Victor Jenkins Etim

Every Midnight I See a Frog in My Pot of Soup.

The first time I saw the frog, I thought I was tired.
I had been awake since dawn, selling vegetables in the market, shouting until my throat burned. By the time midnight came, my eyes were heavy and my body felt like it was breaking into pieces. Hunger pushed me to the kitchen. Real hunger. The kind that makes your hands shake.
I poured water into the old black pot. I added palm oil, pepper, salt. I stirred slowly, thinking of nothing but food and sleep. The house was quiet. Too quiet. Even the wall clock had stopped ticking days ago.
When the soup started boiling, I leaned closer to check the taste. That was when I saw it.
A frog.
Small. Green. Wet. Sitting calmly in the middle of my soup like it belonged there.
I screamed. The spoon fell from my hand. The pot almost tipped over. My heart beat so hard I thought it would tear my chest open.
I jumped back, breathing fast, my eyes fixed on the pot. The frog did not jump. It did not move. It only stared at me.
This cannot be real, I whispered.
I closed my eyes. I counted to ten. When I opened them again, the frog was gone.
Only soup. Boiling. Normal.
I laughed at myself. A tired laugh. A foolish laugh. Maybe hunger had finally driven me mad. I poured the soup into a bowl and ate quickly, not wanting to think too much.
But that night, sleep did not come.
I kept seeing the frog in my mind. The way it looked at me. Not like an animal. Like a person who knew me.
The next day, my mother noticed something was wrong.
You look like someone who did not sleep at all, she said.
I wanted to tell her. But how do you explain a frog appearing in soup at midnight. She would say it was stress. Or hunger again.
So I kept quiet.
At exactly midnight the next day, hunger woke me again. My stomach growled like an angry child. I tried to ignore it. I lay still on my mat, staring at the ceiling.
Then I heard it.
Plop.
A soft sound. Like something falling into water.
My blood turned cold.
Slowly, I stood up. Slowly, I walked to the kitchen. My legs felt weak. My hands were shaking.
The pot was on the stove. I had not touched it since morning.
I lifted the lid.
The frog was there again.
Bigger this time. Darker. Its skin looked rough. Its eyes were wide open. Watching me.
I cried out loud. Tears rushed down my face before I could stop them.
Who are you
Who are you
My voice echoed in the kitchen.
The frog did not answer.
It only stared at me. Its mouth did not move. No sound came out. Yet the air felt heavy. Thick. Like something unseen had entered the room.
My head started to ache. My chest felt tight. I wanted to run, but my legs refused to move.
Then the words came.
Not from the frog’s mouth.
Not from anywhere I could see.
The voice was deep. Cold. Ancient.
I am Diamond, the mother of frogs, the mother of seven rivers. I am here to take what rightfully belongs to us.
I screamed and fell backward. My back hit the floor hard, but I felt no pain. Fear swallowed everything.
You do not belong here, you evil demon
None of you or your descendants belong to me
So please find your way out and never return
My voice shook as I shouted. Tears streamed down my face. I did not know where the courage came from, but it poured out of me.
A low laugh filled the kitchen.
Oh no, Jasmine
I am here for you
It is time to take you to the world which you belong
My heart nearly stopped.
It knew my name.
No
No
I reject you
I cannot be among you
My body trembled violently. My teeth knocked together.
The frog finally moved. It slowly climbed to the edge of the pot. The soup spilled, but it did not burn it. The creature looked stronger now. Taller.
Go and ask your mother
Stop proving stubborn
The voice grew louder. Closer.
The next time I return, you are going with me
As suddenly as it came, the air changed. The kitchen felt empty again. The frog vanished. The pot stood still. No soup. No sound.
I stood there frozen.
Speechless.
Unable to cry.
My heart was beating so fast it hurt. My hands were numb. My whole body felt like it did not belong to me anymore.

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Victor Jenkins Etim

Man shall not live by bread alone but with the world of the God

I dey small but if I go out with you! They will notice me before you