That is my mum and I, talking in the kitchen. But this isn’t exactly how we - mum, Okwukwe, our kitchen - looks. Hehe!

That’s my mum and I, talking in the kitchen. But this isn’t exactly how we – mum, Okwukwe, our kitchen – looks. Hehe!

“Well done,” was what I said as I walked back to my room from the kitchen.

I was walking back to lie in bed with her. She’s soooo fuiiiiinnnnneeee.

I like when I lie in bed with my books. They have become my friends; I tell them things. Lots.

And they tell me too. Oh! How they whisper sweet somethings into my ears and minds.

She looked at me, “Ehn?”

“Well done.”

“Thanks,” she continued stirring the soup in the pot.


I say well done to her a lot of time. In my head.

I converse a lot with people. In my head.

Friends.

Family.

My late grandma.

Books.

The gatekeeper.

Future lovers and past.

Buhari. Lai Mohammed. Other politicians. I converse (to them — the evil ones) stuff like, “Why so evil? When would you have sense?”

Etc.


Don’t be offended if you’re in this category.

If you’re offended, that’s your cup of coffee — but it means you’re my true friend anyway. Can I share your cup of coffee with you?

True friends should communicate.

I wish I was more expressive in speech.

There’s a young man who lives close by. He reads my posts here but we rarely talk.

I prefer talking to my books and the walls in my room.

But… Next time, I promise I’ll cut my head open for you to see how/what I feel about you.

I pinky swear that.


This time, I said it to her with my mouth. Not in my head.

In the darkness slightly illuminated by the fire from the gas burner, I bet I saw a smile plant itself on her face.

She was back from work.

I’ve been at work but I was going back to work — the night shift. I just work, work, work, work, work until I get tired.

Oftentimes, I get off my chair and sleep off. Then, I wake up in the middle of the night and I go back to work.

My office is in my room. My room is in my office. Makes things a lot easier.

So I know how tired feels. Especially how work-induced tiredness feels.

I knew how she felt then — very tired.

She could decide to not cook for anyone. But she was doing so.

We could fend for ourselves: myself and my sisters.

I can eat anywhere.

I hardly eat though — bad habit I’m intent on ruining.

Most times, I forget to eat breakfast and it’s time for supper.

So I eat breakfast in the evening, lunch at night and supper at midnight.

I suffer from forgetfulness when it comes to eating.

I’m scared. Perhaps Ulcer is happy I’m doing this so that she can pay me a visit. But I won’t let her.


I don’t know why she often cooks even when she’s tired.

Perhaps it’s that she likes cooking.

Perhaps it’s love.

Can’t say for sure. I think it’s both of them.

She often tells me, “Your sisters can’t cook this afternoon, you won’t cook? You will all be in the house and go hungry?”

“Mummy, I’m busy. Too much workload.”

“Eh?”

“And lazy too.”

“Just look at you.”

“I have an idea. I’ll hire someone to cook so that I can save the time (about two hours precisely) that I’ll spend on cooking. The money I’ll make in two hours will be enough to pay for the cooking service and I’ll have cash left. At least that’s what I’ll do when I get my place which is soonest.”

“Shut up!”

Written by Okwukwe
Writer + Entrepreneur + Designer + Creative Artist + Tech Lover + Firework Lover + Travel Freak + Retired Economist ('08-'12) = Okwukwe

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