The silence from Mama Chinedu was deafening that particular day. No text. No teasing voice note. Not even her usual
“Are you home? Have you eaten?” by noon.
From what I've known about Mama Chinedu, even in her busiest days she would check up on me.
I stared at the time, it was 5:30 pm. I've spent the better part of my day sleeping. Trying to regain the strength I lost working my ass off during the week.
Sluggishly, I got up and walked to the window and looked at her apartment with my phone in my hand. There was no movement from her end. Her kitchen lights weren't even on.
I quickly texted her again on WhatsApp.
Ma'am, I'm missing you Then I smiled and waited for her reply. My eyes were still glued to her window. Maybe I would catch a glimpse of her or she would emanate from her door and scream my name like she always does
But still nothing.
I groaned and walked out of my door. My flip flops clapping hard against the floor. I got to her flat and knocked first, but there was no reply. There was no aroma sneaking out from her kitchen doors or windows. It meant one thing. Mama Chinedu wasn't cooking that night.
My mind raced back to the night I had checked up on her to see her cuddling on the floor, crying for her late daughter. Fear gripped me to the bones but I shook my mind of such thoughts and pushed her door open.
Just by her corridor, her worn rubber slippers sat neatly by the door, just where she always left them.
I clapped my hands softly together, then called, “Mama Chinedu?”
Still no answer.
I walked straight to her living room, which was dimly lit. The only sound I could hear was the low hum of her air conditioner somewhere in the corner. The air smelled faintly of medicine, mentholated ointment, and blended tomatoes.
Then I saw her, curled up on her brown long couch like a snake taking a quick nap. She was wrapped up tightly in two Ankara wrappers, her legs tucked like a child’s. Her head rested on a small pillow. There were medicines scattered all around her. Even in that dim light, I could tell she wasn’t herself.
“Ma'am…” I rushed over.
She opened her eyes and looked up slowly. Her eyes were dull, her skin pale, lips dry. Still, she managed to smile.
“Zee,” she whispered. Her body was shivering and shaking.
“Mama, Ogini (what’s wrong)?” I asked, crouching beside her.
“Just small malaria. I’ve been resting.” I could barely hear her whisper. Her voice felt so thin, like she was trying to climb over a lump in her throat.
"And you're still under this AC." I quickly rushed and turned off her Air conditioner. Then I returned and sat beside her. I gently touched her forehead. She was boiling. "You're burning up," I said.
She didn't reply. She only closed her eyes like she didn't want to see me.
“Have you had anything to eat?”
She shook her head gently. “I wanted to make stew, but… my body said no today.” She took a peek at me and winked.
I smiled at her. "You still have the strength to make jokes."
Her face curved into a weak smile.
I looked toward her kitchen door. “I'll check what you have and ruffle up something for you to eat. By the way, where's Chinedu? Does he know you're sick?” I looked at her.
"Yes, he helped with the drugs. I guess he couldn't stand sitting by me anymore so he must have sneaked out to play."
I nodded.
"Chicken is in the freezer. I blended the tomatoes already.”
I nodded and stood. “Just rest. I’ve got this.”
I switched the kitchen lights on as I stepped in. The yellow bulb lighting up the small space of tiled walls with faded flower patterns, her wooden cooking spoon and blender with the blended tomatoes resting neatly on the counter, and her apron still hanging by the door like it was waiting to be worn. The freezer hummed gently.
I smiled. "Even in sickness, this woman wanted to cook," I whispered to myself.
I pulled the freezer open and neatly wrapped in a Ziploc bag was the chicken. I tied my hair together, put on her apron, and got to work.
First, I rinsed the meat and set a pot on the gas. While the chicken defrosted, I cleaned the counter and gathered what I needed.
Just as I reached for the contents in the blender, I heard slow steps behind me. I turned to see Mama Chinedu walking into the kitchen.
“Mama! What are you doing here? You should be resting!”
She smiled faintly and leaned weakly on the doorframe, holding her wrapper close.
“I have no intention to cook,” she said, her voice soft. “I just want to supervise. I don't want you putting sugar instead of salt.”
I laughed and walked over to her. "Just admit that you can't go a day without my company." I joked. Then I held her arms and walked her gently to a seat.
She laughed. “You must feel too full of yourself to say that." She teased. "Pretend I'm not here, I’ll just be talking.”
I made sure she was comfortably seated before I returned to what I was doing.
Soon, the oil was hissing as it heated. I quickly sliced onions and tossed them in. Gradually, the room was filled with that warm, sharp aroma of oil and sweet onions. I stirred gently. The heat steadily kissed my face, climbing the walls, curling through the open window.
“You know if Chinedu were any younger, I'm sure he'd think you're his second mummy,” I heard Mama Chinedu say.
I turned and smiled at her. “Nah, I don't think I'd like to compete for our husbands' love with you. Because you'll surely win every time." I teased.
She rested her chin in her palm. “You think?"
I turned back to my cooking, grabbing my spoon and stirring. "I know. With the Papa Chinedu I know, he'll choose you every time. That man can't go a day without you. I'm sure he isn't aware you're sick, if not he'll be flying down to Lagos today to see you." I added my stock and stirred.
Mama Chinedu “I don't want to worry him over mere malaria. Sometimes he cries like a baby seeing me sick." She giggled.
I looked over my shoulder at her. Then we both burst out laughing.
"Okay, just a few more minutes and my stew is ready. Are you prepared to be blown away?" I asked, covering the pot and giving a weird dance.
"If only you didn't mistake sugar for salt." She winked at me trying to shake her body to my rhythm too.
I waited a few more minutes and set down the pot. I gave her a little bit to taste with her finger. I watched as she put it in her mouth and closed her eyes. I looked intently at her waiting for a reply like a student waiting for her result.
“Hmm! Perfect!,” she said, giving me the thumbs up.
I did a victory dance around her as she smiled.
Then I proceeded to boil rice immediately, while we sat in the kitchen talking about our lives and choices. Finally, my rice was done and I dished a plate of rice and stew for her
"Aren't you eating?' she asked as I sat beside her watching her eat.
"I'll eat later. I just want to take care of you first."
She chuckled and looked at me. "Am I your baby?"
I smiled. "Maybe for today.”
[Image Source](https://pixabay.com/photos/express-pot-pressure-cooker-7116220/)
