In the time before Aunty Sade died, Sundays had a colour. It wasn’t red even though her stew simmered with enough pepper to burst our eyes open, neither was it white even though we all wear white lace to church. Oh no, the colour of Sundays was yellow, it's always bright, warm and glowing like the sunlight that shines in our small compound every morning. Just
like the sunflower Aunty Sade planted by the gate, like her laughter as she called us one by one to come and eat.
Aunty Sade is my mum's younger sister, she had been living with us since God knows when, we grew up knowing her and loving her because she was love herself. She was always cheerful, smiling and joyful, she made home a peaceful place for us whenever our parents were not around even sometimes we prefer her presence to our parent's but we never dared to say that. When she finished her tertiary education and she started working, she leaves home early and comes home in the evening very tired so we don't really talk or enjoy her presence like before but she always make sure weekends were memorable for us especially Sundays.
Sundays were a ceremony in our house because Aunty Sade is around, everyone had a role to play. My brothers fetched water and I who is the only girl by my parents, ironed the clothes with the black iron that required hot coals and patience. My Dad would polish his leather shoes humming Ebenezer Obey’s songs while my mum makes sure the house is well tidy, Aunty Sade on her own part is the master chef who prepared jolly jollof rice and fried plantains. We added "Jolly" to qualify the jollof rice because it's actually the sweetest jollof rice you can think of, this recipe can actually raise the dead.
After church service, we would all return from church with joy, sweaty but shining as we sit on the floor and eating with our hands so that we can savour the taste of every grain of the jolly jollof rice. Aunty Sade never let us use spoons on Sundays. “Let the fingers taste the joy too,” she would say smiling.
Sadly, that was in the time before. This sad chapter of our lives started when we got a devastating news that Aunty Sade died in a motor bike accident when she was coming back from work. The colours of Sundays faded, the sunflower by the gate wilted. We missed every bit of Aunty Sade, we prayed it was a dream but we later woke up to the reality of the life ahead of us.
Sundays were now like the saddest day in the week, I stopped ironing, my brothers stopped fetching water without being shouted at, no more jolly jollof, no more laughter, we buried her in December.
Sundays now became just a routine. We still wore white lace and go to church but it didn’t shine. The food lost its soul, we the children became a ghost of ourselves. We missed Aunty Sade so much, we never knew death will take her away from us so quick in life.
However, one Sunday after the festive period. My mum decides to make a proper jolly jollof rice for us just the same way Aunty Sade usually make it, she fried plantains with it showing a golden brown colour.
When we all came back from church and she saw the spread on the table before us, our eyes welled up. We didn’t speak, we just took off our shoes, sat down and dipped our hand into the bowl of rice. We ate in silence, then my Dad started humming his favourite song by Ebenezer Obey. We smiled for the first time in months, the plantains tasted just like Aunty Sade's own. I imagined her watching us and smiling like she always does, that was the day I understood that the beauty of Sundays didn’t die with Aunty Sade, It had only gone into hiding waiting to be remembered.
Now every Sunday, my mum makes the jolly jollof rice, she stopped her hectic job to create more time for us, we became happy again with Aunty Sade's love on our hearts even till now I still wish I see her again.
Thank you for staying with me this far, I hope you had a good read, see you next time 🤗