With the way these our houses in this my plot are squeezed together like teeth, you can imagine how I’m having a difficult time calming down my excited palate because I can smell delicious things simmering, grilling, baking and frying in the next houses. It’s that Eid Mubarak time of the year, and I hear that pssshhhh sound that hot oil makes when you’re deep-frying something and I feel saliva dribbling down my chin, and I try to figure out whether that is chicken or some samosas that Mamake Salma is making.
Ei. Calm down, saliva. Chill. You’re soaking my face now, and where were you when I needed you most, when I was eating arrow roots and sweet potatoes for breakfast and I was choking because you were nowhere to be found?
Someone else is cooking pilau outside, just next to her doorstep. Whenever I hear her uncovering the sufuria so that she can stir the food, I strategically pass by and secretly have a peek to see how our food is doing. And the flavoursome steam that shoots out of the sufuria fills me up like the holy spirit during Pentecost, and I am completely engulfed in a haze of food dreams.
Eid Mubarak to all the Muslims around the world. May the spirit of Ramadan live in you and may Allah shower you and your families with countless blessings. And may you please shower me with all those spicy, scrumptious things you’re cooking!
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