I sucked in a deep breath with my once favorite food in hand as I try to remember when it happened, the exact time it occurred, though I knew the place it occurred and how it did. My breath hitched as I remember the moment I held my chest deeply, and my heart changed its rhythm in horror of what I saw.
My friend, oh, my poor dark skinned friend was beside me with tears as she held me closer like I was her mama and I just stood there like a statue, unable to move or speak a word even after hearing the thumping of feet our way. I just stood... with my friend, Modinat by my side.
The situation that occured brought in another name to my name and though I didn't like it at first, I later shook off the feeling and never complained when hands are pointed to me with strange hiccups of laughter from my neighbor and people beyond. When people noticed I wasn't fazed by it anymore, they dropped it, and my beautiful name stood high again without the situation name attached to it.
Years have passed, a very long year that deals with decades, and here I am laughing hysterically at my naivety. All I needed was food which I intended to cook, but I couldn't anyways because I was gobsmacked at what me and my friend had done.
...and so, the story begins.
"I want to eat, I am very hungry." My friend, Modinat, whined into my ears.
As a friend who didn't like seeing my friend hungry, I told her;
"Let's cook. I have noodles at home." I said standing up from the cashew tree close to my home.
Which truly I do because noodles, which is called indomie, was my best food then. It was the only food I enjoyed eating, which is why I have enough of it at home.
When we got to my place, I couldn't find the stove which I knew my mother would have taken to her shop which wasn't far from home to cook with, so I intended to ask my friend if we should eat it raw.
But... seeing my friend's face, I knew it was best we cooked. Now, I didn't know how to use firewood, so we sorted for the coal pot, which we own. And right here, our misery started.
After getting the coal pot at the back of the kitchen, I took out some charcoal with the help of my friend as we got ready to cook.
"I'll put some water in the pot. Go and bring kerosene at that corner." I told my friend, which she hurriedly did.
After we added the kerosene to the charcoal, I took matches from the kitchen counter and had it lighted before throwing it into the fire. Suddenly, "Boom!" was the sound that shook the ground. It almost seemed like a volcanic eruption was going to take place.
My friend held me tightly as I stood tall in plain horror, "Fire!" I wanted to scream, but my tongue was tied with a great force.
It was right then that I heard feet coming and my Mom's voice. She pushed us out of the way with water in her hands as our neighbors held us tightly.
"Why is there lots of drama just because we wanted to cook noodles?" My mind whispered silently until I felt my Mom holding me tightly like I was a lost and found lamb.
"Thank God you are both okay." I heard her say before she switched to her African mother piercing look. I would have preferred a needle poking me endlessly at this moment, but... Well, it was my Mom's glare.
"What were you both thinking of that you made use of fuel to cook?" She asked with her arms akimbo and legs ajar.
I looked at my friend, and over the chaotic mess that we created, and then the corner where I told my friend to get kerosene from.
It was then that realization dawned on me that my friend had gone to the other side.
My face turned to that of a puppy rabbit in a minute as I stared down ready to face the African mother style of wrath. However, my friends stomach rumbled, and she saved the day, though the name, *"Balikis the indomie cook,"* stood for some time before my name Balikis took back its full glory.
From that day onward, the fuel was kept in a secured place outside our home. I don't know why, though, but maybe they thought it was time the fuel stayed out. It wasn't like I planned on burning my parents' house to the ground.
