How My Mother "Networks"

How my mother secured "the bag" and a bit more than that...

                                                        Popeyes 12pc Tender Bundle:

12pcs Tender Classic

4 Biscuits

2 Boxes of Regular Fries

2 Sweet Teas

1 Mango Tea

1 Strawberry Fanta

2 Honey Mustard Sauces, 1 Bayou Buffalo, and 2 Sweet Heats–

cost my mother absolutely…nothing. Okay, I’m lying because in this economy, that’s a cruel joke. That order of Popeyes cost my mother something: a bag of Dèguè. It cost her a bag of sweet yogurt-based dessert made of millet couscous. Millet couscous, which was boiled in a big pan of water at the ripe hour of 8 a.m., and on a Friday too. Then it was cooled to room temperature, and once cooled, it was mixed with milk, sugar, yogurt, sour cream, vanilla, and other flavorings my mom buys at the African market. Then it is chilled and eaten as a cold, creamy dessert, enjoyed like a bowl of cereal. 

You see, my mother is no stranger to “networking.” Every place she visits, she manages to make at least one Malian friend. It’s as if she has special X-ray vision that allows her to reveal the true Malian person in a crowd. Or the name or accent alone will tip her off and have her asking, “Ebe bamanankan fo?” (Do you speak Bambara?). With that one question, she’s able to make connections and friends, but also an opportunity to gain something. 

My mother is an amazing cook, and unconsciously, I always find myself seeking her flavors in other cuisines. Just like the saying, “Food is the window to the soul,” but for my mom, food is her way to more food and connections. Most of the time, my mom makes generous batches of her beloved recipes like the Dèguè, Zaamè (West African yellow rice), and her Farini (West African Drop Doughnuts) to gift to neighbors, friends, and colleagues. But like my mother’s words, these gifts have an underlying message. 

“I give this to you, and one day, you’ll be able to help me out.” 

She always preaches that if we, her children, are always generous and kind to people, we’ll get the same in return, maybe even more. If she’s making food for us, she’ll double the batch in case friends and family are visiting or if she’s meeting up with someone later that day. Her cooking is always intentionally scheduled. Days prior or even the morning of, my mom will chat up a person on the phone, engage in loud boisterous conversation–and here’s the kicker–near the end of the call, she’ll ask what days and times they’re working to gauge the best day to schedule the “drop-off” in exchange for goods.

She’ll bring her meals to them or invite them over to our house for them to enjoy some dinner and some conversation, and won’t let them leave with their hands empty (they are leaving with even more food). If they're meeting for the first time, she’ll give them the works, not expecting things in return. Instead, she’ll pick their brains on what they do, what places they get deals from, and as they interact, both parties get to exchange each other’s tips and tricks, for themselves and their families, creating a continuous cycle of community, connection, and food.

So when my mother called me that Friday around 7 p.m., telling me to bring the clear bag of Dèguè to the Popeyes fifteen minutes from our house, my immediate thought was “Really, now??” But of course, I went because my mom always thinks of us first, and that Popeyes would feed us all. So I swapped my pajamas for casual clothes, and I got my steps in. My mother was already inside when I arrived, and the food was already ordered. Upon seeing me, she smiled and immediately told me to greet Traore, the Popeyes employee behind the counter. I’d seen him before; he was a Malian man with glossy Black skin and a bright smile. I had brought him my mother’s food one other time, but didn’t put too much thought into the interaction.

But this time, when I arrived, I played my part because hello! I’m not dumb and have been around my mom long enough to know when she’s playing extra friendly in hopes of getting some goods, especially goods from my favorite fast food place. So I smiled, I smiled hard. I greeted Traore. I laughed when my mom joked to the other employees about how I was her sister. I feigned helplessness when Traore quickly tapped his credit card at the register while my mom argued and pulled at him not to pay it. I thanked the employees around five times, even going further with a “Thank you so much.” 

What’s funny is that usually, the idea of networking with people in the industries I admire exhausts me because I know that if you can’t play their game of giving them what they want to hear, just like that, they’re onto the next person. I’ve personally seen people’s eyes glaze over or their fake smiles start to fade when speaking to me. It especially happened to me when I was in a networking event hosted at my college’s Los Angeles campus. When my words failed to light their eyes up, it felt like my mic had just been cut off and I’d been hooked offstage. And while I condemn one way of networking, while my mom is essentially doing the same thing, it isn’t. She engages in the conversation and gives Malian people who are either new or have been here for years tips about navigating the trials and tribulations of New York City. Her way of networking is building a community of people who may not be your close friends, but can lend a hand, some food, or some advice when needed, while not always expecting something back, though it is appreciated ;)

This personal brand of “networking” my mom has created for herself is one I enjoy (and reap the benefits of from time to time) because both parties make the most out of it. Traore gets to enjoy Malian food like the Dèguè or Farini, assuming he doesn’t get to eat it a lot, and gain one more connection that reminds him of home, Mali. And my mom gets food or ingredients at a discounted price or for no money at all for our family, and just like Traore, another lifeline to Mali, because here, where we live in Queens, the community of Malian people takes a little bit of searching, but it isn’t impossible.

So when my mother and I brought the Popeyes back home, we all indulged in the fruits of her labor. Dipping and munching and crunching into crispy tenders and cajun fries and dipping those into the honey mustard, sweet heat, and bayou buffalo sauces. We ate good that night because we knew our mother’s networking had awarded us a hot meal and full bellies–at no cost to us.  Maybe this is how nepo babies feel, but that’s a think piece for another time. 

And alright! If you’re wondering how much the Popeyes actuallyyy cost, it was $28.33. I peeked at the receipt. ;-)

Photo Source: Phillip Pessar - Popeyes Louisiana Kitchen