As I neared my father’s compound, my nostrils twitched in recognition. It was a hot Friday afternoon. My heart danced with excitement, as I looked forward to the wonderful gift that was in store for me. Fridays were always a highlight of my week, not just because the school day was shorter, but also because it marked the beginning of the weekend. But that Friday was extra special - my mom had promised to cook my favorite meal, a surprise she would occasionally throw to make me happy. It worked every time.
I had been expecting the familiar smell of heated palm oil to assault me as I returned from school, the mouth-watering aroma of fried meat, perfectly massaged with heavy spices, but as I entered the house, I was welcomed with a surprise that completely caught me off guard. Something was different. I felt it in my bones. It made my eyes twitch and my hands shiver. Instead of the familiar Egusi soup, I was greeted with the sight of my mom busy preparing a completely different soup. My face fell, my jaw dropped, and my heart skipped a beat. The radiant smile that brightened my face moments before vanished. Seeing the look of shock and disappointment on my face, my mom couldn't help but smile.
“Put off your school uniform and come with a chair. I will teach you how to prepare Ogbono. I call it the special one.” she said, still smiling.
I had perfected the art of eating soup at a tender age. I'd been extremely shocked when I found out that some people eat theirs with forks and spoons. Everyone knows soup tastes horrible when eaten with utensils. Soup doesn't taste the same unless it is eaten with the hands. When I was a child, I enjoyed eating my Egusi soup and pounded yam (my favorite food) weirdly. I'd cut the pounded yam into chunks and roll them into small balls. I'd assemble the pounded yam balls, forming a circle around the bowl. It was a tradition for me to always eat the meat last after I had swallowed all my pounded yam balls and licked the plate.
After about five minutes, I returned with a chair, still trying to process the unexpected twist. I watched as my mom expertly stirred and turned, added meat, and mixed the ingredients. As much as I wanted, I couldn't focus on my mom’s cooking. My heart was heavy with disappointment. After everything, she was done with the cooking. She served my food on my favorite plate. I sat down in my usual spot. With doubts, I took the first morsel, wrapped it in the hot soup, and swallowed it. Surprisingly, the flavors danced on my tongue, and I couldn't believe it. This new soup was even better than my beloved Egusi soup! Who knew that something so unexpected could bring me such delight?
“Mummy, why is this soup so good,” I asked, chewing the fried meat.
“Because I added my secret ingredient.”
“What’s your secret ingredient, mummy.”
“It’s a secret.” She said.
Ogbono soup and pounded yam became my favorite food. Friday evenings couldn't come quickly enough then. On Friday evenings when my mother was making Ogbono soup, I would hover around the kitchen and dining room, dancing to and fro. Sadly, the joy didn't last too long as my mother traveled to visit her parents. She spent 3 months there. My aunt took over cooking duties, and I was forced to confront a harsh reality: Ogbono soup, my once-beloved favorite, tasted strange when made by someone else.
“Did you forget to add the secret ingredient?” I asked my aunt after I swallowed the first morsel, hoping for answers.
“What secret ingredient? Eat your food” she replied.
Since then, Ogbono soup has never tasted the same. I now eat it only occasionally, and I've lost my favorite food. Currently, I'm still searching for a new dish to fill the void.
This is my entry for the India United contest. The theme is :What is your Favorite food?
Thanks for reading.