Chef Lami .

Chapter 1

" Thina ngakuthi oLundi masishela seshela eMfuleni , Hayi e Restaurant , Hayi e La Parada. Uxolo mntanʼomuntu bengingazi , uyongixolela mntanʼomuntu bengingazi mina ngiyayifikela eGoli " , I'm a xhosa girl that is a little overly obsessed with Maskandi . MZUKULU is bursting through my speaker as I'm cooking , I have 15 orders today . Six are from the hostel where I live in and 9 are from the taxi rank down the road .

" Zamooooh " .

-Mthandazo walks in carrying plastics of the ingredients I had sent him from the shop .

" Enkosi mntaka mah " .

-He's my brother , not by blood but a brother I made on my first day in Johannesburg .

" I'm heading to the rank , are you done with the orders ? " .

" Yes , I attached stickers that have each person's name to the takeaways " .

" Chef lami , aw nkunzi yam " .

" Ukuzama bafo " .

-we both burst out laughing at our silly selves , I pack the nine takeaways that are going to the rank nicely in a box . Mthandazo takes it from me and walks out with it .

I sigh

It has been two years now , I learned to live with the pain , the pain of losing my whole family in a car accident coming back from my graduation in Cape Town . I'm the only one who survived , my mom , my dad , my two brothers and my sister are all gone . The last time I stepped foot in my hometown was after their funeral , I couldn't stay , I was losing my mind with each passing day . Life , life hasn't been sweet to me , it hasn't been good to me . I'm convinced the world is punishing me for graduating , maybe the accident wouldn't have happened if I didn't do well at school and graduated . I know it doesn't make sense , but grief doesn't always care about making sense.

I take a wooden spoon and stir my pap then close the pot , cooking has become my comfort zone . wheeew , let me sit down I've been on my feet the whole day . I pull a chair and sit down , while at it , let me count my money . I open the book that has no cover and take the black pen I stole from Mnotho one of the guys I live with in the hostel and start doing calculations .

" R5000 , I have to take it to the bank first thing in the morning " .

-I make a lot of money , I cook for 50 people a day , people from the hostel and the rank . Each plate costs R100 , yup this is Johannesburg and we all came here to make money . I wake up at 04:00 am each and every day to start pots , it has been a year now since I started my business and I'm saving for my catering company , yes I want to start a catering company but first things first , I need to move out .

" Chef " .

-One of our neighbours walk in to collect her order , I smile and hand it to her and a free drink , she walks out happy . I open my second pot and taste the stew , it tastes nice . I close the pot then set out takeaways on the table and dish up , after dishing up I attach stickers with names of the people who ordered to the takeaways and pack them in a box .

" bafo " .

-Mvelo , one of the men I live with in the hostel walks in , he's a close friend to Mthandazo :

" Ngaze ngafa indlala ukhona mfwethu " .

" Take out these orders for me you'll get free plates "

" Amayingayinga "

-I burst out laughing , he shakes his head lightly and walk out with the box . He comes back after 4 minutes :

"Will you eat here or you're going back to the rank "

" I'm going back to the rank bafo "

-They call me dade , bafo , mfwethu or whatever they feel like calling me in that particular day . sometimes I'm their sister and sometimes I'm treated as one of the brothers .

-I nod then dish up for him in two takeaways , he quickly eats the first takeaway then leave with the second one .