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).
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.
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.
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.
“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.
This Story Was Submitted To Xycinews News Media.
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Emotional Poems about Broken Heart, Life Struggles, Love and Pain
What type of poem do you like reading?
Poems about Love, or poems about life struggles, or even poems about death!! Well, that might not matter now. But here, we assure you of something, having a good read.
Poem is a mild and calm melody slowly played to show depth of feelings or emotions. But, circumstances has made some poems more enjoyable. Example, a poem about death read when feeling sad can have major emotional reflex.
Also, Poems falls
under various sector with various names apportioned to them.
We got poems about broken heart, poems about Love, poems about pains and many more.
Although, Emotional poems have very powerful spot on soft hearts. Some poems could be so affectionate to the mind and soul while so could develop our mind for suspense or rest.
Below is a poem by EFE.
History from time long ago has produce great poets who write poems about varying topics. Poets are those with the efficient skills of writing poems, breaking boredom and creating excitement.
Also, Poems has played a major role in the human mind and body system. All at one time in life has probably sang a poem.
But wait, take for an instance the nursing mother who sings to her baby before bed time, that can be a lovely poem depending on its format and content. That possible a poem about the stars and moon.
Examine another lovely poem written by Zarah below.
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Events are said to cause emotions, those feelings in expressive words produce a poem with relation to our present feelings. Lots of poems have being written worldwide, some are so short while others so long.
An Indian poem called the Mahabharata is said to be the longest poem with over a million words.
The world has globally recognize march 21st as world poet day, so write a poem, be a poet and be proud to join the celebration.
Read the poem title Broken by TeamTegz below.
Some great poet of all time include
- Wole Soyinka born in 1934 and from Nigeria.
- Ana Paula Arendt born in 1980 and from Brazil.
- Mustafa Nissaboury born in 1943 and from Morocco.
- Also, Ken Saro Wiwa, the freedom fighter was from Nigeria was a great historical poet.
- Shady Yasin born in 1984 and from Somalia.
- David Rubadiri born in 1930 and from Malawi.
- Also, Gabriel Okpara born in 1921 and from Nigeria was notable for his poems.
- Ari Sitas born in 1952 and from South Africa.
- Elizabeth Akers born in 1832 and from America, Although late, her poems ain’t LATE.
These are just but a very few poets, they were not the best in poetry, but they had impacting words to the readers of poem.
Thinking of the benefit of being a poet is far more than imagine. It opens the door to world of vocabulary development, create recognition in the society, although a poem is relatively short, those lines can pierce the heart, and lot others.
Try reading poems, try writing some.
Also, feel free to mail us your poem for publishing here.
DRUNK IN POETRY
*DRUNK IN POETRY*
Back to drinking always
Hoping to achieve full sacks
Never to be called a fool who lacks
Young lad turns bad
Dad get mad for poets
He’s always inking and never sinking
Poetry with it poultry
It rears and bears words for the world
Gotten from emotions through motions and actions
This drink cost alot of sacrifice
It’s a calling from God not gods
It’s made fancy with great fantasy
Scribbling and dribbling every morning to get the perfect target from imperfect tar get
All to write and get proper paid money from improper laid
It’s right so it keeps occurring and recurring every night
Learning more leads to earning more
A bard called an addict for poems
We pray for positive ray of glories from our negative stories to get the best card from the rest pad
WRITTEN BY Cynthia Maduekwe (CyanahPENBARD not bad)
Chinwendu Chinonyerem Emmanuel(SYNW ALVAN and NSCW FINANCIAL SECRETARY) and Maduekwe Cynthia Chinenye (SYNW-UCC and NSCW FINANCIAL SECRETARY)
.DUET ON THE TOPIC: *DEAR GOD!*
Death speaking in tongues,
As a flame of fire tongue
Waiting like a waiter to receive the glory of shame through men
For they act like hen
What will I gain gain from this question WHEN?
Where every huddles of beast has turned to a gist
I respect the voice of the wilderness,
For the desert has wildered away in my twinkle like a disappearance star
Waiting to see the moon in no avail of its angle
Calling the angEL of angLE
To stand for me in the darkest path
Pushing me away from the rocky parts
The big eye is at its centre of equilibrium
Having its measurement at the pendulum of the cambium
Recording the result as insult
For the innovations has turned to renovations
For I know I have a salvation that will take me to the sanctuary
The pad has turned to bad
For the hope is now in between the spoke of a bicycle
Reason me ohhh God
For my people are now dog
Trying to dodge from the dirge of the succors
Belittling the scorpion as a tiny beast of the breast
That will rest in the chest of the heavenly bed…
It’s already March
Still waiting for the success story
Everything been tough
Everywhere is rough
Results turns insults
The blacks lacks alot
The government has left us hanging
Anger revolves around
Your daughter needs aids
It’s not our daughters getting AIDS
Boys takes their prides in exchange for papers
They lost their fortunes all to lust
The sun race grace the son to hustle less
No matter our mistakes pardon us and bless
We appreciate your efforts and seek more efforts
Our past stories shouldn’t hurt the present and future
Written by #CyanahPEN & #Mr Rays
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