 In
the heat of summer this pretty lady cooked up what looked like pancakes.
They called it chapatees. Over her head was a shade like a big curtain.
She was just on the edge of the street probably in front of her own home.
I walked by her and was interested in her make shift griddle.
I had tried to get flat bread like this for demonstration on
the table of shewbread in the sanctuary lessons each night. Every time I
asked the pastor, he went out hunting for expensive yeast raised bread for
us to eat. My words were not understood. My English accent was so
different from his that there were many times we did not understand each
other's English.
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