Even Allah

Even Allah

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New Wife Series: Our Husband

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Click here for 👉Papa Married A New Wife (The Poem for the drama)

(A loud craaaackkk! sound is heard from the kitchen, Number 2 rushes from the sitting room to the kitchen)

 

Number 2 (hands on waist, facing the bent figure of Number 5 who is clearing broken pieces of the plate): So it’s you who have decided to break all the plates in the house?

 

Number 5: Haba it’s just— (stops mid-sentence as Number 2 raises her right hand)

 

Number 2: Will you keep quiet? Who gave you the audacity to talk back to me? (Number 3 walks in)

 

Number 3: What’s going on? (Looks at Number 5 with disgust)

 

Number 2 (claps hands & laughs mockingly): This thing thinks because our husband can afford plates she can break all the ones in the kitchen.

 

Number 3 (long hiss): Apa![i] Can you blame her? (Stretches to take something from the kitchen cabinet) They don’t have plates like these ones where she comes from.

 

(Number 5 clicks her tongue & carries on with cleaning the plates she had just washed)

 

Number 2: Disrespectful rat! It’s your mother at home you’re clicking your snake tongue at, not me.

 

Number 3 (Long hiss): Alaileko![ii]

 

Number 5 (abandons the plates then faces Number 3): Whom are you calling uncultured?

 

Number 3 (moves closer to Number 5 then pokes her chest with the plastic cup she took from the kitchen cabinet earlier): You! I’m calling you uncultured because it is what you are. You have no respect for those before you. You click your—

 

(Number 2 smiles as she watches the exchange between Number 3 and Number 5. Number 4 enters nods a greeting at Number 2, grabs a nearby stool to sit and watch)

 

Number 5: Those who deserve it not those who act like wild dogs earn respect! (She slaps off Number 3’s hand from her chest making the cup drop)

 

Number 2 and 4 (gasps at the same time): Mo gbe![iii]

 

(Number 3 makes her way to the kitchen door then locks it)

 

Number 2: This girl doesn’t know anything. (Pulls up Number 4 who reluctantly stands) We’ll teach you a lesson today!

 

Number 4 (mutters): I’d rather watch. (Number 2 glares at her) What? Why are you looking at me like that? Face the person who insulted you.

 

Number 3: Is it me you’re calling a wild dog? (Standing close to Number 5 who looks unbothered)

 

Number 5: Yes you! What will you do about it?

 

Number 3 (turns to Number 2 and Number 4 with a wide smile on her face): She’s asking what I’ll do about it. (Turns round to face Number 5 again) I will teach you what your mother didn’t teach you.

(Number 3 pulls Number 5’s blouse, then gives her a sounding slap)

 

Number 5 (holds her throbbing cheek then quickly grabs a stirring stick from the sink behind her): You’re just a frustrated mad woman! (She yells)

 

Number 3 (to number 4 and 2 without facing them): She says I am frustrated. She still has the mouth to talk and thinks that the stick she’s holding will stop me from touching her. (To Number 5) You are the mad and frustrated one. If you weren’t mad or frustrated because no man your age will marry you, tell me what you’re doing with a man old enough to be your grandfather?

 

Number 5: It’s none of your business you shameless old—

 

(Number 3 and 2 pounce on her before she could finish her sentence. Number 2 pulls her left leg making Number 5 land on her behind screaming, struggling and cursing. Number 3 collects the stirring stick from her and hits Number 5 with it severally before throwing it towards the door.)

 

Number 4 (half-heartedly as she opens a packet of biscuits): Stop fighting.

 

(Someone bangs on the kitchen door from outside while Number 3 and 2 deal with Number 5)

 

The voice: I said, open this door! Are you people crazy? Open the door!

 

Number 4 (grumbles as she makes her way to the door): They won’t let someone eat and watch this live drama in peace.

 

(Number 1 bursts in as Number 4 opens the door)

 

Number 1 (pulls Number 3 and 2 from a struggling Number 5): What sort of nonsense is this? What is wrong with you people?

 

Number 4: I told them to stop fighting but they didn’t listen to me (They all glare at her) What? Why are you looking at me like that? (Grumbles then exits the kitchen)

 

Number 1 (to Number 3, 2 and 5): Why have you decided to turn the kitchen into a mad house?

