Essay About Sunday Afternoon And Mother’S Reaction

Oppressed
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Oppressed “Gaëlle… your husband will send you back to your parents once you get married!” Was my mother’s reaction whenever I would turn down her offer to help with cooking. Unlike most Haitian women I have a love for eating, yet I despise cooking. Most people might think that cooking and loving to eat has a complementary relationship, however that is not the case for me. Think that’s weird? I blame my mother for following the cultural norms that I found ways to avoid. In Haiti, women are known for their ability to cook and prepare meals like no other. Women are supposed to do the cooking, cleaning, take care of the kids, and any other house chores that need to be done. The men, on the hand are the providers. They work day and night making sure that there is enough food and that everything else that’s needed in the house is there. As a result, the women are to provide the rest. My mother was abiding to those norms without questioning why. My mother was known for having her own bakery and being able to prepare meals like no other man’s wife could. She was the ideal wife. On Sunday afternoon, immediately after church my mom would always be in the same place, slaving over a stove of hot rice, beans, sauce, macaroni, lasagna, or whatever else she normally cooked for Sunday dinner. Meanwhile, my dad would always stand on the side with his cousins or brother or any other male in the family, watching. That was all they did, watch as my mother and our maids worked their hardest to prepare a meal for the family. Watch and never bother asking if the ladies preparing food for the household were thirsty or needed help. Despite my sweet personality and character, I’m not one to always do what is expected of me. Why should I be the one doing all the work, when it is just as possible for a man to prepare a meal? I refused to cook and despised the idea of working over the heat to prepare a meal that someone might not be grateful for the way my mother did every night. Years later, as a young lady, I realized why I always tried to get away from my culture and the expectations it had as much as I could. Most of the “cultural rules” I didn’t agree with. The expectations others had about what a perfect woman should be created a relationship with cooking and eating, where I loved to eat, but hated making food. Can someone enjoy food and eating without wanting to deal with the process of actually making it all come together? In Haiti, I was to follow every rule and listen to my elders. By rejecting my mother’s offer week after week and not being punished for it, I realized that I could use food in order to make the statement that I was different from other women. I chose to not learn how to cook because I wanted to be part of those men on the side waiting to be served, instead of with the women cooking for those men. I am a defiant woman, and I sent my message through food. Even with a broken relationship with cooking, my mother was still able to contribute to my curiosity about food and my love for eating it. While Sundays were noticeable due to the constant hard work of my mother, it was the only day of the week that she got the whole family together.  Monday through Saturday, she would cook the same kind of dishes: rice, beans and sauce or corn meal with beans and sauce. Every Sunday, it was a different story. I always loved Sundays, for we had so many different dishes to choose from. Sunday was the one day of the week my taste buds had a wide range of different tastes to enjoy and savor.