I was a very picky eater. I was that annoying child that found something wrong with every food given to me. It was either the rice was too soft or too strong or too gumi-gumi. The yam was not white enough, or drawing. Plantain was too strong I couldn’t chew it, soup was too peppery, eeeew why did they cook with iced-fish, I was not eating. Bread was too white. Etc. I am still kind of choosy now, but nothing in the scale of my growing up days.
Sometimes my mother was patient, other times she ignored me, or just kept one long cane by the side of the food. If was eba we were eating and the eba was cold, kindly count me out. I’d rather die than eat cold eba, even if they made the eba two hours earlier. All these while I am complaining my siblings must have gone for second round of the same food I refused to eat. Worst part of it was that if a fly should perch on my skin, I’d fall sick.
As a teenager I was no different, by then nobody had time for me. They left me to drink garri and eat noodles all I want. Strangely, I loved beans (Thank God, I would have been below 5ft)
I remembered all these because I found myself forcing food down my throat during the week. I asked someone to buy food for me and he returned with boiled fish, I couldn’t even complain, super grateful he went to get food for me, abi what happened to my own legs?
I looked at the fish; it took a huge part of the plate to itself. I took one bite, it was so white and smelled like well, fish, but I am not throwing my money away in this economy, so I chewed and swallowed.
It feels like I am living in the 1980s I read about in novels. The only difference is we have technology, and the President wears white agbada. It makes me want to write an apology letter to my mum for all the wahala I gave her over food.
I can only imagine what families are going through right now; the price of everything has doubled. For parents with little children, the Lord is your strength.
During the week, I saw a well dressed man pick up apples from a dumpsite. The apples were going bad, so he cut off the bad sides of the apples and threw them into his bag.
I was stunned. This was how Venezuela’s troubles started; right now we are going down that slippery slope. But instead of our Baba to assemble a good economic team and get us out of this mess, he carried brooms to Edo state to dance with Oshiomhole. After then, he dug up his 1984 narrative. My people are indiscipline, only this time we spiced it up with Change begins with you.
Read more from Lucia
Na so Urhobo people dey behave and other stories – Lucia