When my husband died, some relatives told me, gently but plainly, that certain things weren’t done by widows in our family — running a business among them. I had two children and very little patience left for what wasn’t done.
I started cooking for small family functions from my own kitchen, one order at a time, mostly for neighbours who trusted my cooking more than they cared about the gossip. Slowly, the orders grew larger — engagement functions, then weddings, then corporate lunches for offices in the next town.
Today I run a small catering business that employs eleven other women, most of them widows like me, women who were told similar things by their own families. We cook for functions across the district now, and every one of us draws a proper wage, on time, every month. My children never went without, and neither, now, do the women who work alongside me.
Leave Your Footprint
"I lived this." "I relate." "My father was exactly like this." Say what this stirred in you.
Comments are closed.