Finding my flavour

Cooking and baking are two of the things I love doing. It started with me watching my mom as she cooked, her okra soup always tasted delicious and so was her egusi soup, Infact her food overall was always tasty. Whenever my mom asked me to cook something I'm always happy because I got the opportunity to try out something new. Each time I took my food to school, my friends always loved eating from it. This also gave motivation to keep cooking and trying new things.

One day, a cooking competition was organized in my compound and I decided to enter. My hands shook as I prepared my egusi soup, adding my secret spices. The smell filled the air, and I saw people turn their heads. When the judges tasted it, their eyes lit up. For the first time, I felt like I could really be somebody.

There was this cousin of mine, Ngozi. We grew up together but she always seemed jealous of me. She stepped up to present her dish and when she opened it, my heart sank, it was exactly like mine. As she began to explain the recipe, I felt sick. It was my recipe, the one I had created after years of practice.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to grab Ngozi and shake her, ask her how she could do this to me, ask her how she could steal my thunder. But I just stood there, feeling betrayed. I later found out that he had been watching me, through the window, writing down everything I did,each time I cooked.

The judges couldn't decide the winner between, we both got medals but I wasn't happy. My big moment, my chance to shine, had been stolen.

My mom saw how sad I was after the event, she sat me down and said, "Victoria, your talent is in your hands and your hearts, no one can take it from you".

Gradually, I started cooking again. I created new recipes, guarding them carefully. Each dish was a piece of my heart, a story of my life in Lagos.

A year later, I entered another contest. This time I prepared something different, which was my father's favorite dish - spicy fish stew.
When I won first place, tears filled my eyes. I'd done it, not just for me, but for my family, for everyone who believed in me.

That day, I realized something important. Ngozi might have stolen my recipe, but he couldn't steal my passion, my creativity, or my spirit. My love for cooking was mine alone.

People in Lagos now know me as the chef who always has something new to offer. But more importantly, I know myself as someone who didn't let betrayal break him. Every time I step into a kitchen, I'm reminded that my true strength comes from within.

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