It is getting to the end of January and like some other families in Nigeria, the chicken gifts we received at Christmas has not finished. This has been a very trying period in my life. I am never ashamed or guilty to say that I love my animals dead. What kind of pets does Itoro like? You may ask. Dead ones that can be cooked and eaten, is what I’ll tell you. Imagine my discomfort when friends and family just kept bringing live Agric. Fowls to the compound. Hello, what happened to frozen chicken?
Thankfully, my aunt who used to have a poultry is with us, so she took on the responsibility of caring for the remaining three birds. I’d buy chicken feed and she’d administer the feed alongside water. One unlucky day, she left the house quite early and time came to feed the Three French Hens. Like play, like play, everyone turned their attention to me because I was the oldest. I started explaining how I didn’t ask to be born before anyone and how maturity has nothing to do with age but Victoria would have none of that, and so we set out to feed the birds. I managed to send them out of their house so I could fill their pan with food. The mistake I made was to take the pan out of the house. These “people” could smell the food and started advancing towards me. I saw exactly how I was about to be mauled by angry birds and did the next logical thing; I poured the food into the pan hastily which meant that most of it was on the floor, and ran for my dear life. Athos, Porthos and Aramis finished the food in the pan, ate the ones on the ground and managed to still fit a portion of my mother’s waterleaf patch into their stomachs. People that can’t urinate, how can they eat so much?
No need to tell you that I received the talk that day. Some of it was not unconnected to how I could be sent back from my husband’s house.
Athos and Porthos were eventually killed and we partook of their souls and left the remnants in the freezer. Aramis became less menacing without the rest of the trio, so I felt relieved.
However, my joy was not to last as my father announced one bright morning that we’ll be making chicken pepper soup for his age grade people (a.k.a members of his society in the church). I was hurt! Why me? Why us? Why did my father agree? Where will the 10 chickens be kept? But most importantly, who will feed them?
I didn’t know my questions were the least of my worries.
Part two continues tomorrow.
Image source: www.vitamin-ha.com