It was one of those tranquil evenings when the Sun goes home in grand style, splashing vibrant hues of amber gold and red tints across the Clouds. This was true majesty! I would exclaim, could anything else be more beautiful? I didn't think so.
I was sitting close to the fireplace watching Grandma mold the pounded yam into a ball, and then pour a copious amount of soup into the mortar. Dinner was ready and I couldn't wait, I had been patiently sitting there, enduring the assault of different kinds of aroma from her pot. I was done salivating so I quickly washed my hands and delved right into it.
'Grandma, why don't you use the kerosene stove instead of this firewood eh?' I asked, licking my fingers and savoring the lingering flavour from the delicious 'Oha' soup ( a soup made from the leaves of an evergreen tree, botanical name, Pterocarpus mildraedii ).
Grandma always made my favourite soups and meals with lots of fresh prawns and assorted meat and fish, this was one of my 'favouritest' because with her culinary skills, any meal was my favourite.
When I grew up, I wanted to be a wonderful cook just like her. Daydreaming of how I would churn out one tasty meal after the other for my family, I chuckled at my thoughts' direction, that should be many years from now, but my reverie was broken by grandma's next words.
'Your Kolo-zin can never give my meals the right taste and flavour'.
Oh my God, why can't she pronounce anything right, I rolled my eyes in laughter.
'Grandma, it's Kerosene, not Kolo-zin'.
She burst into laughter 'I didn't learn the white man's Language, I didn't go to Su-ku ( school)'. This is just too much.
I gave up on her.
I wondered why she needed to go to school to be able to pronounce such simple words. It didn't make sense then.
'But Grandma, the smoke from the firewood is entering my eyes and making it teary, I don't like firewood, I prefer the Kerosene Stove'. I pouted.
The kerosene Stove was what we used in the City and the one my 'Dede' (Dad) bought for her was still all nicely wrapped up. She refused to use it and she never did.
Grandma was so steeped in her culture and tradition that she never succumbed to any form of 'civilisation', she always felt that it was a desecration of her cultural heritage.
'Nma, come let me teach you something', she patted her laps as she beckoned unto me to come sit, I was in for a very long lecture I'm sure.
'This is our tradition, don't listen to your Dede and Nene ( Dad and Mom ) and all those people in the city who tell you that using firewood to cook is no longer in vogue. It can never be the same food when you cook with that 'thing' you call su-tovu ( Stove ), you would loose the flavours, the tastes and the aromas and then how will I dry the meat and fish in my 'Nkpodun'?
'Why would Grandma not just cook with the kerosene stove so everyone can rest? I murmured as I slept off in her arms. Her lecture still ongoing.
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check out Memoirs From My Childhood here for the part 1
Thank you @galenkp for this initiative.
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I am @edith-angelseu
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You're off to a great start @edith-4angelseu! Your first upvotes on Hive are fantastic. Keep up the great work!
This post makes me cry. Not for being sad, just for the use of your words. So touching and moving.
I am so glad you enjoyed this piece, it also bring tears to my eyes because this happened a very long time ago and my Grandma has passed on. Thank you so much for reading and reblogging @freakshow90
Thank you for made this, lovely @edith-4angelseu
A great story told with great delicacy, I have felt the love. greetings.
Thank you so much for always looking in, I'm grateful 🙏