the cafeteria

Chicken and rice and brewing tea and sawdust were fantastic and delicious smells layering into one another in the clattering din and frenzy of the lunchroom. Tin plates rattled on the rough planked lunch tables and sounds from a dozen conversations around the room mashed together. In the cacophony, packs of little boys dashed, balancing tin plates heaped high with food, dodging little girls bunched and giggling and squealing. The only grown ups in sight were in the kitchen, behind the counter. They had bulging tummies and stringy thin hair, and the cooking fires flushed their faces red and dotted them with beads of sweat. More sweaty adults frantically spooned scoops of stew onto plates shoved at them while the queue of children waiting for their food chattered loudly.