“My daughter is cooking from the internet!”

My dad barged into my room on a Tuesday afternoon, clearly looking for me. He found me cowered over my desk struggling to finish a holiday assignment, I don’t remember which one now, maybe Technical Drawing?

“Sarinma!” my dad bellowed, “I want to eat Afang soup for lunch today and you must be the one to make it, you are not allowed to have any help from this house.”

I struggled to remove my headphones which invariably became more entangled in my braids and I only managed to stutter “wh-what?” as he hurriedly left my room.

Of course he left in a rush, he knew what he had just done.

This is me, who has never made a Nigerian soup before in her life, not to mention one as deeply revered as Afang. How did he expect me to start without help from anyone in the house?

As I…

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