[picture is mine]
As a boy, I always grumbled when my mother called me into the kitchen to help her cook.
“Marriot, come and help me wash these leaves,” she would say, her wrapper tied tight as she bent over the pot.
Grumpily I will walk to the kitchen. "But mummy, why does it have to be me? What of the girls?"
"There's no monopoly on cooking. Everyone needs to know how to cook. It's a survival skill.!" She'll yell.
Well, I knew what would come with it if I dared disobey, so I always obeyed, but in my heart, I dismissed all she preaches about cooking. I ignorantly believed she just liked making it look like hard work. I mean, how difficult could it be? Just cut, fry, stir, you pour and it's ready. That was how I made noodles, spaghetti, and jollof rice. Sometimes with my eyes half closed.
So what was the big deal? What I didn't realize was that it wasn't the same with others, especially our local soup.
Fast forward to the first day I tried making soup after I had moved out of my mother’s house. Afang soup to be precise. That was the day cooking humbled me.
I had woken up that day hungry and craving real food and not the usual carbohydrates I've been eating for months. I made a list, quickly grabbed my jacket, and headed to the market, with so much smile and beaming with smiles.
My mummy had told me that going to the market as a young man was also an advantage to make the ladies love you. Yeah, she said.
"And most girls love a man who knows how to cook. Especially if you did the shopping in the market yourself."
I walked through the market with my shoulders high—bargaining with the confidence of a chef.
“Give me afang leaves. Your waterleaf is too. I'd have bought two stockfish if you just agreed to my price.”
I made sure to rustle my nylon bags proudly as I carried them into my apartment. I wanted my female neighbors to know that there was an eligible bachelor in town. I had even planned on how I would take pictures of the bubbling pot, post them online, and praise myself later, with the caption.
"Most eligible bachelor in your neighborhood."
I got to my kitchen and washed my pot, stockfish, and beef, added water, and set it on the gas. Then I proceeded to chop the waterleaf. While my stock bubbled I poured in my water leaf together. Then I chewed groundnuts to pass the time and wait for my pot of stew to bubble.
It wasn't long before I discovered that my pot of soup wasn't looking like my mother's pot of soup. It looked like my water leaf was drowning in its water. I couldn't even perceive the aroma that I felt by now would fill the room and even sneak into my neighbors' rooms too.
“Okay, okay,” I muttered, "just some oil and other ingredients then I'm good to go." I shook my bottle of palm oil and poured it in like I had seen my mother do. Then I proceeded to add the remaining ingredients like crayfish, stockfish, Maggi, and salt. My nose twitched. The smell was sharp, almost aggressive. But the taste wasn't good.
"Maybe it needs the final touch of the Afang leaves," I muttered
I tore open the Afang nylon and stared at the green, rubbery pile. I heard my Mummy's voice ring in my ear.
"Marriot, pound this afang." I rolled my eyes. I didn't remember to do that at the market. Also, I had no mortar, pestle, or even grinder to do that.
I decided to improvise by chopping it more on a tray. By now, I was sweating. The more I chopped the more the leaves refused to soften. I finally succumbed and poured them into the pot that way, stirred, and covered the pot to boil a little.
I got back to a pot of soup looking so confused. It had the oil floating on top, leaves sinking, and meat hiding at the bottom. My confidence began to shrink. My raised shoulders fell. The eligibility in my ‘bachelor’ became ineligible.
I heard my mother's voice ring in my head again. “Cooking is a survival skill..”
She wasn't wrong. How was I going to survive eating the rubbish I had just made? The paparazzi I had planned on doing plus a whole lot. My stomach grumbled but I knew it wasn't out of hunger but a warning that I shouldn't feed it such poison.
Well, the taste wasn't that terrible as I thought. At the same time, it wasn't great either. Just edible enough to keep me alive. Also, thanks to the stockfish and beef, which I ate more than the soup itself.
That was when I realized that cooking was not as easy as it looked.