Isi ji! How we hated that part of a yam tuber. But, whenever mommy cooked, that redundant part invariably found its way to the pot. Whenever I was to select yam pieces into my plate, I picked the “good” part. In slight indignation, Mommy would look at my plate and ask why I didn’t take some isi ji. You’re meant to distribute it; only one person can’t eat the head. How could you just take the fine part and leave the rest for us? Whenever she rambled on like that, I wanted to ask her, “Why cook something no one wants to eat?”
As I grew older, mommy insisted I add isi ji to the pot whenever I was to cook yam. You shouldn’t waste it, she’d say. I tried to reason with her that it didn’t make sense if we hated isi ji yet added it to the pot.
August 30, 2015
And this article centre’s on a “Sunday Sister”.
My friends tell me stuff, personal stuff, because they know I won’t judge them and I keep secrets. I understand we’re humans with primal, animalistic proclivities. I feel people should indulge in whatever they want with the condition that it doesn’t affect anyone negatively. Continue reading
(This is a chapter from a book I’m working on. I hope
you like it. It was written from different women’s
experience. Any character’s semblance to real people
is coincidental. The story is set in South West Nigeria
between 2001 – 2003).
At her mother’s insistence, she had gone to spend the holidays at her uncle’s home in Osogbo. If only she’d known, she would have stayed back in Lagos. Continue reading