“I am good. Just busy as usual.”
“Of course, and why not? That is the way things should be. Because of hard work, you see how God has blessed us.”
He followed his mother to the kitchen.
“Since you are here early, come and help me fry this plantain.”
Solomon stepped toward the sink to wash his hands. He shook off the water and grabbed a paper towel to dry them. “Technically, I am right on time, which of course is early for a Nigerian.”
His mother made a sound with her throat. “But you will eat, right?” Which sounded equivalent to “I don’t want to hear it.” He chuckled and sliced the plantain on the side to open it up. After peeling the thick skin from the banana-like fruit, he poured oil into a shallow pan and started preheating it.
“I don’t want a fire in my kitchen.” His mother, still with hand on hip, eyed the pan warily.
“Mommy, it is all about efficiency. By the time I finish slicingthe plantain, the oil will be hot and ready to use. If I start heating it when I’m done, we will be waiting another fifteen minutes for this oil to heat up.”
“I guess that is why you are the doctor and not me.”
Solomon almost pumped his fist at that small validation. But he refrained lest his mother somehow pull the words back into her mouth.
“Who were you talking to?” he asked, grabbing a cutting board to start slicing.
His mother leaned over to taste the rice she had been stirring, which was simmering in a pot older than him.
“When I came to the door, I heard you talking loud, as usual.”
“I was talking to Thea about our business plan, but that was earlier today...” She turned to him in confusion, but then her eyes widened, in danger of bugging out of her head. “Chineke, I forgot! My brother is still on the phone.”
She rushed over to the breakfast table, where the phone lay. “Are you still there?” she shouted. “Yes, I am. Sorry, I answered the door to greet Solomon. Yes ... yes, he is here. Do you want to say hello?” Before either he or the caller had a choice, his mother shoved the phone to his ear.
“Hello? Hi, Uncle. Yes, I am doing well. I’m doing fine. Yes, I am almost finished. Yes, I am a doctor. Thank you. I am grateful that all of you are proud of me.” At least his relatives recognized him as a doctor. “Whose birthday?”
He gave his mother a look. She shrugged and waved him off. “Okay, yes, good to talk to you too.” He handed his mother the phone and stepped back to the stove to attend to the pan.
“Okay, okay, yes.” Her voice rose in pitch, just about to the level that he heard when he first walked up.
“Yes, see you. Okay, bye-bye.”
“What was that call about?”
“Oh, nothing, just usual village things. But they are all waiting for when you will come and build a house there.”
Solomon shook his head. “Do I need to build a house there when I don’t even have one here?”
“You have a nice apartment. That counts. This is also your house.”
“Is the house in Hawaii mine too?”
“Of course not. That is ours.”
He grinned at that response, but it didn’t keep his shoulders from tightening. His relatives were proud that he was some kind of doctor, but it wouldn’t bring in the same income that working with his parents would. Instinctively, he rolled his shoulders up and back. He finished slicing the plantain, sprinkled a little salt, and tossed the pieces around in the bowl. He shifted it toward the pan that was giving off a steady hum as the oil continued to heat. Now this was the type of fried food he would never say no to. Give him all the vegetables and lean meats so that he could indulge in this.
“What has been keeping you busy?” His mother’s voice broke through his thoughts.
“Not too much besides my clients and studying and...”
“And also what?” His mother looked at him over her glasses. He avoided her gaze and gently placed plantain slices with a fork into the hot oil. The sizzle soothed. So much nostalgia was wrapped up in the simple act, in this native food. Too bad answering his mother never felt that simple.
“Trying to find time just to relax a little. I went bowling with some friends last night.”
