Two months ago, I lost my mum. It was the worst thing that never happened to me. Every insecurities I had had had suddenly came to fore, pounding me like a two weeks old ex-monk.

First, I was newly married, so I still hadn’t gotten used to my wife’s cooking. My mummy’s food was always my saving grace. I could go to the market, get the foodstuff and call her I was coming with food ingredients.

She was always so sweet, just as her food. I would stay in the kitchen with her, making small talks as she cooked. Of course, the meat never escaped my hand. Especially the fried ones. If you were to end up in hell fire, my mum could fry you so well that you would be eaten by the devil.

Now she’s gone. Gone?! Gone! No, it can’t be. That’s the worst! Who will call to tell me that there was prayer meeting in church last Friday of the month, and she wanted me to be there. I was doing good, yeah but like my mum would always remind me, “nkan to da nfe adura. Eyi to ku di e kaato na nfe adura” (“What is good needs prayers. What is bad also needs prayer”).

My mother must have prayed for the devil to repent and be born again. She can pray for Africa! I remember the day I went straight from work to eat at her place. She told me not to bother going to the market, she just made a delicious chicken soup and had made pupuru. You ever seen a cat deny fried meat before? Or did you hear Eve reject the fruit. Keep quiet, it wasn’t apple.

I drove Toretto-style to her house, my dad was in his shop. I passed by him. Not sure I greeted him, though. I’d greet him when he comes home. Haaa! I want to cry. Ashey the food was because there was vigil that night. The kokoro in my eyes didn’t want warn the brain in my head, but allowed the stomach in my belly to direct the speed in my legs straight to her house.

To be fair to myself, though, if I had known, I would have gone still. What’s a few hours of prayer compared to my mummy’s food?! After all, we will sleep half of it eventually. One of the ushers was my ex. Luckily for me, I didn’t spoil ground. It was one of those “it’s not you, it’s me” breakup. So, we are still cool. The genotype that was her didn’t stop our friendship. And now, didn’t stop my sleeping. All she had to do was be like Sarah, look away. Wait, I think it was Rebecca. Or was it Genevieve gan sef?! Wo, I don’t know!

Now all these insecurities are catching up on me. My mum is dead, the worst has happened! But, what do I do?🥺

©️ Deji Adeyemi
#fiction #shortstory