“Bode! Let me pass!”
“Pass to where?” Bode asked, obviously angered.
“Hmmmmm… you want to hit me? Go ahead! Try it and see if…” Shade started to brag
“And see if what? Folashade, you will go into that kitchen and find me something to eat” Bode snapped.
“Come and carry me” Shade retorted.
Bode dragged Folashade’s head forward and then hit it against the wall four times. Folashade screamed at the first hit and the next few hits would remind everyone of carpenters who nailed on walls accurately. Folashade dropped dead on the floor almost instantly while Bode couldn’t stop staring at his bloody hands. It was like a horror movie where the protagonist suddenly got all mushy after killing the antagonist. Pathetic.
This is the horror I was exposed to at the tender age of seven. My father, killing my mother over a plate of food. Perhaps it would have been better to imagine she died under health circumstance or even that he murdered her due to financial reasons. But no… It wasn’t any of these. Mama tried – She took in all papa’s crap; including his death blow.
Anybody should understand the feelings of a woman whose husband was a heavy drinker and one who shamelessly came home late. Nonetheless, she was a very loving wife who enjoyed keeping the home together. I still think her meals were what kept the family sane and for a minute, I’d like to imagine how papa felt when she said there was no dinner for him.
That was death in itself.
Now I can’t help but wonder if Mama’s life would have been spared if she didn’t know how to cook. Personally I’m scarred forever and quite unsure about ever cooking for anyone. Perhaps, I would find a man not fazed about a woman who can cook. Do you worry much about a woman who can cook? I hope not…