Mobile pot of soup!

...She peeped into the laundry room. He leapt from the iron board, dropping the hot pressing iron on the dress. The roasting smell of the fabric filled the room. He quickly withdrew the iron and removed the clothes.

“Han-han, Monday, what is the problem,?”

“Ha! Nothing o, Madam. The cloth no burn o. Welcome ma….” He moved closer and collected the nylons bags from her hands. They walked into the kitchen and she grabbed a can of malt from the fridge.

‘Welcome ma. How was your trip?”
“It was fine. I thought you would have gone home by now?”

“Hen… yes I changed my mind. I have a wedding ceremony tomorrow, hmm….so I decided to finish my work today, and then by tomorrow morning before sanitation, I will hit the road.”

“Ok, that’s great.  But where is Rebecca?”

“This weekend is her off ma. She said she will come back early on Sunday morning because she thought that was when you will be back” She leaned on the counter after taking the first gulp.

“Msheww, Monday I changed my mind. I have been away from home for three weeks. Abeg, I need to rest, that’s the reason I changed my flight. She gulped down the rest of her drink.

“What about the kids?”

“They are in bed. Their Nanny left around 9.30. And she had put them in bed before she left. Ha, that their Nanny is really trying. She didn’t miss any day.”

“ Ok that’s good. I hope Alaba delivered the food?” She bent to pick her shoes. He quickly bent and collected them from her.

“Yes, she delivered the food, hmm she has delivered o.”  He ran his hands across his bald frontal. “She delivered five bowls of vegetables, six bowls of soup, a bucket of moin-moin and some bowls of rice. I didn’t count those ones but I saw Ofada Rice, Fried Rice, Jollof Rice and some White Rice.

She smiled and carried her bag. He followed behind her. She turned and collected her shoes.

“Ok. Please open the box and remove the bag of dirty laundry in it. Please put them in the washing machine this night. You can iron them on Monday.

As she opened her room, she dropped everything she was holding and screamed.

“Alaba, Alaba, what ‘re you doing on my bed.” She watched as her husband and Alaba uncurled.

She charged towards the bed, but her husband grabbed her hand and pulled her away. “Do not attempt to lay your hands on her. If you do, I will deal ruthlessly with you and your exit from this house will be immediate”

She broke down crying. Her husband went back to bed and curled on Alaba’s back.

“Wo, Please shut the door behind you. I need my peace and quiet. Afterall, our people always say it , Olobe lo loko, Infact Olobe yen must also have the time to give the appropriate attention not only to the stomach up her but the stomach down there. Alaba lo lobe, Alaba lo loko …”

…Everything has indeed gone mobile, I mean everything. The racy way we live our everyday life and carry out mundane activities in a complete rush is unpleasantly amazing. The microwave power of quick and now! We power everything with money and technology. Mobile may mean quick, expensive or convenient: online real time on the move. Like my naija slang “sharp-sharp”

But wait a minute, can you imagine a mobile pot of soup? Girls don’t pretend you don’t know what I am talking about. The pot of banga or white soup is just a phone call away from an executive chef who specializes in helping spinsters, wives and mothers produce a weekly order of soup. I was having this discussion with a group of friends and this actually divided the group into two schools of thought.
The first school believes that the family’s pot of soup is the sole/exclusive responsibility of the woman of the house. I mean you can get all the help you need, but that pot of soup must originate from you and your kitchen (absolute war for girls who refuse to complete their cooking lesson before leaving home). The reasons given include hygiene, personal touch and choice of seasoning. Some also mention the use of certain unhealthy white seasonings confirmed to be high is sodium glutamate.

The other school, which supports the mission of the contemporary sassy, ever-busy executive director or senior manager whose schedules leave little time for cooking believes the pot of soup can originate from any kitchen. As far as it is edible and they have a regular source, they are game. Surprisingly too, some of the guys present at this discussion were a bit liberal and fair to the women folk, allowing the flexibility of a mobile pot of soup. Hmm…… their argument: their wife may be genuinely busy. But for the first school of thought, oh my! Those guys vote against it with every pint of blood running through their veins… it must be their wife except on exceptionally rare occasion. But interestingly, they also did not mind having a cook, who is closely supervised by their wife.

To be fair to my manager and director sisters who are aiming to become the next managing director, it is not easy to waste two good hours preparing a pot of Egusi soup when the weekly financial or sales report have not been completed. This even becomes worse when closing time shifts from 7 pm to 9 pm and finally 11 pm. At least you make sure you come home every night to sleep.

It’s tough, very tough, but it can be tougher if your husband’s expectation includes your exclusive right to his pot of soup. If you are blessed with a dude that does not care a hoot where the food stems from, you are truly lucky. Like a friend of mine who said it is her house help that cooks and serves her husband who doesn’t really care. But for others who have to contend with those typical African or better still Naija Men looking for pounded yam at least every three days, then it is tough luck.

But honestly for me, I appreciate both sides of the coin. It can be tough, but I beg to be corrected that if your pot of soup regularly originates from an external chef, is it not an indication that several other things have been outsourced? What about your children? Are you sure your bed is not been actively managed by another? Let’s talk about it