O. J and I dated 7 months before he realized I wasn’t good enough for him. He had just graduated and we were no longer seeing each other constantly. He got every opportunity to complain and turn every conversation into an argument. This was a guy I spent my every kobo on, who I supported wholly with everything I had until he got to his feet and even after, I never stopped being by his side. By the 13th month of our relationship, he dropped the bomb. His closing words unashamedly were “you will never find a man who will love you as much as I did“. Who even says that to the girl they are breaking up with!? confused
After the breakup, I cried for days – days turned into weeks into months. Everybody got worried for me. It was the biggest heartbreak of my life and I thought nothing could ever hurt as bad as that. Well the event of this afternoon just proved me wrong. My heart just got broken- again!
Babe spent quite an amount on the barbecue and drinks yesterday (follow this 👉 link 👈 to read all about yesterday), so I decided to do something to say “thank you“. He told me not to worry but I insisted. I finally chose to cook banga soup and starch. Babe quickly agreed when he heard my food idea.
This morning, I bounced to the market even though I hated going to the market.
Between the congested air, foul smells and exchanging of skin sweat and germs with people, I usually feel I’ll drop dead if I spend more than 10 minutes in a market
But this time was different, I was in the best of moods, I love cooking and having to do it for a special reason makes it even more fulfilling.
I finished the haggling and buying in no time and headed to Babe’s place. He had a friend over. Even better, more people to witness and taste my culinary skills. We kept talking about the soup like we were waiting for the Messiah. Life had never been more promising.
Soon the soup was boiling away and the aroma kept drawing neighbors in and out just like the wise men in the Bible followed the star to baby Jesus. Neighbors started knocking to borrow things,
“Bros, abeg you fit give me body spray“?
“Bros, abeg borrow me your packer”
“Bros, errm… errm… I just wan check up on you, how body na? Hehehe… Na you dey cause this wahala… Hehehe”
All these just added to the excitement and anticipation, plus neither of us had eaten anything since morning. Finally the soup was done and I had to take it down to start on the starch.
It was in taking it down, I don’t know how, I don’t know why, but Mama, the handle of the pot slipped from my fingers and everything spilled to the floor. I just stared at it. I didn’t know if to die on the spot or just collapse and not move. Babe was on the verge of tears, he kept shaking his head and staring at the huge pieces of chicken on the floor.
Did I do something wrong to the universe? Which gods have I offended? What law did I break? What crime did I commit? My soup, my precious pot of soup! I had never felt more broken at any time of my life as I had felt then. Maybe it’s because we anticipated it too much and it felt like we were worshipping it, maybe. But I felt really bad, so bad I refused to utter a word to anyone. I felt chills in my heart, I never knew you could get heartbreak because of a pot of soup, it felt even worse than the time my heart got shattered. This time, seeing the soup spilled all over the floor, I felt my heart had been murdered in cold blood.
Today, I learnt the real meaning of vanity. Nice clothes, flashy car, pretty face, perfect pot of soup, we give credit to feasible things too much, too much that we end up neglecting the things that really ought to matter, like a pretty heart, covering my body modestly with my nice clothes, helping people by offering them lifts in my car and feeding the hungry even if it’s with just a little pot of soup. I’ve been forced into humbleness and philosophical thinking.
I’m still mourning my pot of soup though. It’s memories will forever be treasured, for it’s loss remains one of the biggest tragedies to our generation.