Marvellous Adelaja

Nigeria

A Saturday like Today.

While I like to eat “amala” and “ewedu” soup on Saturdays, especially cold Saturdays, like today has promised to be; Amaka, my yellow-skinned roommate would always insist on having a plate of “Fufu” and “Oha” soup.

If it were another day, a day when the sun would shine and the gas station 15 kilometers away would seem near, I would have waited for her to finish cooking. And then, washing the only pot we have, proceed to prepare my soup: no palm oil, stockfish and crayfish.

But on a Saturday like today, when the sun has refused to shine and the gas in the cooker can barely be enough to cook a meal, I can only hope for God’s intervention. It’s barely enough gas, two stovetops and one pot.

Amaka, the Igbo girl, insists that we both eat “fufu” and “Oha” soup. I, the persistent Yoruba, insisted that for the first time Amaka can try eating “amala” and “ewedu” soup. “Who eats food without palm oil, stockfish and crayfish?,” Amaka screams. I screechback, “who eats ‘ewedu’ with palm oil?”

We are now dragging a pot and by mistake, my hands flip the pot to the side of the kitchen, breaking one of the two stovetops. Now it’s barely enough gas, one stovetop and one pot.

In silence, we proceed to cook. Amaka turns the “fufu,” while I prepare the “ewedu” soup; I add palm oil, crayfish and stockfish. When we sit down to eat, we close our eyes in prayer and whisper: “Father, make every Saturday be like today.”