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Blog, Creative Essays, Writers

Eat What The Soil Gives You by Becky Peleowo

My first son came out all white when he was born. At first, I was thrilled that I had such a fresh-looking and cute baby but then I realized the cost of maintaining flawless white skin in a hot, mosquito-friendly, and begrimed environment. I had to become extremely maternal in his choice of food, cosmetics, and clothing. Not minding the cost, I bought the best baby food products like Gerber; patronised top recommended body creams like Aveeno and Sebamed and even shopped for fruits that were from the imported list after all, he was “Oyibo”. Soon he started having clusters of boils that looked so red but refused to have an eye. The clutters later became carbuncles and they kept reoccurring. I was the super mom and a neat freak when it came to his hygiene; how then did I go wrong? Private and general hospitals soon became our most visited sites in his first year. We had become regular “customers” and my little Oyibo was the favourite of many nurses and doctors who had a lot of advice to give on how to keep him white, under a hot climate. Motherhood became a herculean task for me. He always wore socks even in the sunniest of weathers just to keep the insects at bay. Some stubborn ones still found their way to his creamy flesh. His carbuncles did not disappear either. Perhaps the beefers had cast a spell on him. Then, I decided to see a family doctor in our locality. It was the only hospital close to our home but Dr Emerson was not as friendly as the previous doctors. He told me the gospel truth that I was feeding my baby mostly junk. His diet used to be full of processed food and I explored only little of local baby foods. He reminded me of one fact I had forgotten — My little one has Nigerian blood running through his veins and he lives in Nigeria. How did I expect him to thrive with the foreign nutrition I had placed him on? He explained that, though highly recommended, some of those foreign products I buy contain allergens and my oyibo could be reacting to them. I smelt beef! Haters, I thought to myself. He was just jealous. As if he had read my mind, the doctor advised that I made my cereal from yellow corn, guinea corn, and millet with a little ginger for flavour. In addition, I should add blended dried unripe plantains, crayfish, soya milk and sometimes peanuts (but in little quantities to ascertain he does not have allergies to them). Then he advised me to discard the foreign baby milk I prided in, to go for locally made milk like Peak or My Boy. For choice of cosmetics, I was urged to try coconut oil or other essential oils mixed with original shea butter. How dare he suggest that for my oyibo? I had little choice anyway because I needed to stop the carbuncles as they were leaving behind freckle-like scars on his skin. Fortunately, I tried the new formula and it worked like magic. My little one reduced weight. (His weight used to worry me a bit! Lol.) The boils stopped appearing, his immune system got stronger and we had fewer visits to the hospital. His skin took on a tougher yet smooth look. The scars from the boils were dispelled into tiny dark spots that looked like birthmarks. Most importantly, the local foods were cheaper, sufficient in quantity and had a richer taste. Eventually, I came out of my superficial world of adulterated education that the best things are foreign while our local products have low quality. One thing I would never compromise anyway was exclusive breastfeeding. I had made a resolve to go through the process through thick and thin with all my kids and it worked for me. I would say nature was designed to meet the needs of each nation with its unique features. My main concern, however, is how so many people have replaced homegrown foods with imported foods some of which have lost their natural value and taste to time, storage and distance. Although it is not widely propagated, homegrown foods are proven to be of more nutritional value than imported foods. As it is popularly said, ‘You can’t cheat nature. ‘ The soil where people originate from was designed to meet the needs of its inhabitants. This does not negate cultural integration or adaptation but I strongly believe there is a connection between the land and its occupants so much that, the best you need for your body system to function well is the soil designed to nourish it. Taking Nigeria as a case study, our weather conditions (rainy and dry seasons) have different foods and fruits attached to them while some are available all year round. Agbalumo, carrots and many citrus fruits, for instance, can be bought in large quantities during the dry season. Everyone knows the dry season comes with its kind of illnesses such as sore throat, coughs and eye infections that require high doses of vitamin C-related foods, so the land produces foods that the body needs mostly. There might not be very strong reasons to consume corn during rainy seasons but the vitamins and antioxidants in corn give the body the immune support it needs during the rainy season. Besides, who would not love hot corn in cold weather? So, when next you go shopping for foodstuffs, try to visit the local markets and stock up your kitchen with those fresh homegrown foods instead of consuming a whole lot of refined, over-processed foods. If not for any other reason, do it to boost our nation’s economy and help the local farmers to grow more food.

