It was supposed to be a peaceful Sunday afternoon.

My aunt had traveled all the way from Port Harcourt to spend the weekend with us in Lagos. Everybody was excited because whenever she visited, she cooked like she was competing on television. The whole compound would smell like onions, pepper, and fried turkey before noon.

That day, she announced confidently:

“Today, una go taste real jollof rice.”

Immediately, my mum replied from the sitting room:

 “As long as you’re not doing that watery Port Harcourt style.”

Everybody laughed nervously.

That should have been the warning sign.

By 2PM, the kitchen had become a war zone. My aunt believed jollof should be smoky, rich, and spicy. My mum believed too much pepper was an attack on innocent stomachs. My older brother joined my aunt’s side because he liked “party jollof.” My dad stayed neutral like a politician during elections.

Then my cousin made the mistake that changed everything.

He tasted the rice, nodded seriously, and said:

 “Aunty’s own is better sha.”

Silence.

The kind of silence that makes you suddenly interested in your phone.

My mum dropped the spoon slowly.

“Better than whose own?”

My cousin started stammering immediately.

Within minutes, two pots of jollof rice were on the cooker. One made by my aunt. One made by my mum. Suddenly everybody in the house became food judges.

My younger sister was moving from kitchen to parlour carrying spoon samples like a waiter in a restaurant.

Even neighbours got involved.

One woman passing by smelled the food and shouted from outside:

 “Hope say una go share o!”

By evening, the argument had become less about rice and more about pride, family rivalry, and whose state cooks better food.

My dad finally tasted both dramatically and announced:

 “They’re both nice.”

Terrible answer.

Both women got angry at him.

That night, nobody spoke during dinner. But the funniest part?

The two pots finished completely before morning.

Till today, family gatherings still include random comments like:

“Please who cooked this one first before we praise it?”

And every time jollof rice is mentioned, somebody must bring up “The Great Sunday Food War of 2026.”