Care for Some Instant Noodles?

*Note: Abi = right? (In the context it is used here), Ibadan is a city in Nigeria, buka=local restaurant.

When you decide to cook instant noodles for yourself, you decide to cook instant noodles for everyone. It doesn't matter if you're the only one home. It doesn't matter if you're supposed to be the only one home for the next four hours; everyone returns when you're about to cook instant noodles. You bring two packs of noodles out, and your elder brother, Micah, comes home from Mr. Johnson's large compound where the boys of the street play football, he's usually there until evening so you are about to ask why he's back, then you see the injury that covers most of his right knee. Scored a sick goal so it's worth it. Is that noodles? Hope you added me to it. Of course you didn't, but now you have to. Add Lydia too, when she comes back from school, she'll microwave it. (“She'll” means “you'll”, by the way, since Lydia is just eight and can't be trusted with the microwave.) You add four packs. You put your pot of water on fire, the front door opens. Who's Home? It's your father. He's supposed to be back from his trip in two days but of course he comes back when you're cooking instant noodles. He says the final programme was canceled so he decided to just “surprise the ole family!” (He tries too hard to sound cool, please bear with him). After the howareyoudoings and itfeelsgoodtobehomes and hopeyoudidn'tmissmetoomuchs, he notices that you're cooking noodles. Can you kindly add for me? I'm starving; I didn't eat before I hit the road and can you believe they sell no good thing that somebody can comfortably eat while driving from Ibadan to here? So frustrating. (Of course Daddy, with the one million traffic hawkers.) You add two packs. The only person who probably wouldn't want to eat is Toluwani who fell sick yesterday, but as you open the last pack, your mother walks in with her, back from the clinic (early, too, I should add), cook for Tolu too o, they said she should eat when she gets home so she can take her drugs. You ask your mother if she'll eat too, because you have to, because she raised you to be polite. Errrr, I'm not hungry, but if it's not too much trouble for you, you can go ahead. You've been her child for almost two decades, so you know this means yes. You add three packs. 

Here's the thing about cooking instant noodles in bulk: You hate it. It's literally the bane of your existence. It never comes out good and everyone has one complaint or the other. It doesn't have enough pepper. God, you put too much onions! Why is it so soaked? One would think they won't ask you to cook for them again, but the next time you cook instant noodles, you'll cook for everyone. And you cook instant noodles every other week. The only time you were able to escape the torture was when you were away spending the week with Aunty Chima (whose house lacks instant noodles, by the way, because “children need to eat good food, and not all those rubbish. It's why everyone is stupid these days”) and her kids because your father said you're cooped up in the house all day doing nothing (he insists reading doesn't count even if you've already shown him that it does by getting all the questions but one right on that game show episode that was about books. You didn't actually win anything, because y'all were watching it on TV, but still) and Aunty Chima was the nearest relative he could send you to. “Just spend some time outside, touch some grass.” (Please bear with him.) Wednesday at Aunty Chima's, you're texting with Toluwani, she says she's cooking instant noodles, you're relieved, because you know that would have been you if you were home. You ask her if she's cooking for everyone, she responds, “lol of course. Won't even be surprised if you suddenly showed up here.”

When you decide to cook instant noodles for yourself, you decide to cook instant noodles for everyone, so when I'm about to start cooking insant noodles, a new brand in the house that I'm excited to try, two weeks after I return from Aunty Chima's place and Micah comes out of his room, passes the kitchen, and doesn't say anything, just looks at me weird, I pinch myself. When I saw him, I already started to move to get four more packs. Before I go back to cooking, I ask him when he passes back, “I should add yours, abi?” “No, no, never mind. And Lydia won't want, leave her out of it.” I have not yet confirmed I heard well when my mother walks in, back from the clinic, with Toluwani who has fallen sick again. I start to move to get three more packs, but “well done o,” is all she says. I ask if she'll eat, because I have to, because she raised me to be polite, because this isn't normal, “No o, I've been feeling bloated since morning, I don't know why, I can't eat anything.” What is happening? “What of Toluwani?” “Someone that's already not feeling well. Don't worry, she has taken sausage and SevenUp. That'll do for her to take her medicine, thank you. Well done.” They walk out, I'm lost, this doesn't happen, ever. And like I've not been thrown off balance enough, my father comes back from work, “ah, you're cooking noodles?” I prepare to get two more packs, I ask if he wants to be added (the answer is always yes, but you still ask). “I can't o. I branched a buka on my way home, I'm full.” I freeze. That's everyone in the house, everyone refused the noodles. I ask around a second time, it's still no. I can't believe it, I'm confused. Dazedly, I open the only two packs of noodles. Dazedly, I dump them in the boiling water. Dazedly, I stir. Inner me thumps my head. What is wrong with you? Don't be a fool. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, better focus on what you're doing before you cook rubbish. Abi isn't this what you've always wanted? He's right. This is what I've always wanted. Every time I ask them, every time I go again and decide to cook instant noodles, isn't it because of this tiny hope, the tiny hope that maybe today, maybe today they'll just say no. And it has happened, I should be energetic, I should be alive, I should feel free! I perk up, life surges into me. I begin to cook with so much positive energy. I'm like those people in movie montages that dance as they cook, except I don't have blasting music flooding my kitchen. The only form of music here is my whistling (which, if I go according to my primary 4 definition of music, is probably the opposite of music), but I'm having fun anyway. I feel like SpongeBob cooking the Krabby Party, Secret ingredient: Love, with a dash of unbelievable happiness. 

I finish cooking my fantastic-smelling noodles, dish it in a bowl, go to sit at the dining to begin to savour my personal deliciousness. It looks so good, and it's not at all soggy, and I won't be disturbed with complaints because it was cooked by me, for me and only me, because it is just two packs of noodles and so, it's perfect. I take my first spoon (fork?) and all my cheeriness disappears. I feel my face turn inside out. I'm about to spit it out when Micah comes out, says, “Bro, I don't know how you can eat that thing, it tastes like fart—” (yep, accurate) “—disgusting. I thought we had a collective agreement to dispose it all when Toluwani cooked it two weeks ago? Ohhh, you were at Aunty Chima's place. I forgot. Just looking at it makes me want to vomit. I'm traumatized. Ugh.” He shudders, keeps walking. I get up, slowly, walk to the kitchen, spit the food in my mouth into the bin, dump the rest. I rinse my mouth seven times, down a glass, then another, of Coke.

I should have known there was a catch.