White Shirt

A Boy, His Favorite Shirt, and a Mother’s Quiet Lesson

“Paulo!

Not again. Another shirt lost to seafood stew!”

Paulo stared at his mother silently.

“Either you never have seafood stew again or you never wear a white shirt again. Your choice.”

“But Ma, I only ever eat seafood stew and I only ever wear white shirts. What am I going to do?” he exclaimed, tears falling in his stew and all over his white shirt.

“Tomorrow is your test,” declared his mother.

“You will wear your favorite white shirt and you will have seafood stew like you’ve never had before filled with extra mussels.”

Paulo wriggled in his chair. He loved mussels.

The next day Paulo’s mom took him by surprise. She escorted him to the finest cafe on the entire island. They were renowned for their seafood stew.

It was the boy’s very first time at such a place.

He tucked his chair in, sat upright in his white shirt, laid a linen napkin over his lap.

The waiter delivered Paulo’s stew with a fancy spoon.

Paulo picked it up meticulously. Four hours later the boy was still eating, doing his best not to spill a single drop from the fancy spoon.

The waiter approached the table. “I am so sorry, but we are closing.”

The boy looked down at his stew. Half of it remained in the bowl, but his white shirt had never been cleaner.

Ma smiled as she stood up, one hand on her back.

“I like your stew the best,” whispered Paulo as they walked out onto the dusty street.

Ma beamed so brightly, her smile matched the whiteness of Paulo’s shirt.

A story by Pemba Umoja