The other day, Helen decided to make lemon rosemary chicken, and since we didn’t have any rosemary, she said she needed to get it. I went to get some money, and she said, “No – it’s just on the ridge. I’ll be back.” My head is screaming “that’s theft!” but my mouth just said, “thank you!”
Helen is taking over the compound, which is actually very fine. She’ll come to me and say something like, “Reverend. Don’t you think we should have basil, rosemary, and coriander?” And I say yes, and the next thing I know, there’s a twig of rosemary planted next to the house, waiting to take root so it can be transplanted to the garden proper.
Today I remembered that we had had a delicious lemongrass tea in Soroti, and I had been wondering whether we could grow the lemongrass in the garden. So I asked Helen about it, and of course we can grow it. She said that someone had just planted some lemongrass, and we would try it to see if it was the right kind, and if so, then we’d get a root so we could grow our own.
So, Felix brought back a fistfull of lemongrass, Helen tied it together and boiled it, I added sugar and black tea to the mug, and poured in the boiled water, and it was fabulous. Now I’m wondering when Felix will plant the root. Hopefully tomorrow…
It still feels like theft, but somehow, I’m adjusting to this African way of sharing.
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