My Grandmother is a woman that I will always resemble; even though we don’t look like our personalities are the same. My grandmother caught Alzheimer’s when I was 8 years old but she never stopped being my role model. My grandmother was a hard-working woman who worked for her family and herself even with dementia. I’m writing about a time when me and my grandmother shared a great connection as a child while I was learning the importance of responsibilities…etc. Fall was our favorite time of the year wind was blowing leaves were changing in our big backyard. The leaves became red, yellow, and orange. My grandmother used to wake up early in the morning around 8:00 -9:00 am to cook and clean for her family. Early in the morning as I walk through the dark hallway, up the stairs I can smell her fresh spices as I walk up to the whites door. I remember smelling wiri wiri pepper, fresh thyme, ginger, coriander, and even more tasteful fresh spices. As I walked through her glamorous bright golden kitchen I asked my grandmother “ Can you teach me how to make roti? ” The first thing she told me was “ Go get an old T-shirt and put it on”. As I walk back downstairs rushing through my dark basement to find a shirt all I could think of is why an ugly shirt. Little did I know it was going to get messy.
I finally made it back upstairs with a raggedy old shirt Grandma told me “wash your hands and go into the cabinet and get the chowkey ” I said “ okay grandma” ” she tells me to get the wooden chair with the brown cushion so, I can reach the countertop and bail (roll out) the dough in a nice circular shape. Grandma told me to get a “handful of flour and spread it on the Chowkey”. As I grab the flour and roti I gain so much confidence. Sadly, my first one was too thin in the middle and thick at the edge, grandma made everything look so easy even when she had Alzheimer’s she took the one I did and rolled it back up and made a perfect not too thin but, not thick roti. As I grew older I learned how to perfect my roti more and more by her side. It got to the point where I started to teach my teacher how to make her own recipe. As Grandma got deeper into the stages of Alzheimer’s she stopped cooking and starting gardening more. Right, when I woke up from the top of my bunk bed I heard someone sweeping against the hard concrete floor with the wooden pointer broom.
Right as I walk out of my basement, I would smell the fresh light air and, the beautiful plants we had in the garden, the smell of the fresh ripe tomatoes and fruit in the stunning fall was amazing. While I helped my grandma pick her mint leaves we would hear the church bell down the block this made us feel like everything we were doing with the earth was a blessing.
Graded the Google doc.