The visit

It's funny the things you recall from your youth, so many random memories that just pop into your head. Like the time my mums newish friend and her daughter came to stay with us from Manchester. From my recollection I hadn't met either of these two females before but sure enough I, nor my sister would forget them in a hurry. 

"Aunty P" was coming from Moss Side, Manchester. In other words she was coming from the 'ghetto.' If you don't know about Moss Side, then just know around the time she came (90's) it had the quite deserved label of a rather dangerous place. Yes, a quite notorious part of a city in which I adored the main team. So this alone was great cause for concern. I was a youth with my finger on current affairs pulse and I often watched Granada Reports. And Lucy Meacock, in my humble opinion was not a reporter who told lies. So due to this, how was I not to know if this lady would be bringing firearms or some sort of 'herb' in her suitcase. And anyway - what business did she have coming to our house? I was dubious. 

The day arrived and Aunty P landed on our doorstep. Alongside her daughter, their suitcases plus their backsides. Yes, they were full bodied and oozed Jamaican heritage. Aunty P was a larger than life lady in every sense of the word. Her personality was bombastic and she seemed to be very jolly, happy to be visiting us. Her daughter, on the other hand was more reserved, perhaps a bit shy, but I prefer to say shifty, like she was casing up the joint. My sister and I, well we just looked at one another, non verbals needed as aunty P's loud regional accent reverberated around the house. This would be an interesting weekend/week. However long she stayed with us. Such exact details are somewhat hazy. 

So my mum being the nice woman she is was pleased they were with us, "Make yourself at home," she beamed. You know, the usual spiel that folk say to guests but don't actually really mean it in its fullest sense. Like if people really did 'make themselves at home' I'm pretty sure they wouldn't be invited to the other persons house ever again. So, to my mind that statement is merely a token one which is laced with a very real threat of, 'watch yo' self, don't be comin' up in here like some kind of animal. You had better behave - or you won't be coming again!' 

Of course Aunty P took these pseudo kind words as literal ones as she quickly found her way to our modest kitchen. Fridge and larder inspected she made rapid mental notes of our lack of food. Well, we had food - we weren't destitute. But, in her eyes we didn't have enough food to sustain the hunger of two big booty black women who could eat, eat and then - well eat some more. 

Aunty P and her daughter, who we quickly realised didn't dare give any back chat to her mum swiftly left the house to go proper food shopping. They returned and in all honesty took over da kitchen, one time. (Lorda mercy!) You could say things from there on were 'blessed' - as I had never seen our fridge and cupboards so packed in my life. Nor had I ever felt so stuffed in my life, too. Aunty P sure loved to cook. Alongside that - she was a feeder. Regularly asking if we were hungry and rustling some sort of cuisine or another. This behaviour probably the reason for the 'healthy' size her daughter was. And her own generous sizing. And height, well she was just powerful looking, happy kind woman who was very assertive. My sister and I were by no means some kind of starving children but let's just say, you couldn't eat as much meat as you liked at dinner time. Two pieces, maybe. But such rules didn't apply or even make sense to a lady who's profession was a dinner lady. Chomping two pieces of meat was just her merely lining her stomach before the the whole chicken, rice and, erm peas followed. (Oh and dumplins). Food consumption was something she took very, very seriously. 

I often wondered what my mum thought about her kitchen being taken over, like some sort of military coup, but even if she had protested I believe things may have gotten ugly very quickly. Aunty P was from Moss Side, remember. A place where the 'man dem' were resourceful, using the same knife to cut up curried goats as they would use to butcher a man who be disrespectin' them. (Cha!)  I suppose I would have tried to intervene if anything had gone down. But thankfully it didn't. Plus, if I am completely honest with myself - I feel I would have struggled wrestling two women with booties that could take your eye out with one violent burst of a Dutty Wine. 

So, as she took over our kitchen my sister couldn't help but feel uncomfortable in our own home due to the amount of food thrown down our throats and constantly being asked if we were hungry and watching with trepidation as Aunty P would speak and discipline her daughter like she was in her own home, I was glad my mother wasn't taking mental notes. Aunty P didn't mess about with her daughter one tiny bit. Maybe that's why the girl was so quiet. Anyway, eventually, finally they went back home, back to their ghetto. Phew. Our stomachs could breath a sigh of relief. Our cupboards, however would stay stocked for a good few weeks due to Aunty's generosity and perhaps optimistic shopping spree. Or maybe she was buying enough food for her next visit. 

Yes... She did visit us again. 

Demola, TCC