She is using my 100-dollar knife
to tighten the top of the propane tank. I force a laugh as I remind her of this. She
nods her head, laughs back and says, “I know Madame.” Even as I am telling her
that normally I would never own such a knife, it was a gift and I feel lucky to
have it, I realize it is all falling on deaf ears. She needs something to
tighten the tank so I can cook, which makes it essentially my need and at the moment, the 100-dollar
knife is best tool we have for the job.
We want to eat, right? Hence the laughter. It is the futility of my
situation, like wading out into a rainstorm wearing my best dress and trying not
to get it muddy.
Even as I regret the potential loss of my knife, I
appreciate Christine. Inviting someone into my home has always been difficult
for me. Despite longing, at times, for
help and company on the domestic front, I am, by nature and habit, a one-woman
show. I like to be in control and I adore my privacy. However, a new baby means
the undisputed need for a nanny- and having someone to help with the chores is a
definite bonus.
As a child of the [American] international teaching circuit,
I was given a house, a few amenities to fill it with and on call maintenance
service. As a free agent the house and
amenities are easier to come by, or simply do without, than the on call
maintenance. When something goes wrong,
I have to figure out how to fix it. When the propane runs out I need to do more
than fill out a work order. Luckily
there is a refilling station not far from our house. Except I don’t think I
could carry the tank even if the station was next door [well, ok, I probably
would be able to manage some sort of turn and drag method to get it as far as
next door.] Christine, on the other hand, is able to pick up the tank, deposit
it on top of a cloth neatly circled on her head and mosey on down the two or so
blocks to the store. I spent a few weeks
determining that the fact that I can’t do this doesn’t make me less of a woman. [It doesn’t, right?]
There are a few other things I can’t do and Christine seems
happy and, more importantly, capable of stepping in. While I am busy trying to focus on the things
I can do well, Christine is able to fill in the gaps where my skills fall
short. Like catching the mouse that has
been making itself feel at home in our kitchen. In this case, I suffer from
more than a physical deficit. I just don’t have the heart to hurt the little
guy or gal, as much as I hate it in my house.
When I asked Christine if it bothered her to kill an innocent creature
she flashed that same smile and said yes, but they’re bad, as witnessed by my
frustration with their filth and filching of our food.
Further proof, I guess, of how we need other people. I often
wonder if it was something in my upbringing that made me so squeamish. City
life perhaps. My parents may have harbored the idyllic dream of farm life, but
we never made it there. Maybe if we had
I’d have developed some useful life skills but as it stands, I’ve only milked a
cow once, and I can’t debone a fish or cut the heads and feet off chickens, the
last of which would actually be a useful talent here in Ivory Coast.
You might be wondering what I need that 100-dollar knife for since I am not busy hacking
up animal parts. It’s for tightening the propane tank, of course.
