The Preserve of Beauty for my hands

My childhood memories were made in a tiny house, nestled by a canopy of bamboo shoots and draped with an enviable view of Lake Victoria. In the early 80’s, Mbuya hill was home to civil servants working for large government institutions like Coffee and Lint Marketing Board. Even though my parents have never worked for a government institution, I spent the greater part of my childhood here. The Mbuya Army Hospital- now turned UPDF headquarters, stood like a fortress just above our house. By some degree of measure, ours was a home in the city; but my upbringing and the code of instruction in our household was largely traditional. My mother invariably embraced new technology, albeit with some reservations: the Matooke meal for example, had to be prepared using charcoal.

For a very long time, my mother and I were the only ladies in the house. Since she was against the idea of hired help, the ladies did all the house chores. So my hands got busy at a very early age, in fact, by the time I joined boarding school in Primary one, I could do so many things with my hands: I prepared the family meals during the holidays, cleaned the house and washed my Dad’s socks and handkerchiefs.

On one of those days, the traces of Matooke sap mixed with charcoal on my hands frustrated me deeply. These stains were a rude reminder that I had peeled Matooke and lit the charcoal stove that day. Unfortunately for me, washing never quite removed all the sap: and as a matter of consequence, it got stuck to the cups and plates as I did the dishes which infuriated my mother.
As I grew older, I got more concerned about my hands. Even though my mother rewarded me heavily for helping her with the housework, the intrusive remarks from my peers about what had happened to my hands were daunting! I looked forward to the day I would never have to use charcoal again.

Today, I embrace my Shell gas cylinder with my hands: this is the fulfillment of a childhood dream and a preserve of beauty for my hands. Now I can fix quick meals for my daughter and not worry about staining my hands. And today, more than anything, it’s not just the nosy remarks from my peers that I’m worried about…