unknown Territory

Chapter three

Dana's Pov

Mama Sizakele left after that leaving me with Thabo.
Stubborn tears start falling slowly and frustration started to take over then Thabo did something I did not expect he wiped the tears and pulled me to him stroking my hair
"it's ok you'll adjust and I'll be right here with you"
Thabo’s words were like a balm to my soul, and I found myself leaning into his embrace, the warmth of his body a welcome respite from the frigid environment that I’d been thrown into. He held me for what felt like an eternity, and I allowed myself to take comfort in the moment, even if only for a brief moment.

“I’m sorry for my mother’s behavior,” he whispered, his voice low and soothing.
“She means well, but she can be a bit...overbearing sometimes.”
He chuckles trying to lighten the mood. I smile letting go of him
"I understand,sorry for that trust me I'm not usually a cry baby"
P Thabo’s smile widened, revealing a set of perfectly straight teeth. “It’s okay,” he said. “I’m pretty sure you have every right to cry right now. This has to be pretty overwhelming for you.”
He took a step back, his hands still on my shoulders as if to steady me.
“Why don’t we go into the kitchen? My mother always cooks too much food, and it’ll be better than whatever airplane food you had on your journey.”
I nod and follow him into the kitchen and my eyes popped out of their sockets
"shut the front door this is my dream kitchen"I whisper to myself
Thabo glanced over at me, confusion apparent on his face. “What did you say?” he asked, his eyebrows raised.

I shook my head, realizing that I had spoken out loud.
“Oh, nothing,” I said, trying to cover up my exclamation.
“I was just, um, admiring the kitchen. It’s really nice.”

Thabo chuckled, letting the matter drop.
I watched as Thabo moved about the kitchen, seemingly at ease in this space. The smells of exotic spices and fresh ingredients filled my nostrils, making my stomach growl in protest at having been ignored all day.

“Hungry?” Thabo asked, his smile teasing.

I nodded, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious at the rumble that was now reverberating throughout the room. “A little,” I admitted.

Thabo scooped up a bowl of some porridge-like stuff and some stew and handed it to me, the heat of the food warming my hands.
I stared at the unfamiliar dish unsure, I was a little sceptic
“It’s called ugali,” Thabo said, noticing my hesitation.
“It’s made from maize flour. It’s a staple food in many parts of Africa. And the stew is made with beef and a variety of vegetables. It’s really good. You should try it.”

I lifted the spoon to my mouth, the smell of the stew tantalizing my senses. I took a small bite, allowing the flavors to dance across my taste buds. It was good, really good.
“See? I told you it was good,” Thabo said, a hint of pride in his voice.

“It’s amazing,” I admitted, taking another bite. “So much better than airplane food, that’s for sure.”

A comfortable silence settled between us as we both ate, the steady clinking of silverware against bowls the only sound in the room.

“So,” Thabo said, breaking the silence. “Tell me about yourself. What’s your story?”
The question took me by surprise I wasn't expecting Thabo to like me let alone try to get to know me but I was glad none the less "well I ..."
"There you are Dana chop chop we have to start preparing supper" Sizakele came in wearing a yellow knee length summer dress with an apron "guess we'll continue this conversation later" Thabo said with a smile then left
With Thabo gone, Mama Sizakele looked at me expectantly. “Come on, child. There’s work to be done.”

I nodded, not wanting to anger her further, and followed her into the kitchen. She pointed to a large pot of boiling water.

“Put the cassava in there,” she ordered, handing you a cutting board and a knife.

I took the cassava root from her and began slicing it into small pieces, careful to avoid the sharp blade of the knife.
As I worked, Mama Sizakele continued to instruct me on what to do.
“Now the tomatoes,” she said, handing me a large bowl of ripe tomatoes.

I placed the tomatoes on the cutting board and began slicing them into thin wedges, the bright red juices staining the board. I could feel Mama Sizakele’s eyes on me the whole time, scrutinizing every move I made.

“Faster,” she urged, her voice terse. “The food won’t cook itself.”
I continued to cook not at all bothered I loved cooking and baking so it was second nature to me, the only challenge was the traditional food I was making but the look on mama Sizakele's face showed me that she was impressed by how quickly I got the hang of it but I know she won't say it
I smiled to yourself, knowing that Mama Sizakele would never give me the satisfaction of verbal praise. Still, the fact that she had allowed me to take over some of the cooking was a testament to my skills.

As I worked, the sounds and smells of the kitchen surrounded me, the familiar and the unfamiliar merging together in a delicious harmony. The hum of the stove, the sizzle of the frying pan, the aroma of herbs and spices...it was almost enough to make me forget the strange circumstances that had brought me here.

The hours slipped by, and before long, the food was ready. Mama Sizakele began dishing it out onto plates, and I followed suit, piling cassava, beef stew, and various other dishes onto each one.

As the sun began to set outside, the rest of the family began to trickle in, their voices filling the dining room with laughter and chatter. They were all curious about me, but Mama Sizakele shooed them away, reminding them that they needed to eat before it got cold.
After setting the table with mama Sizakele I sat down to eat but everyone stared at me like I were an alien.
Mama Sizakele had a frown on her face
" Dana get up and wash your husband's hands and dish up for him" I was beyond confused
My brow furrowed, but I didn’t want to cause a scene. Feeling a little like a puppet, I rose from my chair and walked over to Thabo, who was watching me with a mixture of curiosity and amusement.

“Don’t mind Mama Sizakele,” he whispered, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “She’s a stickler for tradition.”

I took his hands in mine, using the bowl of water and soap to wash away the day’s dirt and grime.
I continued to wash Thabo’s hands, his skin warm under your touch. As I finished, I handed him a towel, my gaze meeting his for a brief moment. There was something unspoken between us, a thread of connection that I couldn’t quite put my finger on, maybe I was just imagining it.

“Enjoy your meal,” you said, bowing your head slightly.