Jesse got to Mama Nkechi's place, and to his relief, she didn't make a fuss about the money his mother owed her.
No. She too understood how hard things were, so she only told Jesse to make sure to return the gas cylinder by 8 PM. She would need it to cook for herself and her two children, after all.
Standing by the doorway while waiting for Mama Nkechi to bring over the gas cylinder, Jesse glanced around the room, but didn't see her daughter, Nkechi, anywhere inside. He wasn't quite sure where she was, but no doubt she was definitely out, gallavanting around the neighborhood, searching for new gossips to spread.
She was the neighbourhood's unofficial newsreporter, after all, and she always seemed to know everyone's business before they knew it themselves.
Her son, Obinna, however, was right there, seated on the bed, deeply engrossed in his studies.
A rechargeable lamp illuminated the book he read in the dark of the room, and he adjusted his glasses up his face with a serious and focused expression.
Obinna always carried himself as if he were several years older than he actually was. He spoke with the wisdom of an old man whose hair had turned completely grey, and his mature demeanor often made Jesse forget that Obinna was actually a year younger than him.
The boy always had his face buried in one book or another, and it was no surprise that he consistently topped his class at school.
Jesse still remembered that one time he came home with several F's in his report card. That day, his mother had pulled him aside by the ear and asked him, "Look at Obinna, how many heads does he have?"
"One." Jesse had replied.
"And you, how many heads do you have?" she responded immediately.
"One." Jesse replied again.
"So if you both have the same number of heads, why did he come first and you last, ehn?" she shot at him.
It was the kind of roundabout logic African parents always used to drive home their points.
Her point was clear: if Obinna could excel, then Jesse could too — with enough effort, of course. And that was what worried her the most. Jesse never seemed interested in putting in the effort.
Naturally, Obinna was a genius who didn't need to study much to get high marks, but Jesse's mother believed that if he actually tried, it wouldn't be impossible for him to achieve good grades as well.
But as far as Jesse was concerned, Obinna had his talents, and he had his own. Obinna was being allowed to pour all of his efforts into what he was good at, and all Jesse wanted was to be allowed to do the same without comparisons.
He wasn't particularly upset about it, though. He knew his mother was just trying to look out for him and his future in her own way. She had never gone to school and still regretted it to this day, saying their living situation may have been different otherwise.
She just wanted him to have opportunities she never had, and that was why she pushed him so hard.
After leaving Mama Nkechi's place with the cylinder, Jesse made his way back to his room.
As he walked, the Solade family finally turned off their generator. The sudden silence was a pleasant surprise, and Jesse realized just how much he had needed the quiet.
It was amazing how you barely ever consciously noticed the disturbing and constant hum of noise pollution until it finally came to a much needed stop. The absence of the generator's rumble in the background really brought a sense of calm that Jesse hadn't realized he was craving until now.
When Jesse got back to his room with the gas cylinder and the fufu, his mother wasted no time and got to work immediately.
Using the gas cylinder, she began warming up the leftover pepper-tomato-onion sauce — what Nigerians typically called "stew" — so Jesse could use it as a soup for the fufu he was about to eat.
The aroma of the stew filled the small room as it simmered on the fire, and Jesse's stomach growled in anticipation. When it was finally hot enough, his mother served him a plateful of some of the stew.
The stew didn't have any meat in it, as that was too expensive for them to afford most of the time. What they could afford, however, were the bones. These at least gave the soup a meaty taste and aroma.
If you were one of the neighbors in the building and you caught a whiff of the stew, not knowing any better, you might think they were enjoying a delicious bowl of meat and stew. But in reality, it wasn't even meat and stew, let alone stew and meat; it was stew and bones.
You might wonder, "What do you mean? What is the difference between meat and stew, and stew and meat?"
Well... for those of you who don't know better, I hope you never have to find out from firsthand experience.
Truth be told, in Jesse's perspective, things didn't seem all that bad at the moment.
After all, some days, there was nothing to eat at all.
During those times, nothing broke his heart like seeing his mother going from door to door begging for assistance.
Compared to that, this food brought a smile to his face.
So what if they couldn't afford anything but stew?
So what if they couldn't afford meat?
At least they had a roof over their head and food in their bellies.
Their situation was still a lot better than that of a lot of people out there suffering in the world.
There were people starving day in and day out. People who hadn't seen a drop of rain or clean water to drink in forever. People who were unfortunate enough to be born in terrible and life-threatening warzones.
So, compared to that, there was nothing for Jesse to be depressed about. Instead, there was everything for him to be thankful for.
Sure, he knew that their life wasn't perfect — it was far from it. But it was theirs, and they were making the best of it that they could.