It started when we traveled with my dad once; on the road, he brought us so many plantain chips that we dreamt of it that entire period. On the way back, he did the same thing, surplus plantain chips, and we loved him for it.
So we got to the house, and we were still thinking about plantain chips, and the huge bunches of plantain in the store just added more fuel to the fire; then my senior sister brought up an idea—you know what is better than buying plantain chips, making it yourself.
That period was a very busy period for the adults because everyone was busy with a very big burial they were preparing for. The only adult who was around was my mom. So we did the usual and sent the last born to sweeten the request.
He tried his best and used every trick in the book, but she didn't budge. Instead, she warned us strongly against touching any plantain in the store.
When she left we immediately plotted on how we would fry the plantain without her knowing. The plantain in the store was so much that she wouldn't notice if we took any out of it.
The plan was simple and genius, we would just make sure we didn't leave any traces behind and wash everything we used immediately after, my brother our evil mastermind came up with a genius idea for the oil—“We would mess up the bottle and pour a little on the floor and clean it, but we won't clean it well. Then, if anyone notices the oil reduced, we can say it wasn't closed well, and David kicked with it while playing,” we were planning with him, but still looking at him like he was an evil genius, lol.
OPERATION PLANTAIN CHIPS: CODE RED OIL
The plan commenced, and the cooperation we used for committing a crime was just so funny; we never had that kind of cooperation when it was time for house chores. We were three peeling the plantain, three including my senior sister slicing it and the twins and last born were going to do the washing after we were done.
We were done with slicing all the plantain; my senior sister had already put the pot on the camp gas cooker so the water in it could dry off. It was then we started looking for the groundnut oil; we didn't know if my mom had hidden it or if there wasn't any. Then, after some time, we decided to use red oil instead, and just softly, you know, all this went on while the pot was still on the fire, and the gas cooker had a regulation problem—the gas pressure increased by itself and if regulated too low the fire would go out.
That’s when Murphy’s Law kicked in—everything that could go wrong started going wrong at once.
With absolutely no knowledge of what could go wrong with pouring red oil into an extremely hot pot, my sister went ahead. Voom, the oil ignited in contact with the pot as flames flared up.
“Jesus!" We all shouted as we ran out of the kitchen in commotion. My sister and brother ran back into the kitchen to stop the fire while we stayed at the door fearfully watching from a distance.
They both acted in sync. My sister took the rag, and my brother turned on the sink tap. She carried the pot straight to the sink under the running tap.
Boom! A ball of flame went up from the pot, worse than the first one. My brother and sister were quick with their reaction and dashed away from the sink. But the kitchen net took a great deal of damage—the flame had already melted a big hole in the net. After the insane fireworks, the fire in the pot died down quickly.
The gas cooker was still burning gas, the kitchen was a red mess with oil everywhere, and choking smoke engulfed the house.
After that, there was serene calmness. We stood at the door, my sister sat on the floor, and my brother stood at the spot after dodging the flame; we all had the same look on our faces that said—we were finished.
We didn't even have the hype we had previously to continue with the frying. We just kept the plantain on one side and cleaned the kitchen. When we were done the kitchen had never sparkled like that.
We all waited for my mom to get back. When my mom came back she immediately knew something was wrong from our desolate and guilty faces, as we were all seated in the parlor quiet like we were silently mourning, but she didn't ask. She entered the kitchen, saw the burnt net, and still didn't say a word. Eventually, our senior sister had to tell her, and she still didn't shout at us or anything.
She just gave us directions on what to do and we should sun dry the plantain so it doesn't wait. It was like she was relishing in it as it made us obedient and hardworking all of a sudden. Throughout that period, there was no fighting over chores or anything; we were well-behaved and knew the right things to do. We don't know what she told our dad, but he had the net replaced without punishing us; it was like he didn't know how it really got burned. But it didn't matter, because being obedient and hardworking was better than the punishment we would have received from our dad. And we knew never to try it again.