Blog, Creative Essays, Writers

Messidinho — The Making Of A Foodie by Emmanuel Enaku

I was always selective about what I ate as a child. I grew up in an average family with a lot of love. This love was even more intense because I happen to be the last born and the only son. It was normal during my childhood to prefer junk to the nutritious meals that my mum always prepared and most times, I refused to eat just because I didn’t want to. It was fast becoming a bad habit. I was getting skinny and looking malnourished and the fact that my health condition required that I ate enough food — delicious, balanced and nutritious meals that would keep me healthy and fit — made my parents worried. They’d tried everything to make me eat more, even stocking the house up with beverages, eggs and noodles but to no avail. It was biscuits, doughnuts and egg rolls with soft drinks I preferred. Eventually, my sisters learnt to make these things at home and mum tried to make provisions for flour and butter so that we could have the snacks ready at home. I was overjoyed. It didn’t matter that it was causing a strain on my parents’ monthly budget or that I was still getting tiny that I had to fold my shorts to have them remain on my waist or that I was constantly bullied because I looked so tiny. Wetin concern me? But then, dad was already getting fed up seeing me consume junk and continue to look sickly and weak. It happened on a certain day, that my mum had prepared a delicious meal of Moi-Moi. I had watched her prepare the meal, adding boiled eggs and bits of fish to the seasoned paste before wrapping it up and placing it on fire to steam and immediately, I had made up my mind that I wasn’t going to eat it. Yes, I was something else then. The food was ready, then and everyone tried to get me to eat but I remained adamant and they left me alone. At exactly 9:00 PM, a Toyota car pulled into the premises of block 18 Santa where we lived in the Barracks. I had heard the sound of the revving engine from the parlour where I sat and I knew without being told that my father was back. My father’s eyes sought me out — on the sofa where I had sat sulking — from the door post where he stood with his briefcase and a black package. Immediately, the strong aroma of well-grilled suya wafted into my nostrils and I rushed from the sofa to hug him. “Wait!” He said coldly. “Have you eaten?” He asked and his eyes became hard and glinted ominously at me. You see, my father was a disciplinarian though, not so hard or harsh but as a child, I had always avoided incurring his wrath because I was one who always wanted to be in his good books. Call it men things if you like. “I’m not hungry,” I said looking down at my toes. I could tell that it was going to be a long night because dad hadn’t even dropped his briefcase as he looked down at my tiny form. “Who said so?” He asked and lifted my wrist which was as tiny as a broomstick. “Oya, carry that side stool and sit by the table”, was the simple command he gave me. As I walked to the centre table holding the stool, dad asked one of my sisters to quickly make enough custard and bring two huge wraps of the Moi-Moi. He had set the briefcase on the sofa and handed over the huge package of smelling suya to my mother and then, he had taken off his coat and folded up the sleeves of his white shirt. I knew! oh yes, I knew without being told that it was going to be a night of war! And dear Lord, I shivered in anticipation. My sister brought the food and placed it on the table. A steaming bowl of custard that was almost spilling out unto the table and two mountainous Moi-Moi. I stared with incredulous intensity at the steams that emanated out of the suicide feast in front of me and concluded that my sister didn’t love me. “Very good!” My dad said unbuckling his hard leather belt, making his trousers sag a bit to reveal the mound of flesh that was his belly — covered in a white singlet and which pushed out of his unbuttoned shirt with determination and his eyes blazed down at me cruelly. “Eat!” He commanded. I grumbled and picked up the spoon but I certainly had no intention of eating. Of course, I was ready to have us awake the whole night. I just kept tapping into the bowl of custard and playing with the spoon around the plate of Moi-Moi while my father — whose form was towering over me — looked down at me impatiently. “I said eat!” He exploded fiercely and I shivered when I saw the muscles of his tummy contract aggressively. “I don’t have the appetite”, I said shakily. “No appetite?!” He asked with mock bewilderment. “Okay, we will fix your appetite.” My mother chuckled and my sisters giggled tauntingly at me as my father took off his shirt and advanced towards me, eyes holding sinister intentions. He grabbed my tiny arms carefully but firmly with a powerful left hand and reached down for my jaws with the fingers of his right hand. “Oya, grab his legs!” He commanded my sisters who gleefully surrounded me and clamped down on my tiny legs firmly! “Hold it very tight!” “Nye Ega, put two spoons of custard in his mouth!” He said to my mother who dropped the package of suya and reached for the spoon. My father squeezed down on my jaws and it was effectively pried open. I lay there helpless with impotent rage surging through me as I watched my mother fill my mouth up with custard and deftly clamped down on my

