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THE STORY NO ONE ASKED ME (PT2)
There are some stereotypes that gave me stomach aches while growing up, maybe till now too though. One of it the importance of virginity for female children which is trivialised in their male counterparts. So because the boys have no evidence to show for it makes them live carelessly while the girls will still explain tire with their evidence, why!
Another like it is the making of house chores, cooking especially, a gender based skill or duty. Well, as insignificant as my impact might be, I decided to make a change by taking it upon myself to prove these stereotypes wrong.
Those that have tasted my meal can testify I'm the 'baddest', Hilda Baci is flying beside me, no exaggeration. This morning, I prepared the sweetest rice I ever tasted in my life. I intentionally used sweet and not delicious because that qualified what I cooked more.
While boiling the rice and adding the salt, which has always been in measures of the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the head of my mother for me to get it right, I observed that the rice was tasteless after the first little pinch I added. 'Everything is just dropping in quality in this country, even salt?" I lamented as I added more pinches.
I was boiling faster than the rice I was cooking when I went back to check and my rice is still tasteless. So, I added an obvious more-than-enough quantity with the hope to rinse it later. I got lost in other chores that I forgot to taste the rice when I rinsed it as purposed.
I was used to eating good foods cooked by my humbly proud self that I didn't notice on time that something was wrong with this. After three shovel of rice down my throat, my tongue couldn't resist the funny taste it was getting.
"Has this egusi soup grew sore too? I cooked it just yesterday and I warmed it before going to bed and this morning too, right?" My mind was asking my brain. I took few more grains to get what the taste actually is and where the problem is from, the rice or the soup?
An important part of the story I missed. I'm one of those children that grew up eating planks, so provisions wasn't my thing. But there's this visitor I was expecting and wanting to impress, which made me stuff my house with provisions and cooked the egusi soup the previous day. I tried to put everything in place so it won't appear like I did it for her.
I borrowed an old Milo can from my neighbour to fill, he understands the package, a child of wisdom. I emptied the Dangote sugar I bought inside one of the small containers I put my kitchen ingredients, you know every typical Nigerian kitchen have it. Now I have two containers containing similar textured substance in my kitchen. Ahhhh! No wonder my rice was tasteless earlier despite the seashore I poured in it.
My brain just answered the question my mind asked it earlier about what was wrong. Before I could think of what next to do with the sugary-rice recipe I just created, I heard a knock on my door. It's her, the visitor I was expecting to impress, omooooooo...
© The Dhramatikpen
#the365writingmarathon
095/365
Another like it is the making of house chores, cooking especially, a gender based skill or duty. Well, as insignificant as my impact might be, I decided to make a change by taking it upon myself to prove these stereotypes wrong.
Those that have tasted my meal can testify I'm the 'baddest', Hilda Baci is flying beside me, no exaggeration. This morning, I prepared the sweetest rice I ever tasted in my life. I intentionally used sweet and not delicious because that qualified what I cooked more.
While boiling the rice and adding the salt, which has always been in measures of the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ and the head of my mother for me to get it right, I observed that the rice was tasteless after the first little pinch I added. 'Everything is just dropping in quality in this country, even salt?" I lamented as I added more pinches.
I was boiling faster than the rice I was cooking when I went back to check and my rice is still tasteless. So, I added an obvious more-than-enough quantity with the hope to rinse it later. I got lost in other chores that I forgot to taste the rice when I rinsed it as purposed.
I was used to eating good foods cooked by my humbly proud self that I didn't notice on time that something was wrong with this. After three shovel of rice down my throat, my tongue couldn't resist the funny taste it was getting.
"Has this egusi soup grew sore too? I cooked it just yesterday and I warmed it before going to bed and this morning too, right?" My mind was asking my brain. I took few more grains to get what the taste actually is and where the problem is from, the rice or the soup?
An important part of the story I missed. I'm one of those children that grew up eating planks, so provisions wasn't my thing. But there's this visitor I was expecting and wanting to impress, which made me stuff my house with provisions and cooked the egusi soup the previous day. I tried to put everything in place so it won't appear like I did it for her.
I borrowed an old Milo can from my neighbour to fill, he understands the package, a child of wisdom. I emptied the Dangote sugar I bought inside one of the small containers I put my kitchen ingredients, you know every typical Nigerian kitchen have it. Now I have two containers containing similar textured substance in my kitchen. Ahhhh! No wonder my rice was tasteless earlier despite the seashore I poured in it.
My brain just answered the question my mind asked it earlier about what was wrong. Before I could think of what next to do with the sugary-rice recipe I just created, I heard a knock on my door. It's her, the visitor I was expecting to impress, omooooooo...
© The Dhramatikpen
#the365writingmarathon
095/365
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