“Because—” Nana lets out a quiet growl.
“Don’t forget, this is part of Yinka’s bridesmaid’s goal,” Rachel says while Ola continues to scroll through her phone. “You want Yinka to bring a plus one to my wedding, right?”
“All right. Fine.” Nana gives in with a huff. “I’ll help you. But just this once.”
I squeal, jump out of my seat and squeeze her from behind. “Thank you—ooh, and a tiny request,” I say after remembering something extremely important. “I know you Ghanaians make your jollof out of basmati rice, but tomorrow, can we, err, stick to long grain, please?”
A romantic
SATURDAY
ALEX
Hey
We still good for lunch tmrw?
I won’t judge if u decide to drop out lol
YINKA
What foolishness!
ò?dè?
ALEX
Ah! My girl be practicing Yoruba now!
Okay. I see you lol
And that wasn’t very nice, was it
YINKA
Pèlé
è? má bínù
ALEX
Lool
Apology accepted. You’re forgiven
But only if your cooking is 5 stars
“Err, Yinka? The last time I checked, this was your date, not mine. Quit faffing about,” says Nana.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I hover my phone over the steel pot. The smell of spice and peppers tickles the back of my throat. I take a few photos of Nana as she stirs the tomato puree and knob of butter into the frying diced onions. I’m very careful not to get her in the shot, just the wooden spatula. “It’s for my Insta Story. I need photographic evidence. You know, in case Alex tries to say that I didn’t make the jollof rice.”
Nana scoffs. “But you’re not helping me, are you?”
“Hey, that’s not fair! I chopped up the tomatoes and the peppers, didn’t I?”
Nana stops stirring. “You know I don’t have to do this, right?”
I put my phone away. “What do you want me to do next?”
“Pour in the mixture from the blender. Then wash some rice. Please.”
I grab the jug of blended tomatoes, red peppers, garlic and onions, and pour the red mixture into the sizzling pot.
“Thank you,” says Nana as I fetch a bag of long grain rice from the cupboard. I pour a generous amount into a pot, fill it with cold water, then roll up my sleeves. I wash the rice, rubbing the grains between my palms until the water turns cloudy.
After too long a moment passes, I say, “Nana, can I ask you something?”
“Go for it.”
“I’m not coming for you, but I really want to know why you are so against my plan. I’m finally back on the dating scene. Surely, I need to be at my best.”
“But why do you need to change yourself?” she says. “Why do you think you’re not good enough for Alex the way you are? If you do get together, are you going to keep up this ‘new’ you?”
I tip away the cloudy water and run the tap for a second rinse. “What I’m doing is no different from somebody bluffing their way to get a job—”
“And that is okay?” she asks as she places a number of seasoning jars on the counter.
Uh, yes. “Bad example. You know what I mean.”
The rice now washed, I place the pot on the stove and fill it with some hot water from the kettle. Meanwhile, Nana unwraps a cube of Maggi stock and crumbles it into the stew with the tips of her fingers.
“I know you’re thinking I’m being an uptight—thyme,” she says, beckoning, and I hand the dried herbs to her. “I just don’t want you to think that you’re not beautiful enough. Social media has got people twisted, thinking that they have to look a certain way—three bay leaves, please. Thanks. Yeah, so as I was saying, how do you know that this plan of yours isn’t a slippery slope to a more drastic change?”
“A more drastic change?” I let out a loud snort. Then I quickly take a few more photos to add to my Insta Story.
“It’s true!” Nana stirs in some curry powder. “That’s how these things happen—gradually. I mean, no one wakes up one day and suddenly decides to bleach their skin or get bum injections. Nah, those insecurities have been festering for a while.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Now you’re getting ahead of yourself. Skin bleaching? Bum injections? I would never.”
“I’m not saying that you will. I’m saying—?What I’m saying is—urgh, it doesn’t matter. We’re going to leave the stew to simmer for a bit. Yinka, keep an eye on that rice. We want it parboiled, remember?”
“Sure. One sec.” I jab my fingers on my phone, thinking of a caption to add to my Insta Story. How about . . . Jollof in progress. Post.
I stuff my phone in my back pocket. When I look up, Nana is glaring at me.
“I hate that you’ve joined Instagram.”
I pull a face. “Well, I hate that your room is messy.”
She rolls her eyes. “Okay, next thing. The spicy baked chicken. Can you wash the chicken, please?”
I grab the lemon juice from the fridge, and Nana hands me a tray of raw chicken. I’m pleased to see that they’re all drumsticks. That’s my girl.
I douse the chicken with a generous amount of lemon juice. “Did you really have plans for tomorrow? You know, for Valentine’s Day?”
“Yes,” she says without hesitation, and my mouth drops.
She laughs. “Don’t worry. I only planned to go to the gym.”
“The gym? On Valentine’s Day?”
Nana leans against the radiator and shrugs. “Yinka, I told you I’m happy on my own. I’m really not fussed about getting into a relationship.”
“Nana, when have you ever been fussed about being in a relationship? I mean, there was that one guy in college, but that lasted, what, a month? And that fling you had when you went to Barcelona for your twenty-first—”
Nana laughs and looks at her chipped black nails. “I’m aromantic.”
“Oh, please. You’re not a romantic.”
“No, aromantic,” she enunciates. “It’s an orientation.”
I blink at her.
“People like me don’t really experience romantic feelings. We’re not fussed about getting into relationships.”
“Oh, wow. I never knew that was a thing. I mean, I’ve heard of asexuality. But that’s lack of sexual attraction, right?”
Nana nods. “Don’t worry, I only found out about the term the other day. Someone posted about it on Twitter, and I was like, wait a minute, that is so me.”
“Have you told anyone yet?”
In her usual casual way, Nana says, “A few. My sister. My parents—”
“Your parents? What did they say?”
Nana shrugs. “?‘Well, that’s the way God made you. That explains things. As long as you’re happy.’?”
I stop slathering the chicken. My mum would have a heart attack. Then after recovering, she’d call a prayer meeting. “Wow, I don’t know what to say . . . Are you okay?”
Nana laughs. “Girl, bless you, I’m relieved. I always knew that there was something different about me. It sounds weird, but I really can’t wait to start telling people.”
“But what if you never experience love? Well, in a romantic sense.”
Nana shrugs. “You can’t long for what you don’t long for, right? And that’s the thing, Yinka, I don’t feel like I’m missing out. If anything, I feel . . . free. I don’t have to feel sad when I see my friends settling down. I don’t get jealous when I see couples out and about on Valentine’s Day. And it’s not as though my parents are pressuring me to get married.” She laughs. “They gave up on that dream a long time ago. So, yes, tomorrow I’m spending Valentine’s Day at the gym and I couldn’t be happier.”
“Well, good for you,” I say, putting the tray of chicken to one side. Maybe that explains why Nana is so against my plan; she can’t relate to my feelings. I squirt two pumps of handwash before scrubbing my hands.
“Anyway, Rachel’s bridal shower. Have you seen Ola’s WhatsApp messages? She’s made a to-do list.”
“Oh, did she now?” I grab the napkin that is draped over the oven handle. “There’s so many messages, I can’t keep up.”
Nana laughs. “Yeah. Don’t tell Rachel. But I actually put her group on mute.”
I gasp. “Nana. If she finds out, she’ll kill you!”
Some men don’t know a good woman even when she’s right in front of them
SUNDAY
Samsung Memo cancel
Valentine’s Day!
Squats: 50 (Ouch!)