I take a sip of the soup and list the first ingredient. “Manioc.” She grunts. That was an easy one. “Sawari nuts, ayumara fish, bra-bra leaves.” Wiping sweat off the back of my neck, I scoot closer under the shadow of the thatched roof. I stare at the clothesline slung low between two poles and look for signs of a breeze. It stays as still as a dead tapir. My mother’s piercing eyes follow the bowl to my mouth as I swallow again. “Kha-la-mu mushroom, pas-puh chile, wu-pu yam, and”—I make a face; it can’t be—“dirt?” My younger sister laughs and hides behind Maha. My mother smiles for a second as she looks at her daughter. “Sulali wanted to trick you by adding dirt. She thought you would never expect it.” “She was right.” I wink at the little girl peeking out from behind Maha’s arm. “I didn’t expect it. Nice try, Sulali. We will see how much you like the taste of dirt later.” She screeches and jumps on Maha’s back. My mother’s lips disappear into a thin line as she impatiently motions toward my soup.
What do You think about Bringing The Boy Home (2008)?
