Celebratory Dinner!

Mashed Potatoes and Chicken Wings in Turmeric Cream Sauce.

It was one of those days that I knew exactly what I wanted without looking at the menu, which would have been of no help since it wasn’t on there.

Three minutes into describing and the waiter has to call the chef.

First of all, when the chef personally takes your order, just know the meal is about to be fire. (I learned that from Bami, when he gave the instructions for the Egusi that inspired my first try at cooking. When I bit into that goat meat cooked to tender perfection as instructed…. 🤤 It was heaven.)

Back to this story.

The Chef rolls her eyes at my requested combination. There are tons of beautifully curated meals assigned a perfect accompaniment. Why would anyone wanna come play shuffle like this was Iya Basira’s bukka where you could heap spaghetti, beans, egg and boiled yam in one plate, drizzled with a tanker load of oil stew?

My virgin Pina colada (I can handle a bit of alcohol, but wasn’t in the mood) came about half an hour before my meal. When I take a frothy sip, my mouth waters at the milky sweetness and I realize I haven’t eaten all day.
Suddenly it dawns on me that my rumbling anxious stomach may have just been a hungry one.

Not to say that the anxiety was nonexistent.
My attempts at peace that day had turned to gall in my mouth, after hours of worried waiting. It’s a wonder that my tastebuds didn’t churn everything I put in my mouth into hay and sawdust.

Quite to the contrary, when I took the first forkful of creamy mashed potatoes, it tasted not like sand, but like freedom. Tender, delicious freedom. I let it melt into the crevices beside my teeth as gratitude washed over my spirit.

My eyes water and then they close, now not just in relishing the foodgasm, but also in forgiveness, of myself.

This bitterness wasn’t towards the other person but towards myself. There would always be bad people in the world, but Sue, how did you let yourself be treated like that, and for so long. Why didn’t you say something, do something.

When you let yourself be suppressed, it’s only a matter of time before you go from being mute to being a brute, from silence to violence.
And when you do make that switch, when you go from suppression to aggression, they will get a point, but it might not be the point you want them to get.

I bit into a cream covered chicken wing and tore through the flesh, scraped it from its tiny bones. I dip the disintegrated wing back into the sauce and let out a chuckle mid-dip.

A memory from half a decade ago flashes through. I’m skipping idly home after a day at work and giggling. No songs playing through a head set, no caller making me blush, just me being happy in my thoughts. A car slows down beside me and its driver calls out to me. “I don’t want a ride, thank you. I’m fine taking a walk”.

A street later, he says something along the lines of “Why are you so happy, I want your happiness”. There’s something about the way he says it that chills my blood. But I only make any sense of that chill when I learn years later, that there are two kinds of people the joy you radiate attracts: The kind that want to share in that joy and double it, and the kind that want to steal the joy all for themselves but only end up squeezing the very life force out of it.

By this time, I’ve given up on my fork, I use a chicken wing to pick up some mash and dip it in sauce before it makes a very risky journey to my face. So what if it had dripped on your shirt? It’s night, you’ll take an uber home and wash it.

An older couple take the table adjacent to mine. The Lady orders for herself and “Daddy”… Years of raising children and you lose your individual names. Another day and time and I would have said hello, made light hearted conversation and a warm human connection. That’s the kind of spontaneous Joy giver that Ufoma raised.

Who then, was this angry person. I didn’t recognize her. If you were to describe Susan, this stranger wouldn’t fit that description. Susan is Joy, Pure Joy. Susan is belly aching laughter and love. Susan is Sunshine.

P.s You are sunshine too, don’t let anyone steal your joy/shine.