Visible Essence

CHAPTER NINE

Late evening approached as mama was at the kitchen preparing dinner, which is the same egusi soup she cooked in the morning.

I and Ada assisted her in the kitchen to prepare the meal, while Obinna sat beside papa, helping him arrange his work books. Obinna was brainy and very good at mathematics, he has won an award twice as the best mathematics student in his school and likes helping papa calculate money issues when he miscalculates and papa doesn’t complain or chases him away because he has being quite productive and useful to him.

Ada was bent over the kerosene stove, trying to get the fire to spread across the threads. Her eyes were blotchy from the smoke.

“The thread has thinned so much that there are nothing left to hold the fire,” she said, as she gets the fire to spread around.

She put a kettle of water on the stove to boil for the “Eba”, while mama warmed the pot of egusi soup on the other stove and I rinsed papa’s food plate.

Papa has a special breakable plate, which is big and has a fitted cover, white in colour and has a flower designed on the back of the plate, which he eats with.

When dinner was finally ready, and everyone has eaten, we all retired to our beds while mama and papa stayed back at the parlour watching the drama “FAMILY CIRCLE” which is being played at the NTA station and after the program must have ended, they started discussing, but in a very low tone.

I tried to ears drop but I couldn’t due to the loud noise of the mosquito on my ear. I laid down quietly looking at the ceiling fan as it rotates, and the dizziness that comes with its spun brought sleep to my eyes.

The next morning was Saturday and it was mama’s usual market day. She had made a list of everything she wanted to buy and has shown it to papa the previous night. She had told ada to escort her to the market to assist her in carrying the bags.

So I and Obinna were to stay at our neighbor Mrs. Amala’s house till they come back. Before they left for market she took us to the place and spoke with Mrs. Amala for a second telling her; she would be back soon. They exchange pleasantries before parting.

   Mrs. Amala’s house was very beautiful, quiet and neat. She only has one child, who was still very young. We sat on the verandah floor like people who aren’t welcomed to the house, with total silence. But that didn’t prevent our eyes from wondering around the house, admiring it.

How sophisticated and well furnished it looked. It was the same house space with ours but one could tell the difference in class and wealth, just with a glance. The whole house smelt good, like fresh flower.

I knew obinna was sharing my taught because he was obviously moping at the air with his mouth gasped. We were still there wallowing in ours taught when Mrs. Amala called us to the kitchen and asked us to carry the plates of porridge yam which she just finished preparing, pointing at the kitchen cupboard where she placed the plates of food.

We took the plates and headed back to the verandah, where we sat on the floor, eating the delicious yam like we haven’t eaten any yam as delicious as it is. As I eat the yam; it reminded me of the day papa made us eat bearing boiled yam without oil or even water. Since then, eating yam normally gives me goose bumps.

After we had finished eating, I took the plates to the kitchen to watch, but Mrs. Amala objected asking me to leave the plates on the sink, that she would do the dishes later. With excuses that am too small for that and that my hands might not reach the sink to avoid splashes of water on the floor.

i insisted on washing the plates, saying to her that mama would be mad at me if I don’t.

  One out of the numerous lessons mama taught us was to always wash our plates after eating and it has become part of us. I carried the stool by the side, placed it by the sink, climbed on it to do the dishes.

I poured some water in the bowl and picked up the dish sponge but couldn’t find the soup. I turned to Mrs. Amala, surprised she was staring at me with surprise and anxiety.

Where is the soap? I asked.

She smiled and handed me a bottle of white dish washer, with morning fresh boldly written on the back with green colour. I didn’t know what to do with it because unlike her, we only use the local soda soap which mama buys in the market. So i starred at the bottle like i was a learner. She took the dish washer and poured some into the bowl of water and i neatly washed the plates.

From where I stood, I could feel Mrs. Amala’s gaze on me and I wondered how to her a twelve year old is too small to wash plates. Or maybe she is the kind that pampers her children, but not mama because she would give us serious scolding and at times beating if we misbehaved.