the water and made my way towards the shed in search of laundry detergent than I heard my name repeated in haste.
"Stephanie! Stephanie!" Serafine called out.
"Abey?" I inquired back in Swahili.
"I will do it." She said and without asking her what, I knew exactly to what she was referring.
"No, no, no. I can wash my own clothes," I insisted. "I know how to do it," I said as I wandered back over to the tub filled with my clothes.
"Oya!" she exclamed, switching to Kinyarwanda to emphasize the "no!"
"Serafiiiiiiiine..." I pleaded.
She went in search of the laundry detergent as I placed my clothes in the basin and let them soak up the cool water. After finding no detergent, Serafine sprayed in dish soap instead and I swoshed it around with my undies, shirts and bras.
"Leave it. I will do it," she repeated.
I tried again to wash my own clothes, begging and explaining to her why I wanted I was insisting on doing Josie's job. As I began scrubbing one of my orange sports bras, she put her arms around my waist, pulling me in for a hug.
"Leave. We will do it." A victim of her loving embrace and relentless insistance, I pulled my hands from the soapy water and back away.
"Okay. Thank you." Slowly, I walked guilitily away.
She is certainly a wonderful mother and the most strong of women, so I had to respect her commands. Later, when I asked her for a picture to add to this story, these resulted(per her idea...):
"Stephanie! Stephanie!" Serafine called out.
"Abey?" I inquired back in Swahili.
"I will do it." She said and without asking her what, I knew exactly to what she was referring.
"No, no, no. I can wash my own clothes," I insisted. "I know how to do it," I said as I wandered back over to the tub filled with my clothes.
"Oya!" she exclamed, switching to Kinyarwanda to emphasize the "no!"
"Serafiiiiiiiine..." I pleaded.
She went in search of the laundry detergent as I placed my clothes in the basin and let them soak up the cool water. After finding no detergent, Serafine sprayed in dish soap instead and I swoshed it around with my undies, shirts and bras.
"Leave it. I will do it," she repeated.
I tried again to wash my own clothes, begging and explaining to her why I wanted I was insisting on doing Josie's job. As I began scrubbing one of my orange sports bras, she put her arms around my waist, pulling me in for a hug.
"Leave. We will do it." A victim of her loving embrace and relentless insistance, I pulled my hands from the soapy water and back away.
"Okay. Thank you." Slowly, I walked guilitily away.
She is certainly a wonderful mother and the most strong of women, so I had to respect her commands. Later, when I asked her for a picture to add to this story, these resulted(per her idea...):
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| I promise that I'm laughing...not scared. :) |
