Back to the City of Uyo// Sunday June 15, 2025.

As I stepped off the vehicle that had carried us for two and a half hours, the scorching sun of Uyo greeted me, a stark contrast to the serene village we had left behind. My little boy, Princewill, clung to me, his eyes scanning our surroundings, taking in the familiar sights of our hometown.

Our journey had been long and arduous, spanning one week and two days, filled with the rustic charm of village life and the relentless tasks that came with it. The memory of processing Garri from scratch still lingered, the sweat, the toil, and the satisfaction of seeing the final product.

But it wasn't just the physical labour that had taken its toll; carrying my bags, managing Princewill, and ensuring we had everything we needed had been a monumental task. I was tired, the kind of tired that seeps into your bones, making every step feel like a chore.

Yet, as we made our way home, something within me stirred. Perhaps it was the thought of finally resting my head at least for some time, or the joy of being back in our own space. Whatever it was, it gave me the strength to push through the exhaustion, to take on one more task before I could truly rest.

We stopped at the market to select the freshest scent leaf vegetables, the plumpest chicken, spices and other ingredients. Princewill watched with wide eyes, occasionally asking for something, his voice a welcome distraction from my fatigue. Back home, I set about cooking.

I started by boiling the rice, while carefully washing the chicken which I've chopped to pieces. As the rice simmered, I filtered it to be sure there was no chaff or sand of any kind. I added sale and maggie to give it a taste though I will be eating it with pepper soup.

Now the chicken, I steamed it properly before putting all the ingredients accordingly before putting the scent leaf at last, the chicken pepper soup simmered on the gas cooker, filling the air with its savory aroma, mingling with the scent of rice cooking to perfection. It was a simple meal, but one that filled my heart with joy, knowing it would nourish both Princewill and me.

As we sat down to eat, the first spoonful of soup was like a symphony of flavours on my tongue. It was perfect, the kind of perfect that only comes from cooking with love. Princewill, too, seemed to enjoy it, his face lighting up with each bite.

Dinner was a repeat of lunch, the leftovers just as delicious. As the evening drew to a close, I felt my eyelids growing heavy, the exhaustion of the past week finally catching up with me. Princewill, sensing my tiredness, snuggled closer, his small body a comforting presence.

As I drifted off to sleep, I felt a sense of peace, a sense of being home. The journey had been long, the tasks many, but in this moment, surrounded by the familiarity of my home and the love of my child, I felt truly welcomed back.