True life story of “Something” in the making
…And after some few glances into the pages of my Surgery text, I headed towards my food preparatory centre, few metres from my reading table, separated by a curtain, to see if I can conjure any delicacy that has enough stature to to quench the irresistible claims of my gastrointestinal mucosa.
As I laid my hand on some potato tubers lying fallow in my food cubicle since the corona lockdown, some ideas began to crystalize into my frontal lobe.
At first it seemed superficial and passive, I felt like waving them away, but it started proving heavy and heavier with time…I paused to take some deeper thought of this psychological burden…
…but My pot of water has already started hissing. The boiling point was imminent despite being 3 mins into the whole procedure…The reason was not farfetched, my gas cylinder was in compliance with the urgency of the moment, and did not hesitate to play its role of combustion.
And the dilemma became incontrovertibly real – to give credence to ideas waving on my way, or to continue my potato peeling…I tried to coordinate both, yes, I tried to serve two masters at the same time, at least for today…
but on particular line kept recurring amongst the whole conundrum, and it says,
“Is there no balm in Gilead, is there no Physician there?”
…The bewilderment reached its highest level of sophistication. “Balm, Gilead, Physician”? I queried.
…Already being cuddled by hunger, and distressed by the economic significance of burning gas on just water, I decided to give attention to my kitchen engagement. Hurriedly I peeled all the potatoes. At one corner of my abode were some pieces of overiped plaintain plantain. “Could these go with potato?” I asked rhetorically. “But how could I have set off to cook without even knowing what to cook”, I soliloquized…Fiam! I reached for those plaintain, and started giving it the ‘potato-treatment’. “I have to justify my presence in the kitchen,” I assuredly myself.
Without further delay, I decided to fill up my boiling pot, with “whatever”. After 10mins, the intensity of the aroma oozing out from my pot was scintillating, absolutely atypical. Through my tinted window, I watched my neighbor gulping happily his saliva, then my pathologic euphoria became intoxicating. ” How did this magic happen?” I asked…Certainly it is inexplicable! What is the name of my food? I cannot answer…but I can vividly enumerate the content of my pot. In my self-serving elation, and urge to know, I reached out for my ballpoint and a paper…
..”may be after enlisting the content of my pot, I could possibly have a befitting nomenclature for it. Inside the pot were -water, beans, potato, plaintain, red oil, salt, green vegetable, maggi, ginger, garlic, tumeric and onions…”So what did I cook”, I asked myself. Three options entered my head. Immediately I heard a knock at the door – kpai! kpai!…
…”Who could that be?” I pensively looked at the door, pausing to hear the local knocking methodology the second time. I was sure I did not invite anyone, at least not in this lockdown. I did not hear the knock again. “May be its one of these children living in this yard”, I reassured myself, even though my preoccupation was to demystify the content of my pot; not necessarily giving the content an identifiable appellation, but to send it on a journey of no return into my gastrum.
(Thinking about the Children in my compound)
“But what do these children learn from school”? I retorted, munching my food with all vigor and ardor. How can these children come back from school, and instead of rehearsing what they learnt from the classroom, they only rehearse what they learnt at the motor park. It has become so recurrent that, one of the ways to know that it’s 4pm (children are back from school) is when you start hearing: ” gariki, garriki, gariki…gariki ofu onye…gariki, ka o banye”
“New market, 100 naira, ofu onye….new market, market, new market…”
“Holy Ghost, Holy Ghost, Holy Ghost…”
Regrettably, the people who natured and nurtured care less. And by the way, they are no better. Agwo ga-amuriri ihe toro ogologo (A snake must give birth to a long something)…
…well I didn’t allow that distract me. There was already an all important reality b4 me – my delicacy. I continued to munch it with vigor and ardor, just like a wild fire in a harmattan season, sending it down unto the journey of no return in my rumbling gastrum. The smile on my face was not just inspiring, it was physiologically atypical, empirically idiopathic.
Just at that moment, the voice came again. This time very insidious. And I heard, “write”. ” write what actually ” I grinned. Before, it was “is there no balm in gilead,” now it is “write”. Any connection, relation, or corellation? Time definitely shall tell. Well, being a man of faith, I reached out for my ‘black and white’ to see if I can pen down somethin meaningful, but there was not ‘black’ around. Ziam! I reached for my phone, and decided to type it. After typing, the voice said ” publish”. Whether it made sense or not can only be judged by any reader.
Click to Read it here:
…To be continued
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