The muscles on the back of her neck strained, she lifted the pestle high above her head and brought it down with all of her strength.
She paused and angled her face away from the mouth of the mortar, I got up from my perch on the drum we used to collect rain water and wiped the sweat that had collected on her brow.
My father turned up the volume of the television, there was a match on. “why can’t daddy come help us?” I asked. She looked up and said “cooking is a woman’s job” then she continued pounding.