Analysis Of Egusi Soup

FOR MOTHER, WHOM I LOVE.
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As a child, I was too selective when it comes to food. Particularly, I disliked Egusi Soup. Father hates my selective nature but Mother understands. Infact, I abhorred many things which naturally, other children craved. We never had much in the house but I was full of choices; frivolous and extravagant choices. Choices which Father deem 'stupid'.
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There would be Okra Soup (which is my worst soup) and I would crave Speedy Biscuit and Digestives and Cheese Balls and Lollipops. Father never liked the choices I made. I knew his worries. He never wanted to raise a spoilt child. Me, I do not even want to be a spoilt child. All I wanted was to have all I craved.
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I remember this particular Saturday night when Mother had
She would surreptiously insert round orange tablets of Combantrin into my Eba and watch me swallow ball after another with my favourite Afang soup, her face glinting with delight. In my seemingly childhood innocence and ignorance, I wouldn't know I was being dewormed.
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She knew I wouldn't taste the Egusi soup she prepared but she would call me aside, away from the full glare of my Father and give me meat heavily caked in Egusi soup like Magnet caked with particles of metal. She thought giving me meat from her Egusi soup would make me taste her soup and maybe like Oliver Twist - want some more. But No! I watched her face give way to frowns as I would saunter to the sink and turn on the tap and wash off the Egusi soup surrounding the meat and eat the meat and say 'daalu' and walk away from the kitchen.
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Father caught us one day. He was on his way to the toilet to 'pee'. Our house was structured in such a way that if you're going to the toilet, you must sight the kitchen first. His voice sonourous and high-pitched, indicating anger and no pity, he said
''Ulo, you're spoiling this boy. If he doesn't want to eat, he should go to bed. Nwata n'esi nri nri, obughi anu anu. A child smells of food and not of meat'',
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''You say this because you haven't carried a child for nine months before.'' Mother replied.
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''It doesn't take one to carry a child for nine months to know when he's being spoilt. In our own time, if we said we disliked a particular soup, that soup will be prepared everytime and we would go to bed hungry everyday until we had no other choice but to eat that soup.''
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''Your time is gone. This is now. A new age. An era of renewed mother's love filled with vigour and passion and care. I cannot go to bed and expect a calm sleep knowing that my child is hungry. If giving him what he wants correlates to spoiling him. So be it!''
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I was sad that my parents quarrelled because of me. Over trivial matters such as food. Over choices that I made. Over a food that I like or didn't like. But this sense of guilt always disappeared the next morning as I would catch them trade quick snogs. Throw jokes at each other and their voices always reverberated with laughter and love and peace and joy.