Thoughts on cookies and working in my office

I work in an office in Monduli. Everyday, without fail a small gaggle of children come and stand at my door. They giggle and point and chatter in Swahili. Some words I understand, but mostly it is foreign. “Look at the white girl work.” My interpretation of what they may or may not be saying. Many of them are sweet and have become a fun little break in my day. 

There is one girl with attitude whom I call Lulu. Sometimes I sing to her, “little lulu little lulu with freckles on your chin, always in and out of trouble but mostly always in…” My mom called me Lulu when I was young.  The mama in the next-door sewing shop has a little daughter named Vera. Everyday she brings Vera along with her to work. As she works, Vera wanders up and down the path outside our doors cautiously poking her head inside observing me quietly. She is no more than two years old and knows no English. I have been working here for two months now, and she is terrified of me. 

They arrive in the mornings, Vera tied against her mothers back, swaddled in sweatshirts and a stocking cap. Everyday I bend down to greet her, she shrieks, tears immediately brimming in her eyes, and runs quickly away to the safety of her mothers arms. Her mama bending to comfort Vera, laughs at her daughter’s reactions. But this week something changes. I bend to greet Vera as I come up the path trying my best to utter Swahili words of comfort and affection. She slowly walks to me and puts her hand in mine. I offer her a cookie**, her eyes widen, she snatches the cookie with a giggle and runs away.  15 minutes later she is in my lap at the desk busily coloring. Markers, crayons, papers strewn across my computer. This continues throughout the day. She begins mimicking the things I do and the faces I make, blowing kisses and giving out hugs.  Everyday following is the same. I work at my desk, Vera wanders in and out the door, down off my lap and up on again, accompanying me as I work. “dada” she calls me, meaning sister. It’s a marvel what a cookie can do.

I wonder, does every office job have a Vera? If not, I sure got lucky.

** As a side note; I eat cookies everyday. This might be directly correlated with the problem themed in the post below. They are plain, semi-stale, not-that-great of cookies. No one would buy them at home. But I find them heavenly.