 

(Number 2, 3 and 5 talk at once)

 

Number 1 (irritated look): Will you shut your mouths?

 

Number 2 & 3 (together): But she broke—

 

Number 1: What if she broke plates? Are they yours? Did you bring them along when our husband brought you to this house?

 

Number 5 (mutters): Please ask them?

 

Number 1: What did you say?

 

Number 5: Nothing

 

Number 1(stares at 5 as she speaks): I am not in support of our husband’s lifestyle but do you see me acting like a mad woman? (To Number 2) You should put them to order not join in.

 

Number 2: Iyale mi[iv] I am not Jesus.

 

Number 1 (long hiss): You want to kill yourselves over a man who will marry another in seconds. I do not pity you. (Mutters as she exits the kitchen) He never picks the good ones. All he does is bring shafts and noisemakers for me to deal with. I wonder where he gets them!

 

 

 

[i] Vandal

[ii] Uncultured/ Can also mean disrespectful

[iii] I’m in trouble

[iv] Mother of the house

Book Review: How To Cook Your Husband The African Way by Calixthe Beyala

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“I’m asking you to control his desires, to be the zapper of his zipper, the oil in his motor, the cable of his printer, the laces of his shoes.”

A STORY OF LOVE, FOOD AND ITS EXTREMITIES

From Porcupine with the nuts of wild mangoes to Boa in banana leaves, a devoted Aissatou is hell bent on cooking her way to the heart of the man—Bolobolo— she loves. Mr Bolobolo is a man from Mali who lives with his mother whom ‘is losing her marbles’ and her beloved pet chicken. She starts cooking and sending the meals to Bolobolo. At first, he hesitates, but later finds himself deep in the plate of whatever meal Aissatou has cooked. Bolobolo succumbs to the powerful force of good food and enters relationship with her. However, in this case, the age-long saying that the way to a man’s heart is his stomach loses credibility. Although it does a part of the job and wonderful things to a man’s palate and stomach, the heroine comes to the realization that food isn’t enough to keep a man.

This is an ultra-modern rom-com (a fusion of romance and comedy) story set in Paris. Beyala’s writing style in showing us the different dimensions of the human mind is noteworthy. She makes use of the first person point of view, thereby making the story very relatable and personal. You feel the heat Aissatou is feeling, preparing her meals and how eager she is in getting Mr Bolobolo. In addition, using satire the author dabs into other issues such as racism, identity and sexism amongst others.

This book will make you hungry. Beyala accompanies every chapter with mouth-watering recipes. The use of vivid graphic imagery by the author is excellent and this way the reader does not feel alienated.

“Food is the stuff of life, the same as life. Today it makes for more unity than justice. It’s maybe the only thing that will bring peace and reconciliation to humankind.”

So, can one really cook one’s husband the African way or any other way? Is it feasible? The answer to those questions is what Beyala has tried to trash out in her book.

The book is significant in many ways. First, it brings out the magical power of food. The author has successfully lectured us on how food can soften a man’s heart. From start to finish, we witness Aissatou winning all her battles with different kinds of meals.

“Because to be white you’ve got to be thin… A beautiful woman is flat as a pancake, thin as a rake or a slice of Melba toast. Melba toast snaps easily. Circle crackle. I measure my life by my waist” Continue reading

Laughing Gas

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People had different names for what was wrong with her husband and how he behaved.
In high spirits. No
But high on bottles of spirits.
He was battling with something, his own demons maybe.
Talking was no use
He spoke with his fists and eyes.
I didn’t help her situation that evening.
If only she had told me beforehand,
I wouldn’t have tried to lock her door to stop him from coming in.
I glanced back at her, hoping she would join me.
She didn’t.
She just stood by her bed.
The cloak of fear wrapped around her did nothing to stop the shivering.
I tried to lock the door but for some reason, the key wouldn’t turn
He was shouting
I couldn’t hear what
He went silent
I was still trying my luck with the key
My body pushing from behind
He was stronger, pushed his way through.
It was unexpected,
just like the slap that landed. Continue reading