Blog, Reverie

The Metaphorical South-East Food & Fashion Festival.

There are numerous ways one can start small and grow big but the problem is that we always think of the end before even starting. You can partner with someone if your plan requires more resources. The aim should be straightforward. Create, market and sell. This automatically generates income and employment.

Blog, Reverie

Finding some soul food in Nigeria

“Twenty years from now you will be more disappointed by the things that you didn’t do than by the ones you did do. So throw off the bowlines. Sail away from the safe harbour. Catch the trade winds in your sails” ~ H. Jackson Brown Jnr   There is a common but erroneous belief among many Nigerians that relaxation is for the wealthy. A large percentage of our working population toil throughout the year without a break. And when some of the privileged ones take a break or vacation it is often used for shopping to display affluence and bragging rights. It is a little wonder then that we have a very low life expectancy at 53. Some argue that it would be complacent to rest on your oars when there are still mouths to be fed, fees to be paid and blocks to mould. However, a friend had always queried that since human beings are born into the struggle of life until six feet what harm will it cause to pause occasionally and stretch those weary feet? With the hustle and bustle of an increasingly restless and irritable populace trying to eke out a living under the scorching sun, Nigeria can hardly be described as your ideal environment for recreation. Starting from the blaring horns to the generator noise down to the church and mosque loudspeakers it is indeed a sweaty task to find some time to relax in the real sense of the word. But the truth is that it doesn’t have to be so. It is said that if you create time then time will be available. Better put by acclaimed writer Anne Lammot: “We don’t find time for what matters, we make time-and the priorities we set, define our destiny”. Even though tranquillity is a scarce commodity in Nigeria we can at the very least create for ourselves if we really desire to do so. Every now and then take some time out and embark on a digital detox to reduce the huge but mostly unnecessary consumption of media materials. Pick up a novel or two and lock yourself in, shut down all communications and don’t let yourself out till you close the last page. Take a break from the usual evening hangouts and go to the cinema with a loved one. Work out in the night and take a long hot bath. Then sit out with a bottle of wine, marvel at the beauty of the night. Try counting the stars while listening to some serenade. Go for a weekend getaway in a rural area where there is little or no network. Fall in love with the fresh air and natural surroundings devoid of urban pollution. Savour the lush greenery, walk to the stream and watch the tadpoles. Kick up some clay, stop by an anthill and check our the organisational behaviour of the wonderful colony. There are a million other cheap ways to carve out some tranquil time here. Try one today and you’ll be glad you did because most of the fears you nurse are unreal. Your business will not collapse. No matter how much you hug your money it will never hug you back. But the good thing is that money is always there to be made if we do the right thing. That opportunity you fear could pass you by is only one among many. Time will keep ticking away and the world will not stop whether you are at work or chilling. As a matter of fact, you will find out that you missed nothing but rather gained much because you would have enriched your soul and refreshed the very being that will be better poised to attain greater heights. So take some time of the clutter and relax. A clear mind is a healthy asset and your most productive tool.

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