No African Child Hates Noodles: A Funny Experience

You can call me Anslem, a young African. A ghetto kid from Enugu, Nigeria. Although I was raised in the ghetto, my parents never denied me a quality education or morals. I was a bread seller growing up, so hawking became my pastime. I gave my mother the money I made from the bread business, and she always called me “Nnaa,” which kept my competitive spirit alive.

There was a challenge. I’ve always wanted to try noodles because I love them. I didn’t want to use my mother’s money to buy noodles, and this made my conscience furious with me.

Later, I was sick of eating garri, akpu, and local soups, and I was desperate to try some noodles. Unfortunately, none were offered. I persevered till my early 20s.

My wildest fantasy evolved from my desire to taste noodles. In an effort to achieve that, I made Junior my friend because his mother would make noodles for him, and the chubby Junior ate noodles frequently. I questioned why my mother could not cook with Junior’s mother’s attitude.

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One day, I visited Junior’s house and found his mother cooking noodles. Wow… My expectations have become much higher. At least I would have a taste of noodles that day. After some minutes, Junior’s mother brought the noodles to the dining table as she ate with him. I sat down to watch a cartoon, hoping to hear a call from Junior’s mother, but they abandoned me and kept moving forks up and down the noodles.

Even Junior, my friend, chose to betray me just like Peter did to Jesus. I had swallowed five litres of saliva. I lost interest in the cartoon and saw myself acting without a director on television. I was so busy abusing Junior’s mother in the silence of my heart. She was such a wicked woman, I concluded.

The next day, I arrived again to see Junior and met him eating. Junior’s mother invited me to join them. I was so happy, but only to see they were eating akpu and okro soup. I frowned. I thought it was noodles. Immediately, I shouted, “Thank you ma,” and left on my own. “This is when you know you will invite me.” Nonsense!

Two days later, I returned to Junior’s home, but this time I ran into Junior’s uncle. He had just finished preparing fried eggs and noodles. Wow! I shouted in my mind. I knew he wouldn’t be as evil as Junior’s mother. He called me to the dining room table to have my own portion of the noodles, and I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

I walked like a king, took a fork, and threw some into my mouth. Delicious! I was so happy; the taste couldn’t stop tempting me with more scoops… I ate the noodles and licked my plate clean. I was staring at Junior’s noodles, waiting for him to invite me, but the slow eater ignored my gaze.

Junior’s Uncle noticed my expectations and gave me more. I rushed the noodles and finished them all at once. “I must visit tomorrow,” I whispered to myself. There was a knock on the door… It was Junior’s mother. Hey! God was so merciful for not allowing her to return home when the noodles were on fire. She would have stopped my enjoyment. Thank God for Junior’s uncle, who rescued me.