It used to be a ritual in our family. Food was a sweet experience with the family broken up into different sections while enjoying our meals especially dinner after the usual toils and stress of the day. I remember when mom would come back late in the evening to prepare dinner for the whole family.
Mom and dad would eat together, my elder brother and sister would have their own plate, while I and my immediate elder sister would have our own plate.
It was usually a beautiful experience as it mimicked our sleeping formation. There was usually the little fracas here and there about how one party is eating faster than the other and in the meat sharing formula.
Most times it would be resolved with mom or dad having to sacrifice a portion of their own food or meat for peace to reign.
This was a long time ago as the hustle and bustle of life had broken up the family, spreading us in different directions. And with dad gone some years back, it was impossible to recreate those moments as the perfect 2 by 2 by 2 formation was disrupted by his demise.
A few weeks ago just as we strode in from different destinations to honour mom's invitation for her ordination, there was no thought or plan towards a reunion, just a bunch of siblings with their friends going back to honour their mother. As expected, the house was filled to brim with friends and family running up and down in preparation for the D-day.
As I stepped into the house, mom was already furious with me as I was the closest to home but only came around on the evening before the occasion. I set out at once to fix the lightings to aid in cooking in a bid to soothe her anger. The night went smoothly with my siblings eventually trickling one after the other later in the night.
The event went smoothly as prayed for, the weather was favourable, the turn out was even more than expected and the reception was even more colourful as people ate and drank to their satisfaction. But the family had still been dispersed trying to cater for the visitors. There was no opportunity for the family to gather.
The following day after the whole camaraderie and bustle of the celebration, we woke to mom's call to morning prayers, which was a ritual during the old days. Everyone gathered and the prayers went smoothly before we dispersed to our different morning duties.
Then breakfast was prepared with everyone seated to get their share. There were varieties for one to choose from and as we started eating I noticed that my sister was lying on the couch fiddling with her phone.
"why aren't you eating?" I asked
"ah this one that has finished two rolls of fufu with afang soup"
mom retorted as everyone burst out laughing. My sister only smirked and locked her lips.
Typical of my sister who can never say no to afang soup no matter the time of day or even night. Then there was my brother frowning like he did not like the yam porridge he had just finished, and then asking for his own portion of eba and afang soup just to make sure he did not miss out on anything. There was the occasional joke here and there and the heavy laughter from mom that made her face glow and look younger.
It was a time of reflection, reunion and family plans over mom's homemade meals that blessed our taste buds and brought back sweet memories of olden days. Then there was me sitting in one corner of the 3-in1 sofa, watching the whole scenario and reminiscing about what used to be, just before I raised one of my dad's favorite hymns "the old rugged cross" which was met in symphony by a chorus of melodious voices joining without first noticing the ploy.
For the first time in a long while, I felt at home, aided by my mom's delicacies and my siblings' company.
This is my entry to The Ink Well's Creative Nonfiction Prompt #2 "Food and Family" . You can click on the link to join.
Welcome to my blog, you can relax and be rest assured of quality content on diverse topics. You're free to air your views and opinions in the comments section, and It'll be my pleasure to learn and engage