I would have to if I had no one to help in the house; You know how it is back here Kelvin. The wife goes to the field to dig with baby at her back, She comes back with firewood on her head, dashes to the river to collect water with which to wash and cook. Does the washing, sweeps the house and compound. Now she starts thinking in terms of food.
If she is lucky, there will be some millet or maize flour ready and all she needs will be some vegetables from the little plot she keeps behind the kitchen. She prepares that and since it is now evening, she feeds her baby, feeds herself after putting aside a generous amount for her husband who left on his bicycle very early in the morning without saying where he was going. She did not ask him where ; she knows better than to ask.
She went to sleep only to wake up to a kick on her legs. The husband is home. He wants his food. She is so tired, she tells him where the food is. He will have none of that. He must be served properly by the wife in his own house. His voice becomes threatening. She quickly gets up, hoping against hope that the food is still warm. Yes it is, She had covered it ever so carefully, because the fire in the fireplace had long since gone out and to light it again at this hour would only irked him some more.
She placed the food before him with all the due respect an African woman is supposed to show her husband. But today, there was no pleasing him. One look at the dish and he gave her a single blow that sent her sprawling and cowering against the single central pillar of their tiny mud hut. Her fault? The vegetable dish. Why is she always cooking vegetables for him ? Is he a goat? Does he even look like one?
It could happen