Excerpt from A Kind of Madness by Uche Okonkwo, plus links to reviews, author biography & more

After a while, Marigold served steaming wraps of okpa on a large platter. "Just something small to hold our stomachs until I prepare lunch," she said as she set it down on the center table. Udoka relished the firmness of the okpa, the way the spices came together in her mouth—the pepper sharp enough to sting but not hot enough to catch in her throat. The palm oil was the good kind; it didn't leave a gritty feeling on the roof of her mouth. Marigold would expect the same level of culinary excellence from a daughter-in-law.

When they finished the okpa, Marigold invited Udoka into the kitchen to help with lunch, telling Agatha to rest in the guest bedroom. Udoka recognized this as a ploy to get her alone, and she felt suddenly grateful for all the cooking lessons her mother had subjected her to as a girl. She would be on her best behavior. Her future, and her mother's, depended on it.

Marigold's kitchen was impressively modern to Udoka, with its terrazzo floor, tiled counters, and gleaming stainless-steel sink with running water. There was also a gas cooker, which spurted a cool blue flame when Marigold turned it on. Udoka tried to keep her eyes from widening in appreciation. She was not sure how much Marigold knew of her family's financial situation, especially since her father's death eleven years ago, but she didn't want her potential mother-in-law thinking she and her mother were undeserving of her sophisticated son. She wondered what Marigold would think when she visited their house and saw the extent of her family's decline. She was particularly ashamed of the old mud structure that stood at the back of the compound and served as a kitchen, with its walls blackened from smoke, the firewood smell that clung to one's clothes, and the lizards playing endless games of hide-and-seek in the rafters.

Udoka reminded herself to focus on the tasks at hand. She needed to make a good impression today so Marigold would overlook anything she might consider less than ideal about Udoka and her mother's status.

"What are we making, Mama?" Udoka asked.

"Egusi soup. It's Mazi Okoro's favorite."

As they worked, Udoka felt Marigold watching her, noting how thoroughly she washed the meat and cleaned the tripe and cow skin. Marigold measured with her eyes how much spice and seasoning Udoka used, how high she set the fire to cook the meat. Marigold, smiling and disingenuous, kept assigning the more difficult tasks to Udoka. When Marigold placed a bowl of live, unshelled periwinkles before her, Udoka tried not to show her distress.

"Mazi Okoro likes periwinkles in his soup," Marigold said. Udoka swallowed. She had never handled unshelled periwinkles. Her mother, whenever she bought periwinkles, had them shelled at the market. In her panic, she asked what she thought was a stupid question.

"Should I remove them from the shells, Mama?"

"No, my dear. Just break off the tail end. Use this." Marigold took a small machete from a drawer and handed it to Udoka. "My husband likes to suck the periwinkles out of the shells."

Marigold gave her a low stool to sit on and spread a few newspaper pages on the floor, so she could break off the shells without scarring it. She said, "Make sure you don't cut too much or too little off the shell. If you cut too much, the periwinkle will fall out; cut too little, and it will be impossible to suck it from the shell."

Udoka took the first periwinkle between her thumb and index finger, held it to the floor, said a silent prayer, and brought the machete down hard on the pointed end. The end came off with a satisfying snap, and Udoka hid her relief. Marigold watched her work on a few more periwinkles, nodding her approval before turning away to check on the meat.

With the periwinkles cut and washed several times over, Udoka heated palm oil in a pot on the stove while Marigold pretended to arrange her shelves. Udoka added the onions that Marigold had chopped, fragrant steam from the pot enveloping her face and filling the room. With the onions frying, Udoka poured in the ground melon seeds Marigold had measured out, stirring the yellow paste to keep it from burning. She tasted the mixture after a while, remembering to put the ladle to her palm and not her tongue. When the melon seeds had fried long enough, Udoka added the meats and stock, tasted the mixture again, added some more pepper, salt, seasoning cubes, and crayfish, covered the pot, and left it to simmer. She would add the periwinkles later and, finally, when the pot was almost ready to come off the stove, the ugu leaves.

Excerpted from A Kind of Madness by Uche Okonkwo. Copyright © 2024 by Uche Okonkwo. Excerpted by permission of Tin House Books. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.