Fire in the Pot
The smell hit first.
Favour burst into Nkechi's kitchen, coughing and waving smoke away, the yam porridge her first "real" dish attempt was burning, the orange paste bubbling like lava at the bottom.
She pulled the pot off the heat with trembling hands, it was ruined.
The yam had melted into mush, and the crayfish was bitter from too much heat, she hadn't known how to judge the water, she hadn't even tasted it as she cooked, too scared it would discourage her.
She stared at the burnt mess, tears stinging her eyes.
"I'm not cut out for this."
Nkechi walked in, calm, already opening the windows. "Yes, you are. You just started. You've spent your life avoiding fire. Now you expect to cook like a chef?"
Favour looked at her helplessly. "It's more than food now. It's who I am. I'm trying to rebuild something I destroyed… but I don't know how."
Nkechi stirred the pot gently. "Start by not running from your own mess."
That night, instead of throwing the porridge away, Favour ate it with her face twisted, forcing every spoonful down.
It was awful.
But it was hers.