Short Story: The Bond by Sharon Sowemimo

I love food. It's not news to people that know me. Is it the sight of a well cooked and served meal, or the smells that accompany it, or the mere thought of being treated to a nice meal with the right dessert to go with it.
It's all exciting and its a whole new adventure for me. The best part of my love for food is the fact that I love to cook too.

You see, cooking for me is not a chore, it is an experience.
I'd seat idle for a while just cooking up ways in which a meal I plan to cook would come out better than the last time I prepared it. It's not an exaggeration but my senses function better around food when I'm around food and this helps me recreate what's been registered. I just love it.
The problem however is that not everyone shares my enthusiasm for food.

My sister, as much as she enjoys good food would never be caught experimenting or be concerned about the smell or taste. She'd sooner leave all that to me than go through the trouble. My brother is worse, he'd gladly gulp down poop if it was cooked and served to him.
My parents do not usually like to point out our weaknesses as these are the things that make us unique. But as triplets, they simply cannot believe how terribly different we are. As Ani DiFranco puts it, "there's strength in the differences between us..." We grew to unite in our differences.
 I will never forget the day my brother, whom I'd always believed had no heart, beat up a boy who had been harassing me. I'd taken to handling the harassment my own way and that included ignoring him and avoiding him like the plague. But this stalker definitely did not get the memo. He knew all my hideouts and ensured that he was ahead of me in getting there just so he could gloat in my face. He and his minions were making life unbearable for me and were beginning to get to me. After failing to get him off my back, I decided the best option was to stay home and not go to school. I hadn't told anyone about the constant harassment or bullying, but my brother picked up signals I didn't even know I was throwing.

 I returned to school the next day to the news of how the boy had been handled by my brother. Mind you, my brother and I hardly ever spoke except when necessary. He was a mean little sport who derived joy from getting us into trouble with our parents. After that day, I saw my brother in new light. He was my hero.
A particular memory stands out for three of us and that is the time we united for one purpose: Operation Kick Aunt Margaret out of the house.
Aunt Margaret was one of those aunts who are not really related to our parents but whom we had to put up with because both our parents respected her and accommodated her in our three bedroom apartment.
 We called her Aunty Maggi, making it intentionally sound like the seasoning cube. We did not like her. Our issues with her varied. My brother just didn't like her because she always had an input whenever dad scolded him. My sister on the other hand didn't like her because she had gone to mom with the news that she had a boyfriend.
 This wasn't true of course, the boy was just my sister's crush but Aunty Maggie had refused to listen when we tried to explain. Mum was worried of course and gave both of us the "talk". It was a gruesome one hour with mum trying to explain the concept of sex, boyfriends and pregnancies.

We were twelve years old.
Aunty Maggie however crossed the line when she decided to take up office in the kitchen. She was always butting in whenever I was experimenting, making suggestions. She must have thought she was helping me be a better woman. She was wrong. First, she had never been married and she was close to her fiftieth year. I found it rather hypocritical that she was teaching me these and yet have nothing to show for it herself. Second, she was actually a great cook and that was intimidating. All my life, my mom had always been the best cook, besides the chefs I watch on tv of course. This woman had come in and was taking my mother's place in the culinary leaderboard.
I couldn't stand for it so I joined forces with my siblings and thought up ways to get her to leave.
Our mission was never executed. She became a dear woman to us even to her final moments. We laugh when we remember the extent of our folly.


About the Writer

Sowemimo Sharon was born on the 31st of December 1997. She grew up in Lagos, Nigeria where she lives with her parents and two older siblings.
She enjoys reading,  writing, music, and travelling.
She is presently a  500 level Law student at the University of Lagos. She has interests in Human Rights and hopes to specialise in that aspect. She's very passionate about ensuring human right violations are put to a just end.