28/11/2025
I threw away the Jollof Rice my neighbor gave my children out of jealousy, and the next morning, all the stray dogs in the street were DEAD.
“Thank you, Ma! Thank you!” My children screamed in joy as they collected the plate of steaming rice and chicken from Mama Tobi.
I stood at the door, forcing a smile, but deep down, my heart was boiling with envy.
Before I tell you what I saw that made me scream, you need to understand something.
I am not a wicked person. I am just a mother who wanted her children to love her own cooking.
We lived in a "Face-me-I-face-you" apartment in Lagos. It was a large compound, and we lived on the ground floor.
Our neighbor, Mama Tobi, was the "Mother Teresa" of the compound.
She was rich, beautiful, and heavy-chested. She had no husband, and no one ever saw her go to work, yet she cooked like she was hosting a wedding every day.
The aroma of her stew could wake a dead man.
Every evening, around 6 PM, she would share food with all the children in the compound.
Fried rice, Jollof, Chicken, Goat meat.
“Come and eat, my babies,” she would sing with that her sweet voice.
And the children? They loved her more than their own parents.
My son, Junior, would refuse to eat my food. “Mummy, your stew is not sweet like Mama Tobi’s own,” he would say innocently.
Brothers and sisters, those words cut me like a razor blade.
It made me hate her. I started seeing her as a rival. Why must she feed my children every day? Is she the one who gave birth to them?
That Tuesday evening, she knocked on my door.
She was holding a large cooler.
“Mama Junior,” she smiled, her gold tooth shining. “I made plenty Turkey stew today. I said let me bring for the kids.”
I looked at the food. It looked delicious. The oil was red and thick. The turkey was fried to perfection.
But my jealousy took over.
“Thank you,” I said dryly, collecting the cooler.
As soon as she turned her back and entered her flat, I locked my door.
“Mummy, is that Mama Tobi’s food
