The Diary Game [28/02/2026] // From Fireside Achu to Fever Nights: A Mother’s Weekend in Cameroon
Hi guys, accept special Steem greetings from the motherland of Cameroon and welcome to my blog where I share my daily lifestyle content with you all. What a weekend it has been.
I woke up before the sun, when the house was still wrapped in that gentle silence only mothers truly appreciate. Before the children could tumble out of bed with their endless demands, I sat quietly on the mat in the living room and began my morning meditation. I breathed in deeply, letting gratitude fill my heart, gratitude for life, for my family, for strength. Some mornings, that quiet moment is the only thing that keeps me balanced for the storm that follows.
By 8 a.m., I had put on my dress and headed to the local market. There is something about a Cameroonian market that feels alive, the chatter of women bargaining, the sharp scent of spices in the air, the vibrant colours of fresh vegetables piled high. Today, I was on a mission, I had been craving achu and yellow soup all week and that craving would not let me rest.
I moved from one stall to another, carefully selecting cocoyams, fresh spices, limestone, palm oil, and of course, good meat. The butcher tried to convince me to take more than I needed, but experience has taught me to stand my ground. By the time my basket was full, my arms already ached, yet my heart was satisfied. I knew I was about to create something special.
Back home, I did not waste a minute. I changed quickly and went straight to the local fireside behind the house. There is no shortcut to good achu if you want the outcome to be satisfactory. The cocoyams must be boiled perfectly before pounding. The yellow soup must be mixed with patience and strength, the oil turning that beautiful golden colour as the spices blend. Sweat rolled down my back as the fire burned hot, and the pounding felt like a full gym session. My arms complained, but my determination was stronger.
After hours of preparation, it was finally ready. The aroma alone made all the exhaustion worthwhile. I plated it beautifully and called the children with excitement, hoping they would share my enthusiasm.
Ah, motherhood!!!
They looked at the plate as if I had served them a foreign experiment. “Mummy, we do not like it…,” they protested. I tried persuasion, I tried encouragement, I even tried that firm look that says, “…You will eat this.” The struggle was real and in the end, they ate just enough to please me, while I enjoyed every bite with deep satisfaction. It may not be their favourite, but it will always be part of their heritage.
As the afternoon settled in, I tried to catch up on some online work as deadlines do not respect weekends. My laptop balanced on the table while the children played noisily nearby. I had barely focused for thirty minutes when I heard that cry, the kind that pierces a mother’s heart instantly.
My son had fallen while running and in that moment, I transformed from chef to nurse. I cleaned the wound carefully despite his protests, applied antiseptic, and dressed it properly. He clung to me, tears streaming down his face. I held him close, whispering reassurance even though I was tired to my bones.
My son got injured while running.
Evening came, and though my body begged for rest, I could not miss the English Premier League matches. Football weekends are sacred in this house. I followed the game between Manchester City and Leeds with keen interest, trying to distract myself from the events of the day. The match brought moments of excitement, small bursts of joy amid the chaos.
But the night was not peaceful because my son’s pain intensified, and he cried repeatedly. My heart broke each time I checked his temperature it was rising. I gave him Ipu-para to calm the pain and reduce the fever, praying it would work quickly. I stayed by his side, until his breathing slowly steadied.
Motherhood is beautiful, but it is not easy. Today tested my strength in many ways physically, emotionally, and mentally. Yet as I sit here writing, exhausted but grateful, I know I would choose this life again and again. Until my next diary, remain blessed.
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