"Guys, we are having beans tonight," Tara said and slipped two bowls before them. One loaded with grains and the other empty where the picked beans would be. All four boys exchanged glances bewildered. "We don't eat beans on Thursday" Emma the fourth boy reacted as he showed further hesitation.

There was an unwritten feeding pattern that had been a part of the household ritual for many years. Some boys did not realize when it started but followed the practice. Saturdays are for Moi Moi, Akara (bean cake), or Beans while Sundays are the days they ate Jolof Rice, Fried Rice, or Rice mixed with Beans. They serve every other meal at other times. Solid meals like Amala, Semo, Eba, and others were meals served as dinner and never at any other time of the day.

They grunted as they picked the beans and prayed for the christening of their new brother to take place sooner so they can return to their traditional ways of life. Not that they did not welcome his arrival, but it changed their world in the past 3 days and they had more days to go.

They gave up their privacy to visitors who came and left; they surrendered the kitchen to strangers regardless of their cooking experiences, their chores increased with more people in the residence. Several guests considered it to be wrong for boys to cook for the opposite sex, so it relegated them to physical responsibilities. They even temporarily lost their parents to the receptions and attention of visitors.

Lizzy stilled experienced baby blues, though she appeared strong and acted naturally. She would have been more thrilled and joyful if she had a daughter, she prayed for a girl; she hoped for a girl. "He would be another soldier" she resolved to herself, in acceptance to her reality. Neighbors and family always mocked her and Isaac as parents to soldiers. Many who coveted them never comprehended how desperately they wished for a lady. Lizzy, the quintessential family lady who loved to have as many families as she can accommodate around. Her husband traveled a lot and rarely talks when he was around.

The guys completed the beans picking assignment and passed it to their Aunt Tara whom they have not excused for adjusting their meal schedule. She was their Father's younger relative who occasionally visited even though she lived only 2 cities away. They did not have any emotional connection with her, neither did she with them.

She collected it and soaked it in water.

"Should I boil the water?" Ken, the eldest boy, asked.

"Not yet, we still have to peel it after soaking for a while," Tara responded.

"Are we making Moi Moi or Akara?" Ken quarried, seeing the dismay on his brothers' faces.

"Off course, we are making beans," she emphasized

Lizzy taught all her kids how to make a variety of meals but constantly cautioned them that the woman-owned the techniques and can prepare unimaginable meals out of anything. So, they accepted it as one of those magic that came from their mothers cooking; they sat back and pondered. They picked up a few basic processes that led to the next and what they saw did not look like any. If you peeled the Beans, it meant you want to make Moi Moi, Akara, or Gbegiri soup and not normal beans. They lay back and expected the unfolding magic.

After peeling, Tara poured the beans in the steamed water and proceeded to cook it normally. She added salt, sauce, oil, and a few other ingredients. The youngsters giggled at each process and waited anxiously to sample the ultimate product.

Dinner time arrived. When Tara served the first plate for Mr. Isaac in his favorite plate, the lads were unimpressed with what they got. It turned out yellowish, watery and plain. The palm oil flowed to the edge of the dish and pepper did not affect the beans. Something was missing. It's not the magic they foresaw.

Everyone eventually got served the "special beans" but it impressed not a single individual. A lot of the guests did not suppress their dissatisfaction. They dumped the meal halfway.

Brown, the 2nd son, would not hide his discontent. He had an unusual taste bud from the others. Even when their mother cooked, he was choosy. He could not stop gazing at his meal and with every look, he accompanied with the shaking of his head.

For the first time since the 5th boy joined the clan, everyone around had the same feeling, and it was that of displeasure. The supper was a disaster. One or two visitors who prepared to sleepover quickly collected their bags and bade goodbye to the house. They altered their plans.

The general atmosphere during and after dinner was not oblivious to Tara who arranged for a sleepover. She packed her things and wished the family a wonderful night and no one attempted to intercept her.

Dawn came swiftly with the last supper still in conversations. Several people complained about frequent visits to the restroom before daybreak. Only Lizzy and the infant looked forward to brunch. They had no expectations and everybody just had a little something of this and that.

More guests arrived in and out while a few others stayed longer. Hunger had crept in as noon had drifted into the evening and a late lunch had to happen and once again another guest volunteered but this one looked different.

She looked well arranged, as an office lady. The wig she wore appeared neatly combed and flowed down to her shoulder. She had clean painted not long nails, a fading pink lipstick, and a flowery dress. She looked like someone who just closed from an office.

Brown the 3rd boy saw who would be responsible for lunch. He made signals to the other brothers and like swamps, they assembled in the kitchen again to observe the show about to unfold. Unlike Tara, she was a stranger to them. Not even the eldest had known her before that moment.

"What are we preparing for dinner," she asked glaring at the lads one after the other and she watched for their replies.

"Amala!" they chorused. They would not pass the opportunity to have their say on a chance to come back to their routine meals.

"Amala. Are you certain?" She inquired further

It confused them this time around. They merely nodded unenthusiastically. The memory of the last dinner still lingered. She, yet another stranger in their territory, in their kitchen, and looked so inexperienced. How they wished they permitted them to cook, they had confidence in their capabilities; they would make nutritious meals for everybody but because they are not ladies; it was not allowed. Rather, they have been eating many experiments.

The process started with the support of reluctant boys. As soon as they steamed the water, she started pouring the yam powder and stirring it while still on the cooker. The introductory process impressed the guys.

After stirring the powder for a while she wrapped the lower part of her dress properly in between her legs slightly revealing her thigh, carried down the pot, sat on a stool, dragged the pot closer, spread her thighs, and held it down and firm with her feet. She started stirring the Amala slowly, then quicker and faster. Sweating profusely, but they paid her no attention. Her professionalism had captured the admiration of the lads.

She would stop now and then to use a little plastic to assemble the scattered fragments and stirred further. She ignored who was watching; she was busy.

The children whispered in delight. Unlike the previous night where everything went south from the initial process, this was going way more than they foresaw and now they craved to identify her. "She's good," Emma said. He did not notice he was that loud, but the others quickly quieted him.

She returned the mixed Amala on the stove for some minutes, then bought down the pot to the same position in between her feet. Mixed some more, used the plastic to gather all the edges together. The kitchen was hot; she was sweating a lot from her face down in between her slightly revealed cleavage.

The Amala appeared pleasant; the process looked neat; it came out tempting to the eyes and in the dishes and the boys eagerly waited to dig in.

Another night, another dinner hour. The brothers served everybody while the lady stayed back to clean up. She cleaned every utensil used in preparing dinner except the pot because it was still slightly burnt and required brief soaking before the final wash.

Compliments after praises followed from one guest to the other. The brothers had nothing but respect for the Chef. Mr. Isaac and Lizzy emptied their dishes, both contented and elated. She requested a lad to call the lady for a special appreciation and compliment, but the boy came back from the kitchen with news that she left.

Nobody remembered her name, how she visited, or through whom she came.

By the next morning when the boys took out the leftover pot to wash to prepare for breakfast, it had busted and dripping water. It occurred to them what transpired, and they all laughed and did not care.

Written By - Josh Adeyemi
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