HiveComb

I woke up that evening regretting why I didn't go to the market earlier.

My plan was simple. Since I had missed going to the market the previous day which was Saturday, because of house chores. I planned to wake up on Sunday, clean a little, and head out before the sun got too hot. But by the time I could finish cleaning the house, the sky darkened and it wasn't long before it sent down heavy showers that drummed hard on my roof.

Since the weather decided to tamper with my plans that morning. I curled myself up in bed watching the droplets of rain dripping down my window. The sound against my roof and window was so soothing and hypnotic, too, that in no time, I was drifting to sleep.

I woke up hours later to a cold but dim room. The rain had stopped. Now, I had to deal with the fangs of hunger biting deep in my stomach. I was famished.

With the last strength left in me, I sat up in bed. My body felt like it had been drained of all the energy while I slept. I didn't let it bother me. Mama has told me one time that feeling that way after sleeping could be a sign of good sleep. I took it to be what Mama said. Yet, I knew I needed to feed my body so I wouldn't collapse.

I yawned and stretched so hard. Then I forced myself to stand. I picked up my wristwatch at the bedside table. It was already past four in the evening.

I sighed. The market was out of the question now.

I needed to find plan b. I walked to the kitchen, dragging my feet, body, and soul along. I got to the kitchen and opened the cupboard. Then I rummaged through it for anything, anything at all that could feed my dying soul. But I found nothing decent, other than a half-empty pack of cereal. I grabbed it and grabbed a bowl too. Then I poured some into a bowl, added milk, and slumped onto a chair.

It wasn’t what I wanted.

I wanted something hot, filling, and African. Maybe a bowl of eba cassava flakes and okro soup with enoughshaki cow skin. Or the only food generally accepted and agreed on by Nigerians without a vote to be eaten on a Sunday evening. A plate of white rice, thick stew, juicy beef, or tender chicken. The kind of food that will hug my stomach and whisper to my soul that everything will be okay.

I stared at the plate of cereal I was chewing on and sighed, leaving me even more unsatisfied. Without a second, I pushed the bowl aside and leaned back on the chair, staring at the ceiling.

I was lost in my own world when a loud knock broke the silence.

I lurched in my seat. Nearly falling off the chair. Who could that be at that cold time of the evening?

The knock came again. I groaned and walked to the door.

"Aunty Zee, are you home?" I heard Chinedu call from outside the door. Chinedu was Mama Chinedu's last child and son.

"Chinedu," I muttered. Wondering at the same time why he was at my door.

I opened the door to the rich aroma of stew. It hit me even before I saw the tray in his hands.

"Good afternoon, Aunty." He greeted me.

"Good afternoon," I answered with an inviting voice and a smile on my face.

"My mummy asked me to give this to you." He continued, handing over the tray.

I've learned one thing in my almost one-year stay with Mama Chinedu in the same compound not to reject her food or gift if you don't want to be playfully blacklisted for a few days.

"Ohh! Tell her thank you for me." I replied, taking the tray from him.

"No need. I'm already here." I heard Mama Chinedu's voice. I looked up to see her approaching from her apartment. "Seems like you’ve been sleeping all day?" She asked, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

"I was just… tired," I mumbled to her. To Chinedu, I said. "Why stand outside? Come in."

But Mama Chinedu turned to her son. "Are you done with your assignment?" She asked.

Chinedu shook his head.

"Oya, go and finish it. You can come back when you're done."

We watched as he ran back to their apartment. Then I shut the door.

Mama Chinedu slumped onto my couch. Her eyes scanned the room till she saw the bowl of abandoned cereals. She sighed. " Zerah, you're eating junk food again?" She asked, stressing my name.

"The rain came as I was about to leave for the market."

She shook her head and smiled. It was a mix of amusement and concern. "No wonder I didn't hear you clanging spoons to the pot while I was cooking."

"What did you cook sef?" I opened the covered food on the tray to see a plate filled with white rice, thick stew, and a mix of juicy beef sitting proudly beside a tender chicken lap. I swallowed hard.
"Do you read minds?" I asked.

"Why?" She replied. Her attention was now on my TV as she browsed through channels with the remote in her hands.

"This was exactly what I craved."

She looked at me and smiled. "Sit down and eat." She said, adjusting on the couch for me to sit.

I didn't hesitate. I sat down and dug into the food. Each spoon fed my soul with energy and warmth.

"Papa Chinedu traveled with the boys except Chinedu. So I hope you have time for my company?"

I nodded. I had food in my mouth.

Mama Chinedu stared at me for a few seconds without breaking a stare.

"What?" I asked when I caught her stare.

"Look at you. You already look more alive."

With my mouth full of food. I moaned. "I will answer that when I'm done eating. But for now, allow me to relish the taste of just what my body ordered."

She laughed. "Crazy girl."

Photo by Ehioma Osih: