My Kitchen Adventures by Ishmael N’gaujah Mattias
The clatter of pots and pans was a familiar symphony in Aunty P’s kitchen—a sound that echoed with love, laughter, and the comforting aroma of spices. With her weathered hands and a smile that could melt the coldest heart, Aunty P poured her love into every meal. Each dish she prepared was more than just food; it was a quiet act of care, a reflection of her unwavering compassion.
Aunty P wasn’t just a cook; she was the heart of the community at Word Made Flesh Sierra Leone, who walks alongside the vulnerable youth and children in the Kroo Bay neighborhood. Her meals nourished more than bodies; she offered safety, consistency, and love to some of the most overlooked children in our city.
Then, silence settled over the space. The symphony abruptly ceased. Aunty P—my anchor, my confidante, my culinary guru—was gone. The weight of her absence settled heavily on me, a suffocating blanket of grief. Our community, in the midst of its own struggles, now faced another challenge: the loss of their beloved cook.
The thought of stepping into Aunty P’s shoes felt daunting—impossible even. Her recipes were more than just instructions; they were a legacy, a testament to her love and dedication. Could I, a young man more accustomed to cassava leaf than intricate stews, possibly fill her shoes? Doubt gnawed at me.
But Word Made Flesh Sierra Leone, ever resilient, extended a hand. They saw not my inexperience, but the potential for healing—for carrying on the torch of love and service. And so, with trembling hands and a heart heavy with grief, I embarked on my own culinary journey.
The kitchen, once a haven of warmth
and laughter, now felt strangely
empty. Each pot, each pan, whispered
of Aunty P’s presence, a constant
reminder of the void she left behind.
Yet, as I began to decipher her handwritten recipes, a strange sense of calm descended. Her meticulous instructions, her unique blend of spices, felt like a guiding hand, a whisper of her spirit. The initial attempts were disastrous. Unfinished rice, overcooked vegetables, and a general lack of finesse plagued my efforts. But with each failed attempt, I learned. I learned the patience of simmering sauces, the artistry of blending spices, and the importance of listening to the sizzle of the pot.
More importantly, I learned about the profound impact of food.
Each meal I prepared, each plate I served, was a bridge connecting me to the children of Kroo Bay. Their smiles, their laughter, their genuine appreciation for the simple act of sharing a meal, began to mend the cracks in my heart.
Cooking for Word Made Flesh Sierra Leone became more than a chore; it became therapy. In the rhythmic chopping of vegetables, the gentle simmering of stews and local sauces, I found solace. In the shared meals, in the stories exchanged, I found a sense of belonging, a connection to the community that Aunty P had so lovingly nurtured.
The kitchen, for me, has always been more than just a room. It’s a stage, a laboratory, and a sanctuary, all rolled into one. It’s where I’ve stumbled, experimented, and ultimately, discovered the magic of transforming raw ingredients into something delicious, thanks to Aunty P.
My journey with Word Made Flesh Sierra Leone has deepened my connection to God, not only by improving my culinary skills, but by fostering a deeper understanding of food as a cultural expression and a powerful tool for community.
Aunty P may be gone, but her legacy lives on. Her recipes and spirit continue to nourish the children of the Kroo Bay community, reminding them that even in the face of adversity, love and compassion can always be found, one delicious meal at a time. My kitchen adventures, born from grief, have blossomed into a journey of healing, a testament to the enduring power of love, and a reminder that the legacy of a loving heart can live on forever.
Today, the kitchen remains my sanctuary, but it’s now enriched with a deeper appreciation for the cultural significance of food. Every time I cook, I’m not just preparing a meal; I’m engaging in a cultural act, honoring traditions, and sharing a piece of myself with the community.
Ishmael N’gaujah Mattias, Community Cook in WMF Sierra Leone
Ishmael Mattia serves as a volunteer staff member with Word Made Flesh Sierra Leone, where he leads meal preparation and supports youth tutoring programs. Raised in Freetown by his foster mother, Aunty P, Ishmael was introduced to the WMF community at a young age through her role as a dedicated chef. It was in WMF’s kitchen that he first discovered his love for cooking. Following Aunty P’s passing in 2017, Ishmael and his sister stepped in to continue her legacy of care and service. Since 2018, he has played an active role in nourishing children and youth through both food and mentorship. Ishmael is currently pursuing a degree in Accounting and Finance and hopes to attend culinary school in the future to further cultivate his passion.