04/02/2025
I have always prided myself on being a great cook. Not just any kind of cook the type that could make angels abandon their heavenly banquet just to have a taste of my delicacies. My egusi soup, in particular, was legendary. People whispered about it in secret meetings, elders nodded in respect when my name was mentioned, and neighbors pretended to visit just to “say hi” whenever they perceived its irresistible aroma floating through my window.
But on this fateful day, my egusi soup would make history for an entirely different reason.
It was a Saturday evening. The kind of evening where hunger grips your stomach so tightly you start remembering every bad decision you’ve ever made including why you didn’t buy that extra loaf of bread yesterday. I had just finished pounding yam, my pot of egusi soup was bubbling beautifully on the fire, and the aroma was so rich that even my ancestors must have been salivating in the spirit world.
I was in the kitchen, humming a song, feeling like a Masterchef contestant. I had added stockfish, goat meat, pomo, and even a touch of periwinkle because why not? If I was going to eat, I was going to eat like royalty.
As I stirred the soup, I smiled to myself. “Ah, this soup go sweet die.”
What I did not know was that an uninvited guest was about to make a grand entrance.
Somewhere above me, hidden in the dark corners of my kitchen ceiling, a cockroach a bold, fearless, destiny-altering cockroach was watching me. Perhaps it was hungry. Perhaps it was jealous of my culinary skills. Or maybe it was just tired of its miserable existence and decided to experience greatness before meeting its end.
Whatever the case, this cockroach made a decision that would change my life forever.
Without warning, without shame, without any consideration for my hard work, it dived yes, DOVE straight into my steaming pot of egusi soup like an Olympic swimmer aiming for a gold medal.
PLUK!!!
A suspicious splash echoed in the kitchen.
I paused. My cooking spoon froze mid-air.
“What was that?” I muttered.
I looked around. Nothing seemed out of place. The soup was still bubbling, the aroma still rich, my hunger still very much alive.
“Maybe na my imagination.” I shrugged and continued stirring.
Minutes later, my soup was done. I dished a large portion onto my plate, the yellow egusi glistening with red palm oil, chunks of goat meat peeking through the thick broth, the scent so divine I could almost hear a choir singing in the background.
I sat down, grabbed a large ball of pounded yam, and dived in.
Heaven.
The taste was beyond perfection. It was as if the soup had received an anointing. The sweetness, the umami, the depth of flavor it was on another level entirely!
I took another bite.
And another.
I was chewing, humming, smiling until my teeth hit something that was definitely not goat meat.
It had a crunch.
I paused.
Chewed again.
Another crunch.
My brain quickly did the calculations. Goat meat does not crunch like that. Pomo is soft. Stockfish is tough, but not this kind of crunchy.
I picked up the mysterious object with my fingers, squinting at it under the dim light.
Then I saw it.
The cockroach leg.
HAAAAAAAHHHH!!!
The speed at which I spat out everything in my mouth could have broken Olympic records. The way I jumped from my chair, screaming, shaking my head, and beating my chest like a possessed man, you would think I had just swallowed a live scorpion.
“JEEEEESUSSSSS!!!”
I ran to the sink, turned on the tap, and began gargling water like my life depended on it. The cockroach leg was still on my tongue, mocking me. I scrubbed my tongue so hard I almost peeled it off. I wanted to vomit, but my body refused.
I looked at my plate of food. The same food I had just been enjoying minutes ago. The same food that had tasted so good I almost cried tears of joy.
Now, all I saw was cockroach broth. Insect-infused egusi. Roach delicacy.
I cried.
For the rest of the night, I couldn’t think straight. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw a cockroach laughing at me, shaking its head in pity. I felt like I could still taste it, like the essence of the cockroach had become a part of my soul.
To make matters worse, my stomach started rumbling. Was it just in my head? Or was the cockroach fighting back from the grave? I didn’t know.
One thing was certain my relationship with egusi soup would never be the same again.
And as for that cockroach? It may have died, but it won. It made me realize that sometimes, ignorance truly is bliss. Because before I knew the truth, that was the best egusi soup I had ever tasted.
The best.
And the worst.
May we never unknowingly eat what we cannot stomach. Amen.
Una good afternoon oo
