A bowl of pumpkin soup and the joy of friendship.

 On Monday, early evening, I got a text from my jetsetter friend that she was right around the corner from my house and wanted to pop in to say hello. It had been at least four months since I had seen her because of her beautiful life of travel and interesting experiences. I was more than thrilled to hear that she was going to walk into my kitchen in a few minutes. What she did not know though, is that she was about to join a little experiment of mine. I was making soup to eat for the first time in my almost thirty-two years on earth.

Anyone who knows me well enough, knows I do not eat soup. Of any kind. Why, might you ask? Well, I, like most people have food aversions caused by forced feeding in childhood. I narrated the story to my friend for the first time that evening. When I was six and in grade R, we had a soup day at school. My hometown is in a valley and surrounded by mountains. The winters are harsh and so naturally, things like soup, become a treat at school. Well, on this particular June morning, my class had soup day and each of us were tasked with bringing a packet of soup. The teachers and service staff then used all these to prepare a big pot of soup to be enjoyed by this army of six-year-olds. The classroom was fragrant with the smell of the soup and buzzing with excitement from my classmates. Not me though. I did not like the smell and even at the age knew that I did not want to eat this.

I then expressed this to the teacher, politely telling her that I do not want the soup and that I did not like what it smelt like. Well, she did the typical adult thing and ignored my request and brought me my share of warm soup in a salmon-coloured plastic cup. Understanding then that adults still make the final decision, I reluctantly did as I was told and drank the damn soup. A few short minutes later my tiny body was convulsing as I vomited all over the classroom floor. Feeling unwell, embarrassed, and probably ruining the entire experience for my peers and the teacher who had to now help me get cleaned up. That became the day I decided that soup was not for me and so it was throughout my life save for one delicious soup my mother used to make us during those harsh winters in high school.

Anyway, I decided it’s time to give soup another chance that day. I was at least going to make it out of one of my favourite vegetables, pumpkin. Quite the task to place on your favourite girl but hey, it will take a lot for me to dislike pumpkin, so this experiment seemed to have some key ingredients necessary for a success story. The soup turned out delicious and I got to share this little maiden voyage with one of my favourite people on earth.

One of the simplest delights of being a woman and black is easily the joy of friendship with other black women. I know this is a popular adage and many may even deem it highly overrated, but I know this truth at a deeply personal level. I have been unbelievably lucky in the arena of friendship in general but quite spoilt where relationships with black women are concerned. I am a product of a very matriarchal family, nearly all my schooling took place in girls’ school, and so I have naturally grown into somewhat of a “girls’ girl.”

This was a special experience for me, and this is due to a number of reasons. Firstly, I allowed myself an opportunity to mend what has always been a complicated relationship with food. As an adult, who has committed to a journey of wellness, it is always in my best interest to be open minded regarding my nutritional options and allowing myself to learn to eat food more joyfully. It has been my practice for most of my life to see and eat food mostly for nutrition and not real enjoyment. Yet here I was, bowl of soup in hand, laughing out loud and beaming with joy.

There is also something so special about having someone you love come to know something “new” about you and witness you taking a step forward towards progress. Even if it is as small and unglamorous as enjoying soup. This is especially true because this particular friend of mine and I often talk for hours about becoming better and happier versions of ourselves in both the big and small ways. Progress and joy is our constant pursuit and this was a classic case of finding both in the tiniest detail of my everyday life.