Once upon a time, there was a girl in the city named Ella. She was six years old. She lived with Mama at the very top of an old building. Mama worked nights at the hospital. It was the end of the month. In the fridge there was only a heel of bread and half a lemon. Nobody complained. But Ella’s tummy rumbled softly.
On Saturday, Ella went to the weekly market with Mama. Suddenly an old woman’s shopping bag tore. Plop! Apples rolled everywhere. Ella crawled under the market stalls. She picked up every single apple, even the one way in the back by the potatoes. The old woman looked at her for a long time. It was as if she already knew everything.
Then she gave Ella a small, old, blue pot. “Say ‘Cook, little pot, cook!’ and it will cook sweet millet porridge. And say ‘Stop, little pot, stop!’ and it will stop.” Ella was amazed. “Does it listen to talking? Like the speaker at my friend’s house?” The old woman laughed. “This little pot has listened to words since long before there was electricity.”
Together: Say the two magic words together: “Cook, little pot, cook!” and “Stop, little pot, stop!”
At home, Ella put the little pot on the stove. Mama watched, curious. Ella called out, “Cook, little pot, cook!” Blub, blub! Sweet millet porridge rose up in the pot. It smelled of cinnamon. “Stop, little pot, stop!” said Ella. And it stopped. Ella and Mama ate until they were full. They laughed with their cheeks stuffed. From then on, they were never hungry again.
One afternoon, Ella was at her swimming lesson. Mama came home from a long night shift. She was tired and hungry. “Cook, little pot, cook!” she said. Mama ate until she was full. But her sleepy head couldn’t find the word anymore. “Pot, quit! Pot, off! Pot, pause!” “Pot, switch off! Please, dear little pot, that’s enough!” But the little pot just kept on bubbling.
Together: Do you know the right word? Help Mama and call it out loud!
The porridge rose over the rim, over the stove, across the kitchen. It oozed out the apartment door. Then down the stairs it went, step by step. Blub, blub! It flowed past the neighbors’ doors. It pushed out the front door onto the sidewalk. Around the bicycles. The whole neighborhood smelled of cinnamon.
Together: Let your child bubble the porridge down the stairs: Blub, blub, blub!
A warm river of porridge flowed down the street, all the way to the tram stop. Ding-ding! The tram had to stop. Neighbors leaned out of their windows. A dog licked happily. Only one more street, and it would reach the market. Just then Ella came home from swimming, her hair still wet. She waded to the front door. Loud and clear, she called, “Stop, little pot, stop!” And the little pot stood still.
Whoever wanted to get home had to eat their way through. The neighbors came with spoons. Mr. Yılmaz, Mrs. Nowak with her baby, the student. Before, they had only nodded to each other. Now they ate together on the steps and laughed. Mama got a hug and a blanket on the sofa. That night, the little pot stood quietly on the shelf. And the whole building knew the magic words.
