Sammy and I go back a long way. On my arrival from the village at the age of 4 to stay with my Uncle’s family, we stuck together like Siamese twins. Sammy was a year older then and served as a houseboy to our next-door neighbors.
Always up to some mischief, Sammy had a trick or two to teach me every time on how to survive as a rural boy in the city.
“Look here, Donkey, if you play smart in city, you go always have food in ya belly and small change in ya pocket to keep you happy.” He would advice after pulling another stunt on hi s guardians. He never could get around calling me Donkey instead of Duncan . I guess he felt I was only as smart as a jackass.
For a poor, hungry village boy like me, that piece of yarn usually kept me excited and hopeful that someday I would look like one of those overfed, better-dressed returnee houseboys I saw in the village before my sojourn to town.
Many times Sammy would invite me to join him while eating whenever I was free with no immediate house chore. I was always green with envy at his pedigree whenever I set eyes on the bulging pieces of meat in his bowl of soup.
“Oh, boy. You de enjoy a lot. Look all these meat!”, I told him one day when I couldn’t contain it any more.
“Donkey, Donkey! When you go start using your brain?” Signaling for me to come closer, he whispered into my ears.
“Learn to help yourself to Mama’s pot of soup. Nobody will miss a thing, I promise”
As the realization of his idea dawned on me, I smiled. He smiled also and soon we were both laughing on heads off.
The next day after being served with my regular dose of a small piece of a small piece of beef, I helped myself to a large chunk of meat when I had the kitchen to myself.
As the days went by I increased the takings as my confidence grew. Soon I was averaging 6 pieces a meal. Sammy was always handy to help me consume some portion of the loot.
“ Duncan ! Duncan !!”, My madam’s voice screamed out that fateful afternoon after lunch, as I prepared to wash the dishes.
Rushing into the kitchen from the background, I knew the game was up when mama, her husband and 2 grown-up kids stood by the big pot of melon soup which I had raided some minutes earlier.
“So, it is you who has been stealing meat in my wife’s pot of soup, boy? My uncle bellowed in a thunderous voice.
My feeble denial betrayed me.
I later got to know how mama’s soup pot talked. When my uncle’s wife had started noticing the missing pieces, she had begun counting the chunks of meat in the soup-pot and had used an elimination process to catch me. I have been back at the village since the day after mama’s soup-pot talked.
