I love the family gatherings hosted by my mother on a Saturday evening in our two-room township home. There is a tantalizing, meaty aroma from our stove. Gatecrashers come at their own accord, sharing in the merriment. Some bring their own alcoholic beverages. Others dance to the blaring music from the speakers. Such moments give me a joyful feeling.

The only problem about these gatherings is that the following Sunday morning I am tasked with cleaning up the messy floor, covered in mud footprints and vomit, needing to be mindful of the broken glass left behind. Then I wash the countless dishes and dispose of beer bottles. A tedious job that leaves me drained at the end of the day.