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The Amala Making Husband (Part 1)



I couldn't believe my eyes when I entered the kitchen and I found my husband and a stranger. My husband was sweating in front of a pot full of Amala and the piston in his hand. My swung my head back and looked again. For real? What's going on?

Before I could say anything, my husband spoke: "Babe, you're awake. How was work today?" I don't even know how to begin to answer that question. Work was beyond hectic. I was given a case to defend this lousy man who thinks he has the right to treat his neighbors anyhow. I really never wanted the case, but my boss thought I was the best to handle it. I know the man was wrong, but I am supposed to defend him. It was a big struggle.

My spirit clearly stood against it, but I  have to choose between my job and my conscience. Losing the case may spell doom for my career. What do I do? I remember my husband telling me one night that we are supposed to live our life under the audience of one. God must be satisfied with everything we do. I chose to go with God. I deliberately kept quiet at some critical points in the hearing and the man lost the case. There was joy within me, but my boss frowned. He promised to deal with me the following day.

I got back home and just sank into the cushion to rest a bit. I never knew I would sleep off. Only for me to wake up and hear voices in my kitchen. I had slept for over an hour. Why is my husband making Amala in the presence of a stranger? Has he started boasting that he is best maker of Amala in Africa again? This is certainly embarrassing. What kind of wife would he think I am.

I managed to answer him. "Work went well; quite hectic though". "I knew it must be. We met you sleeping and I didn't want to disturb you. Meet my colleague, he followed me home to finalize some discussions". He was holding a glass of water. I greeted him and he responded stuttering "Gooooood eve evening, Mrs Olaniyi". "John, when did you start stammering? Don't tell me it's my wife's beauty that stung your tongues". We all laughed.

I can't wait for this scene to be over. I served the soup and we all ate. It was a quiet meal. The man didn't utter a single word and I was unusually quiet too. I know my husband must have noticed. He is a very observant man. Immediately Mr. John left, I asked my husband why he chose to embarrass me in front of a stranger. He looked bewildered. "I don't understand". "Why did you chose to make Amala in front of a stranger. What kind of wife do you want him to think I am? You are making Amala and I am sleeping. How does that sound?"

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