“prompt- revamp a story“
The kitchen is pretty much empty.
Unlike her own kitchen back home, where the counter is overflowing with appliances that give her a sense of whimsy, there is only a big silver stock pot on the right of the stove. This pot is a staple piece in most Nigerian homes since it is the best modern way to steam Moi Moi. Aba’s eyes gravitated to it too quickly. She concluded that it must be out of place. While scanning for rhythm and reason, she opened all the cabinets to find where it would live. The top roll cabinet stored seasoning, Garri, and dry Fish; the bottom cabinets had five spread-apart pots.
Aba let out a delightful giggle created by a sense of completion. Her face dropped when she discovered the pot only fit when laid on its side, and she felt that wasn’t a way to a pot with a purpose to live. She caught her reflection in the pot mid-pout, which sparked a child-like smirk. She remembered how the elongation of her face ticked her younger self.
The roosters hadn’t begun their morning song, and Aba could still hear the crickets’ presence, but the dawn lights were picking through the kitchen window. She ended her side quest, where she started, and sprung to the fridge. Not too far from soon, the kids would be awake. She collected the flour, eggs, milk, sugar, vanilla extract, and mango. With great haste and a minimum of spills on her overside tee, which acts like a nightgown, she filled the air with the sweet smell of pancakes and mango.
“Kids!” she yelled, regretting her choice since the roosters’ morning song was being sung, and the house smelled like buttery goodness, enough to wake them up. She could hear shuffling happening in their room. The thought of breakfast in bed hit her. She grabbed the plate stacked high with cakes and searched for forks.
“Are you going to eat all that?”
His voice tightened her skin and distorted her back. She released a sigh to calm her nerves and gave herself a second to ponder his silent steps.
“Of course, I’m just looking for more forks to eat them alone with,” Aba teased, hoping a laugh creak through his stiff lips. It may not have been the best move to play, but his manlike grudge amused her, and she could not help but poke at him.
“You only need one,” his word slipped between his teeth. His eyes expressed no amusement.
“Well…” she said to pivot the entry.
“i boola chi (good morning)”
“Ututu oma is better,” Obi said quickly, still pan-faced. Aba’s eyes twitched, and she attempted to mask her frustration by closing her eyes.
“And why do your toes…” a heavy thump cut him off, followed by fast footsteps. Each step was forceful and purposeful, sending hope Aba’s way while softening Obi’s face.
“Ututu oma,” Adaobi said, stopping her run by embracing Aba.
“a..tutu oma”
Obi’s erupted in a corrupted laughter, only comparable to a rustic old engine.
“Omoo, what is a.tutu oma, I beg?” Obi tested with malice, but Aba only felt the joy of accomplishment.
Adaobi grabbed Obi’s arm and pressed her face into his shoulder, simmering down his laughter and souring his face.
“He doesn’t mean to laugh,” Adaobi spoke as smoothly as currents, ending her brother’s laughter.
“It’s.. okay… Let’s have breakfast in bed,” She plastered a smile to combat the warmth of the room drop, which quickly flew out of her face when her eyes caught the concern in Obi and Adaobi’s stare. Aba’s words yanked Adaobi’s head forward and stiffened Obi’s demeanor.
“Why?” they say in unison.