I was a child, still going through the rigours of puberty and adolescence contraptions. It was difficult to sift through the right and wrong decisions and actions in my mind. Sometimes I was too boyish, other times I was only a boy in body size and statue.
I could revolt to any decisions or messages from my parents and elder siblings without a second thought, even when I wasn't sure of what the repercussions would be and my readiness to handle them.
At a very young age I had already developed a reputation as the most stubborn piece of the family puzzle, the youngest branch with the biggest wave that pulled at the family's roots. An immovable and unrepentant rebel who had weathered numerous storms of physical duels with both my elder brother and sister, who were years ahead of me both in size and in age, while using my immediate elder sister as rag in brutal fights.
I knew nothing could faze me as I kitted up and juggled out of the house towards the football field, leaving in my wake premonitions from my siblings as they bounced off my back like balloons off a concrete wall. It was time for training and I did not care what my duties at home were, after all, my home did not fulfill its own duties to me.
I had come home from school totally famished and exhausted, hoping to get my tummy filled before my brain could be reset to a mode where I could do anything. But what I met was my reflection as I opened the pots in the kitchen in hope of finding a meal somewhere. Hopes shattered and infuriated by what I considered as insensitivity on my parents' part, I had made up my mind that I wasn't doing anything till I was given food.
So when my elder sister echoed from her room
"Mom said you should come to the market and get foodstuffs so we can prepare for dinner", I verbally shut her down and went to my room to sulk. After a few minutes, still plagued by a storm of emotions that I couldn't really know where to direct, I strolled back to the kitchen, and found garri (cassava flakes), in one of the cabinets.
After smoking almost a full cup of it, I felt a lot revived and energized. "Saved by garri" I thought to myself as a soft chuckle escaped me.
"Wake up jare" my sister beckoned with a harsh tap on my back startling me up from my siesta. "Mom said you should cut the periwinkle since you refused to go to the market" she added and walked away.
Well, I had decided that I wasn't doing anything till I was given food. I glanced up at the clock, and it was already 4:30pm. "time for training" I whispered to myself as I went about looking for my kits.
I strolled back to the house after my exploits, dancing through the field reminiscent of a ballerina waltzing gracefully through the stage. I wanted to avoid every contact with mom, till she went to bed then I can sneak to the kitchen like a house rat to fend for myself.
But the aroma that was emanating from the back of the house swirled through my nostrils, sending vibrations to my starving stomach which then resulted in a deep lust for the source of the aroma.
I was so drawn to it that few minutes later I found myself at the backyard unaware of how I got there.
"Vee-boy is back" my brother announced chuckling and mimicking the cheering spectators at the field, thereby bringing me back to reality. I frowned as I heard my mom calling out at me, dropped my head and shoulders, pretending to be too exhausted and hungry. When the question finally dropped, I pretended to be too weak to speak at which point I was told to go.
Then without warning, I felt a storm of punches and slaps all over my body. My mom was beating the tiredness or should I stay stubbornness out of my body. I could feel her body vibrate with tiredness with every punch. Not the tiredness of her business, but tiredness of my shenanigans.
It was so painful that I felt like the village talking drum, being played to the pleasure of the village masquerade. Just that this particular player knew nothing about cadence and rhythm. After being pummeled to her satisfaction and left sprawling on the floor, I was threatened to get up and go get cleaned up so I can come wash the periwinkle for the soup, if not I would get a sequel.
At that point, the devil in me repented and advised I do same, which I grudgingly did. Later that night, I got the biggest share of the food. It made me feel like I paid the price for the biggest share of my favorite afang soup.
Few day later I overheard my mom discussing with my aunty about how scared she was that I had fainted that night. She told her that threatening me to stand up was just her testing me to be sure that I was still conscious. That was when I understood where the lion's share came from. Either way, I paid the price for my afang soup.
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