The First Time I Ate Nigerian Akpu – Hilarious Funny Tale

I think I was born when food was cheap. When you could eat a meal and not worry about its cost. I didn’t eat eba until I was 7 and that was after my Dad moved us from Lagos to Kano. The ajebutter in me obviously. Though I have been kpakofied I’m butter at heart. I grew up on pounded yam and amala but mostly pounded yam.

I enjoyed pounded yam so much so that I could eat it morning, afternoon and night. Even during my service year. All through my stay in camp in Keffi, Nasarawa state all I ate for dinner was pounded yam. Nothing else. There was always a plate for me no matter the rush of customers. Won fi iyan se epe fun mi walahi. (Dem use pounded yam swear for me).

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And don’t be worried if you’re thinking “I can’t marry him, he’ll want me to pound”. I can pound. Just make my soup. Nsala preferably. Husband material inside boutique kan bu. And please go mix that your poundo flour with cement.

Now I picked up a habit from my constant intake of pounded yam. It made me a chewer. You know how pounded yam is just yam pounded into pulp. Mum had this fond habit of giving me some without soup while she was pounding.

It was a guise or gimmick to calm me if I was hungry, maybe cos’ of my love for it or sometimes to get me a bit full before the meal was ready.

Either way there was no soup, so I chewed it. And therefore I chewed everything. Even eba. White amala, black amala. I chew. Scrunch your faces all you want.

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Yeah I know you’re saying “how can someone be chewing ‘swallow’.” Well, don’t some of you dip bread inside tea?

Kan nukwa na mmili ju oyi ka ji eme garri. (Let me hear that they use cold water to make eba).

Seriously I have tried not chewing ‘swallows’ but the food gets stuck in my throat but don’t mistake it for meekness. Don’t ever think you want to have a eat down with me or cheat me when eating.

Service year I had to be served separately anytime we tried to eat communally in the lodge. I had a cooler mouth and never seemed to get burnt. I am the flash in food battles. Just ju kwa ajuju (ask questions).

Sorry I digress. So, on this day I don’t know the thing that happened. My aunty who was staying with us just went to market and came back with the stuff she had bought. Prepared ofe okulu with my mum(okra soup). I was playing seriously and didn’t know when the meal was ready.

“Junior come and eat your food.” My aunt called. ‘Piaaaauuun’ I was inside like a jet. Ahan. I was surprised. Pounded yam and Okulu(Okra soup. When did they pound? How come nobody called me to come and take some to chew? I was feeling pained. “Aunty Onyebuchi you pounded yam?” Aunty Buchi nodded with a mischievous smile. I didn’t understand.

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I called out to my mum. “Mummy you didn’t call me to come and take yam when you were pounding.” My mother just made one sound, “humwumwumhum.” I squeezed my face. What kind of answer is that sef?

I was forming sullen but my mother had finished work on the okulu. If you must sell your birthright like Esau did do it with an African dish like ofe okulu with diced pomo, beef, dry fish, ezigbo ose(better pepper) ya na okporoko(stock fish) not porridge.

See smoke for the soup. Seriously Esau fall hand there. When ordinary pant is bringing benz. Somebody sold his full birthright for Quaker Oats? With goat or sheep milk oooh. Not like it is Ladha milk or Peak. If I say tueeh now.

Something smelt funny in the house. I sniffed the air. I couldn’t place it. I looked around curiously. “Aunty what is smelling?” My aunt shrugged.

Anyway I cut the ‘pounded yam’ and threw like three lumps mixed with soup into my mouth. I chewed and tried to swallow. That’s when I noticed the taste. Hoemaigod! What was this? My body went krrraaaavrrrooo.

The taste slapped me. I shivered. My mouth was full. I was chewing but couldn’t swallow. I stopped. I looked at the food inside the plate. I was perceiving some weird shitty odour. I raised my hand and smelt it.

‘Ehiiiiiieeeee’ had this people packaged shit for me to eat laikdis ‘ni tori olohun’. The only smell worse than this smell in history of my young age and adventures around the kitchen was the ogiri smell. That one? I will never understand how something that smells that bad makes soup taste so good.

The acidic taste of this akpu was something else. I was flabbergasted. By now my mouth was full of ‘unswalloable’ akpu. I felt something crawling up my stomach. The ajebutter worms in my tummy were pushing the akpu back.” No way Junior we dinnor sign up for this shit,” the worms screamed.

“Dear worms I dinnor signup for this shit either but it’s in my mouth.” I conveyed to the worms telepathically. I was in dilemma. I forcefully swallowed the akpu with water. The worms barricaded my throat.”Bros lai lai we no gree oh. This thing no pass here. Highest, hunger go kill us all. Make dem make eba or you drink the soup like that. We die here.” The worms chanted in unison.

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“Are you okay?,” Mum asked. See kweshion Mrs Omoko was asking. See my mouth full from my first few morsels. I wasn’t chewing or swallowing. I was sweating profusely. I was far from okay you this woman. You people have poisoned me. All traces of the soup has left the morsels in my mouth. At that moment I wanted to cut my tongue

I tried to answer and I knew what would happen. Regurgitation. ‘ Viuuummm’ I was out and in the backyard dropping every single thing in my tummy and throat. Even my intestine wanted to escort the akpu out. But the worms held it back. “Yeaaaaaaah” I could hear victory chants by the worms. I had spoiled this worms.

