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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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Naabiae Nenu-B is an Epic Photographer and a Passionate Writer. His Epic Nature Photos and Writing Skills has Awarded lot of Recommendations and Online services.

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Poems and Tales

From Sun To Rain – Helping A Kid On His Feet Back Home With Emotions

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On a sunny noon, I found myself walking a 45 mins journey to my school prominent junction “Uniport Junction”. It was more painful when I walk past the first bus park “Abuja park”, but a young broke guy has nothing to worry until he arrive to his destination.

30 minutes to my painful journey, I stumbled upon a kid around “12 years” my conscience will never let me walk past his red swollen eyes. He looked so cute, innocent, lackadaisical and slothful.

My knees down, I asked “My friend what’s wrong?”, his pitied looked won’t let me stand the fact am a man, my weak emotions were already reacting to his crying intonations, my fragile tears glands without my permission filled my eyes with tears like rain yet to pour from the cloud.

 

The sun was damn so hot, he was bear footed, he trousers were falling from his waist as he has no belt, he was putting on a feminine top, whereas he is a guy. I knew family conditions weren’t so comfortable.

 

With tears, he hugged me uttering “I lost the money my mummy gave me to buy slippers”, my cloth already stained with his sneeze – I wasn’t concerned at all.

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Concentiously, my tears glands spilled all the stored cloud rain. I didn’t know when I found myself backing him to “Uniport junction market”, his money has being picked by someone else, the coal tar heat was unbearable for his feet, he had no dad – what will a good Samaritan do? I just had to back the light weighted guy.

In 10 mins time, we arrived. I deeped my hands in my pocket, gave him the micro penny I had. I smiled at him, but I knew deep in me I have saved him from lashes at home – I told him “Keep whatever change that remained”, foolishly some will say “Without zeal for happily losing my little kobo, I walk it all back for about an hour”.

I knew he was happy, but my emotions was mixed with depression, stress and joy.

 

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Disclaimer

I took no photo of him, I consider that to be privacy infringement on a minor.

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Poems and Tales

Tears of Nelson Sousa And The Blood Field – An African War Story

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Summary – This is an imaginative story about a Rwandan and Nigerian born called Nelson Sousa.

Directly or indirectly, the characters are in no way referred to any one at all, but 100% imaginative. If you like this post, I will write more.

African War Story

In the dark era of apartheid, Nelson Sousa was born in Nusenga to a Rwandan father and a Nigerian mother. After a childhood primary and secondary school education in Nigeria, enduring lost of civil wars and economical crisis, his family moved to Rwanda for a greener pasture and peaceful environment.

Facing the first scornful looking military personnel along the border sparked an awkward and scary sensation deep down their nerves. Rusty waste along the street, widowed women mourning loudly, hungry kids pulling the cloth of passerby, the Nelson’s family regretted a once happy decision.

With eyes filled with blood, little Nelson looked up to Dad and ask, “Papi Papi are we going to die? Why are people running like wild antelope like those in Kupentog forest?”, “Please answer me, I want to …” rapid gun fire filled the air. The dark angry Rwandans dread bands were on the move, robbing and carrying societal vices. Some looking so young, carrying heavy guns and leaves tied around their waist, they kept shooting mercilessly.

Grabbing Nelson and having his wife follow them closely, seemed a brilliant and safe idea. 15 minutes of zik zag running for safety, she dropped flat. She has being gunned down. Nelson watched his mum drop down like an antelope shot in the wild. Seeking safety beneath a truck, Nelson was faced with life reality. “Papi papi, look mami is dead” he said crying.

Seven (7) years later, Nelson lost his father due to stroke, he was now an orphanage in his homeland, making Rwanda the home of peace was his vision. From local school head to a community activist, he won the hearth of the masses and joined the country politics. Throw back to the memories of an African War Story .

Subsequently, after three (3) years of political struggle, he was assassinated by an unknown assassin. His death was acclaimed to be from the opposing party. Today, his written poem is stilled used to honor him for his courage and service to humanity.

This Is an African War story & it is associated with a poem. Click link below to read poem.

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Poems and Tales

Poem Of An African War Story – Red Sky

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An African War Story

Gripping tree bark and gnashing my teeth seems ah balance diet

A proud land filled with germinating bullets on the plain field

Green white green land covered with red black red tears and blood

O Nusenga, you never said welcome

 

Rapid shots and cries defiled my ears

Killing skills became the industrious skills I imagined

The kids lift arms and smile at their new record

I feel many man they brag

 

Like a fallen tree, will mami ever rise again?

Well I fall too? Nusenga will you always love me

Family away forever, the struggle just beginning,

The cock that crows are heard by kids,

Food is hard undeniably, tears is at disposal,

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Chapters of an African war story

 

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