A meal and my thoughts.

Rachael stared intently at her wedding picture. 

She sat on the luxury furry Gray cushion she had bought because she liked the feel beneath her fingers, legs crossed, an arm wrapped around her waist and the other lifted to her face with palms cupping her face. 

The television was muted and tuned in to food network. Next to the television was a picture of both of them placed at both ends. Hanging on the white painted wall was a worded frame with the words " If you love me, keep my commandments" and the Bible quotation John 14:15.

She wanted to rest today, after numerous interviews with the press she had a throbbing headache which she was sure a good rest would fix but her husband had sprung up a luncheon with his friends on her. He could have told her about his plans yesterday, but had conveniently left that out. She couldn't complain, his wish was her command. 

***

The maids were done setting up all the ingredients and beckoned on her to come do the cooking. The meal she had planned for her guests was a meal of banga soup and wheat meal.

She dressed like the chef she was. You would think that because she was at home cooking and not in a formal setting she would do without the torque, chef's jacket, apron and mouth shield but no. She had a lot of respect for the art of cooking and always made sure to follow the right protocols whenever she cooked. 

She put the meat  (a combination of cow tail and goat meat) into the pot. Crushed two cubes of Maggi naija pot into the pot and a satisfactory amount of salt to taste. She was satisfied with the delightful aroma she got from it. After a little while she put in her stockfish and dry fish then covered the pot with the lid and allowed it to cook. 

Her kitchen was very well organised and elegantly designed with the best of materials. She had participated directly in the layout design of the kitchen. 

The kitchen was a galley layout design with black cabinets. Adjacent to the work area was the store room. The kitchen walls were painted a very light grey. She had a thing for monotonous colours but sometimes they could make you feel a little gloomy. She wanted the kitchen to feel comfortable, since it was the only part of the house she could feel liberated. 

As she waited for the meat and it's companion to cook, and squeezed the juice out of the perm kernel, her mind drifted to how unhappy she had become. She used to be full of life, a girl with big valid dreams but it had all come to naught after her marriage. 

She never thought she'd become a housewife. All she ever did was stay at home and cook for the family. Her family consisted of herself, her husband and their son. She sat down most of the time glued to the television watching food network and thinking of all she had missed and all she could have achieved. She couldn't even meet with friends because she felt ashamed and jealous. 

She never complained to her husband after the first time she had complained to him about wanting to open her own restaurant and he had adamantly refused and told her her place was at home. She had a lot of respect for him as she was taught in spite of the disrespect he had for her. So she felt whatever angered him, she shouldn't be found doing it. 

The sizzling sound of the pot snapped her out of her thoughts. She brought the pot down from the fire and put the pot containing the palm kernel juice on fire. 

Her husband didn't value her, maybe her cooking but not her. He ate only her food after they got married. He didn't care if she was ill or not, she had to be the one to always prepare his meals. 

She had married him because she loved him but he obviously never loved her but she was too naive and perhaps a little arrogant and thought she could make him love her. Their parents had arranged their wedding for the benefits both parties stood to gain. She did not have a problem with the arrangement because it had been him but obviously he did but couldn't disagree with his parents. 

Even if he didn't love her, she was sure she wouldn't be this unhappy if he was  committed to their marriage. She sighed and gently caressed the crucifix pendant she had on.

She picked up three cocoyams put them in a bowl and poured hot water on them to soften them. 

She had discovered only recently that he had been in a relationship when their parents arranged for them to get married. He never opened up to her and probably hated her because he felt he was robbed of his love just to be with her. But if he had told her, she would have tried to make sure the marriage didn't go through. She never wanted to be a second option. 

The palm kernel juice was boiled now. And the coco yams were soft enough. She peeled the skin from the coco yams and mashed them thoroughly until smooth, then put the mashed cocoyam into the pot to thicken the liquid content. 

She tried not to hate him but it was proving difficult. He was being petty, pouring out his resentment for not being with the one he loves on her. If he loved her so much, he should have fought for her but instead he had traded her for power and connection and dragged her into this hell hole of a marriage. She was blameless because all she did was genuinely love him. He may have lost his love but she had lost her love and her dreams - at least he had his dreams. Everything was working out for him. 

The Palm kernel juice was thickened now. She put in grounded scotch bonnet, some banga spices, oburunbebe stick and left it to boil together for a little while, then put in the meat stock and the meat into the pot. She stirred the contents so the ingredients would spread evenly. 

She hardly ever tastes the food she cooks but they always have the perfect taste. Probably because she was a trained chef, she had a good measure of ingredients, so she never put in too little or too much. 

One of the maids complimented the aroma of the food and she smiled satisfied. 

The soup was finally done. She brought it down from the gas cooker. 

She heard  the sound of revving car  engines outside and knew her husband and his guests had arrived. Just in time, she thought. She would have gone out to greet them but she honestly didn't feel like it. And whenever she was cooking, she liked to focus 100% on what she was cooking. 

She put a pot on the gas cooker and poured water into the pot. She closed the lid and waited for it to boil while she brought out a turning stick and a bag of wheat meal. After the water had boiled, she poured the wheat meal flour little by little into the pot with her left hand and stirred it consistently with the other. She poured it until it was thick enough and had formed a mold, then she stirred it diligently until it was very smooth and there were no traces of raw wheat flour anywhere. Then she put in a little water and covered the pot with the lid to allow it to cook for 2 minutes, after which she molded it powerfully with the turning stick. 

The wheat meal was ready now. The men had sat down in the living room eating peanuts and drinking zobo upon her order. She didn't want them to just sit there waiting for her to finish cooking and serving. 

She called the maids To Help her with the dishes while she served the meal. 

She could hear her husband's laughter echo from the living room. Good for him that he could laugh, he was just appointed minister of culture and tourism, of course he would laugh, his dreams were becoming reality while she had nothing to show for herself - maybe the title as the wife of a minister, not like she cared for such an empty title. 

She had beautifully plated the wheat meal on a fancy flat white ceramic plate and put the soup on a deep round ceramic plate. The maids set the table with a bowl of clean water beside each dish for them to wash their hands and eat - wheat meal is supposed to be eaten with bare hands, the African way - and beckoned the men to head to the dining area. 

Sarah took off her apron, torque and mouth shield. She glanced around the kitchen to make sure it wasn't too messy for the maids to clean up and nodded satisfied at herself for always having a tidy environment after cooking. 

She headed to the dining area to greet their guests and her husband and was pleased with their complimentary remarks on the food. Her husband showered praises on her for her cooking in front of the guests and they went on about how lucky he was. She just wished he'd choke on the food. 

She excused herself from their presence to go take a shower and present herself properly. Her eyes glanced at their wedding photo again and the inscription beneath it, " for better for worse till death do us part ". She seriously wanted to smash the picture to the ground. She wanted to damn her values and divorce him, but she knew she could never forsake her values and beliefs. She didn't want her son to have a broken home, she didn't want to go against the Bible when it came to the topic of divorce. 

She was only human. Sometimes she thought of making him hurt by maybe cheating. But committing adultery goes against everything she believed in. She looked up to the frame with the words " if you love me, keep my commandment ".

All she could do is pray, pray that her efforts and meekness would win him over. She was too kind to be this unhappy.