From that day I started smelling my food. Nothing was sacred anymore. All this happened in the early nineties.

Then my parents left me in Kano in 99/2000 with an aunt. Agwahom agwa (Nobody told me). By the time hunger had touched different points of my destiny I learnt how to eat akpu.

Now I can eat Akpu for breakfast without blinking. Food that destroys hunger for hours. Six to Six. I chew it too. It is the Lord’s doing and it is marvellous in my eyes.

©Rick

This Story Was Submitted To Xycinews News Media.

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The art of Love Letter writing is dead and gone. Killed by science and technology. A tragedy, I must say. It was one of the best forms of expressing ones self and I took advantage of it.

I spent a lot of time writing love letters for my secondary school classmates to their girlfriends. I was so good at it. I could paint pictures with words. And of course I avoided those ambiguous words. Never for once did I use the sugar in my tea or cockroach in my cupboard routine. The cockroach thing is nonsense biko. That annoying and irritating creature has no business in anything that has to do with love.

Anyway there was this very beautiful girl who lived across the street. Anita. I had tried unsuccessfully to convey my feelings to her.

Her mom sold food so Anita had to help out and was never chanced. She was the last of 5 girls but older than the only boy Francis. Anita always gave me this smile every time I passed their stall. I looked for any excuse to walk past the stall. Sometimes I’d walk past there 15 times just for her smile.

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She’liked to call me Ju Love or Shebi love. I was the only kid in the area who was “shebiing” courtesy my move from Lag to Kano. Took me years to switch to ‘ko’. That ‘Love’ she calls me used to scatter my punk. One time like that her mother wasn’t in the stall and I passed by as usual. Anita called out, “Ju Lov”. There was a quantum shift in equilibrium. Smiling like a fool l walked into tree. ‘Wawu’ the pain was intense but smile remained.

So I wrote her a letter. I racked my brain. My imagination was in hyper. I was going to bedazzle and bamboozle her. I poured my heart out. ! One day by chance she came to fetch water in my compound.and I gave her the letter for her personal consumption. Unfortunately village people had other plans.

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I was at home when I heard noise outside. “Where that Junior. E dey write my pikin letter. Make him mama hold am o.” No escape route for me for at that moment cos I’d just finished washing plates and was arranging it. My mother looked at me and asked what the noise was about. I feinged ignorance. At that moment Anita’s mum came marching in, holding Anita by the ear and dragging her along. Boy was I so dead.

“Madam what’s the problem”, my mum asked. Anita’s mum heaving and panting passed the letter to mum and told her I’d written a love letter to her daughter. Everywhere went quiet.”Read what you wrote”, my mum said. I held the paper.

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With one eye on the paper and the other eye on my mum, Anita and her mum I cleared my throat and began to read. “Dear Aniluv.” My mothers neck became erect. I moved back. Na die I dey today.

I continued. “My reason for writing this letter is that I may not get the chance to convey my deep feelings for you in person. We’re policed by our parents and are time constrained.” An Igbo woman in the compound just shouted “Supu”. I almost smiled even Anita too. Love sweet sha. I looked into my mum’s eyes see thunder and lighting. Nothing about love in those eyes.

“Your smile lights up my day. The way your tongue caresses my name leaves me in a state of euphoria and unbridled joy. When I don’t see you I lose all appetite for food.”My mother eyed me upandan like coman eat this night lemme see.”

I knew I was truly finished when I saw the next line. Na me write am. It was sweet when I wrote it but reading it to my mum? Death! “You’re a queen and I adore you. Please be mine. I will do anything for you. Climb mountains for you. Cross rivers and oceans. My mum is my jewel but you’re my crown jewel.”

I scattered 3 legs of the table I was standing on. I could not see any white part of my mothers eyes again. Everything was shinning red red. ‘Wozzzzzaaaaiiii’ I collected one on my left cheek and ear. The weight of the slap carried me into a pile of clothes she had arranged. She screamed “Finish that letter. She is your crown jewel okwa ya.”

Mama Junior take am sofrey na only letter o”, Anita’s mother whispered. My mother eyed her. The woman kuku draw her child near her side. Bhet wait! What was the woman expecting when she came to report me? That my mum would lovingly hug me and we would live happily ever after?

I got up barely seeing anything through tears and the ‘weeeennnn’ sound in my ear. “Your eyes are like the stars. Bright and twinkling. You’re shaped like a goddess. I could sleep on your bosom till eternity. So soft and………

‘Tazzzzzaiiiiii’! My mum dropped the second slap on the same spot. It was no longer ‘weeeeen’ sound it was ‘waaaaaaaaannnnnnnn’. I had scattered the remaining leg of the table. “So Chukwufumnanaya e metu be go ala( Chukwufumnanya you have started touching bwess)”, mum growled.
Heiiiii! This was really bad. I was sniffling holding back the tears and hot catarrh I felt like blowing, “No Mummy it’s….it’s….it’s…my imagination.”

“Ehen so you’re imagining bwess”, she shouted. Confused I replied “No mum it’s temporary thoughts.” She just picked the spatula and gave me at the top of my head ‘kooommm’ I don’t know when I shouted “Mummy it’s the devil that pushed me.” My mama no dey hear that kain nonsense. She gave me extra doses of semi permanent marks to remember the day by.

Village people 100. Me zero. I stopped passing Anita’s stall. In fact my eyes were always in front when passing. Then I went and watched adult video with her brother Francis but that’s another story.

©Rick