You know Sylvester the cat when walking on tiptoe, hugging the walls to avoid Tweety? At seven-thirty in the morning I'm the same. It all started when the first day that Joseph has always been called "the grandmother cultivating the spices, "with the kindness that only the Indians know how to get me" calls for a coffee. "What to do? You are a guest there, is really ugly decline. So I enter the maze, I met the grandfather, with a skullcap wool on the head, hands clasped in token of respect for me, kidnap me and bring me in front of Shiva all'altarino that have placed in the pantry (I think that others are not particularly religious).
Opens portfolio they leave card of Shiva, Ganesh, but also of Sai Baba and others who do not know, just like us (or at least those of us who believe in it) carry in their wallet St. Dominic Savio with Lily and Don Sturzo. Among the cartons of flour corn, cans of beans of all kinds, jerry cans of mixed seed oil, jars containing all kinds of spices, light incense, say a short prayer in INDHI me and says "Now it's time for breakfast," she makes her way to the dining room After taking me on a visit in the lounge. This dominate divanoni velvet cream, elephant tusks that looked like that of the grandfather Piero baby tooth of the same, inlaid tables, heavy curtains, carpets and rugs on a multitude of junk then, artificial flowers, figurines, lace on potrone , crochet doilies .. "come on, come on" until I see the last jewel of the family: an ultra-thin LCD panel at 54 inches. The little man with a remote control Spippola that seems to Sky and shows me how fast he can see ten channels in all languages \u200b\u200bin India that transmit those terrible films in Bollywood he goes crazy. We sit at the table, comes the "granny spice" followed by the Zambian servitude. put on the table with bowls and trays: omelettes, pancakes, something resembling our piada, beans sailing in a red broth, green rondelline dipped in a sauce of yogurt, cooked tomatoes and of course a line of beverage and a can of tea . I'm confused! The grandfather who has the face of Gandhi but the quenching of a SS tells me "You must eat!" and I fill the pot with a bit 'of everything. I face with courage the omelette curry, I burned mouth with the pancake red chili, baked beans on the spillway of Chillies. The "granny spice" that from now on I will call the general's "ask me" Do you like it? " but it is not a question, is a statement which clearly say "Delicious" with the precise feeling I plotted my future destiny. fact, every morning there is the general's or the Mahatma who wander in front of my house, "Did you sleep well? As in for a coffee" and on with curry! Yesterday I did
Sylvester the cat and I sfangata. This morning he sent the general's Frances, the Zambian home, asking if I was okay. Tomorrow morning pensatemi everyone at seven and a half (there is no difference time zone so you can maximize a previous real-time) will be there to argue with the corn fritters with cardamom and garlic. In a stench that none can take off my shower, I embrace you all, not forgetting to give you my address space: the photos show the main entrance of the house overlooking the tropical garden and Moses Road. You have seen well, the tree on the side of the gate is a "poinsettia" in African version. On the road there is a taxi instead of Mr.Sakala is coming to get me.
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