The table before me was filled with various delicacies, with the main dish being Jellof rice, filling the whole room with such sweet aromas. The sound of clatter of spoons against plates, the soft glow of the dining room light, and the chandelier.
In my family, there were monthly family gatherings where all family members would meet up for dinner. This Sunday evening, it fell on my family to host the dinner. And as always the gatherings were always noisy affairs, filled with teasing, laughter, and the occasional quarrel.
But in all these merriments something felt off with me. I could tell I had come without my guard. You wouldn't blame me. I was thinking it would be like every other gathering where it was all about food, warmth, and familiar voices. But I had just been dumped by the one I thought would be my forever together because he said I couldn't cook.
I mean, he didn't lie. I was bad at cooking, and he was a foodie who loved home-cooked meals. I had tried to make it work. I had joined online cooking classes until that day he had taken me to his family's house, and somehow, while helping his mother in the kitchen, she asked me to help her make stew.
I did my best, but it turned out badly. Not so bad, though, to me. But their faces told of how they disliked it. Anyways, that night while I prepared for bed with my fiancee, I noticed his attitude change. I tried to find out what was wrong but he kept insisting everything was fine.
The next morning, he dropped me off at home, gave me a kiss, and drove off. Just before I would get into my house I got a text from him calling off our relationship with reasons that his parents were hellbent that he wouldn't marry a woman who couldn't cook.
Ever since I tried reaching out to him but he blocked all access to him. I had confided in my parents in secret with my mum promising to teach me how to be better in the kitchen.
Now, I sit at this table trying to force down this well-cooked, delicious stew by my mum down my throat. The banter kept flowing as usual. Everyone wore happy faces on their faces with mouths filled with food.
"This stew is so nice." Jenny, my favorite cousin, Saud. "I'm sure it was. "Amina that made it. Your husband is going to be lucky!" She smiled looking at me.
I swallowed hard and looked at her. I forced a smile. "Thanks. But I didn't make it."
"Who did?" She asked, mouth filled with food.
I shifted my face to my mum. "She did"
“That's why her fiancé broke up with you. Who would want someone like her?” My uncle, with his usual witty smirk, turned towards me and said. Then he gave a loud laugh, his voice dry and croaky. There was a sharp edge of ridicule on his face. I had known him from a tender age to be a man with a leaky mouth.
But no one smiled at him. The silence that followed was worse than the words themselves. All eyes instead fell on me. I turned and gazed at my parents. My mum had her jaw dropped and eyes wide. Dad, on the other hand, took off his glasses and threw his face to the floor in shame. My eyes were almost in tears.
"But I told you that in confidence." I roared, wiped my hands on the table, got up, and walked away.
I stormed into the corridor, my chest rising and falling as though I had just run a race. I needed some air. I felt my pals sweating, and my throat suddenly felt dry. I could still hear my uncle's words echo in my ear. I just wanted the ground to open and swallow me.
I felt this rage within me. Spontaneously, I stormed back into the room. I wasn't going to let his voice be the last one they heard.
I wiped my face with the back of my hand and turned around. My legs felt heavy, but I walked back into the dining room. The clinking of spoons had stopped. The air in the room was different now. Everyone was silent. Except for my uncle who was trying to explain himself.
All eyes shifted to me immediately as I entered, my heart pounding louder than their silence. My rage is at's highest level.
I pulled out my chair and sat down. I tried to call myself. I didn't want to sound disrespectful. I took a deep breath and gently forced my words out.
“Uncle, what you said wasn’t just cruel. It was a secret I trusted my family with. But I guess they felt it was okay to betray me and tell you. Then you think it's okay to use it to shame me.”
He shifted uneasily, clearing his throat as if he wanted to speak. But I kept going. I wasn't going to let him speak.
“No matter what it was wrong of you to use my pain as entertainment? I guess now it has shown us more about you than it has about me. At least I know my worth isn’t measured by the stew on this table.”
The silence was at its loudest now. My mum was filled with regret, and my father’s face was still lowered. All these gave me the power to keep going.
“I might not be the best cook or be able to make the best stew, but I know I will soon because I'm putting in work to learn. And when the time is right I'll meet the right person, they’ll want me, stew or no stew.”
No one said a word. Not even my uncle, who suddenly found his plate more interesting than my face.
I looked from face to face then gently, I pushed my chair and got up. I turned and walked out, this time not in anger, but with a strange calm in my chest.
