Daddy's Chirpies

I had planned on submitting the experience of how my Yoda's whispers from the other side was instrumental in me adopting my new fur kid, Pirate, but I decided to give the trees a break from the tissue issues LOL. This narrative is my most recent experience. Though the setting is a religious one, it is by no means an attempt to force my beliefs on you, the reader.

15 July 2018

In honour of her deceased parents, my good friend and neighbour (let's call her E) had decided to hold a prayer meeting (of supplication for mercy and forgiveness). A local group of ladies would visit and lead us through the prayers. They occupied the one downstairs bedroom (cleared out for the occasion) and the attendees could choose between the bedroom and the lounge/dining room area.

It's customary to serve food and refreshments, and E had asked me to oversee the kitchen as her family (certain cousins) have the nasty habit of carting off the food long before those whom it was intended for even got a sniff of it. So there I was, with the assistance of another of our friends (let's call her S), apron on, doing the necessary preparations.

I had placed a tray of mini pies in the oven, S was frying the samoosas (a small triangular-shaped pastry case filled with a spicy mixture of vegetable, meat or poultry), and I was attending to the boeber (traditional warm Cape Malay milk drink made with vermicelli and sago, flavoured with cardamom, stick cinnamon and rose water). The prayers had since started and the boeber needed only occasional stirring, and the pies needed to bake for about 20 more minutes (no timer on the oven), I got caught up in the prayers. I'd been reciting along the entire time, but I really gave myself over to it then.

Through the melody of the prayers I heard someone say, 'The pies!'. I didn't respond immediately. A few seconds later there was an urgent tug at my apron, 'The pies, Choccie!'. I answered, 'Ok S, thanks.' To which she responded, highly confused, 'What are you thanking me for, Apo?' I turned around and looked at her even more confused: 'For reminding me to check the pies.' Now S was giving me that, 'you're messing with me look and I don't like it' and told me she hadn't said anything to me. 'Oh ok, sorry, it must have been E.' Now I was getting the 'you're flippen certifiable look' as she told me we'd been in the kitchen by ourselves the entire time. I shrugged it off as those pies needed to get out of the oven, and S did not attempt to unravel my 'crazy' moment.

During the prayer session, the ladies are seated on the floor, usually padded with blankets, covered with a white sheet, their shoes removed. Chairs are provided for the elderly and infirm. In the final supplication, anyone seated rises as special emphasis is made upon supplicating on behalf of the deceased.

There is a strong believe that it is during this time that the dead are more active amongst us, and I experienced it that day, though it didn't occur to me immediately. When I reflected on the day that evening, I realised the voice had been male and had called me Choccie, my nickname from my daddy, on account that I was not as fair as my siblings.

'Thanks daddy. Still looking out for me, I see.'