So this is how one day the great writers Pius Adesanmi, Victor Ehikhamenor and EC Osondu came to my village in America to pay me a courtesy call. Why am I saying this? I am just #famzing, that way you’ll know I know important people. Victor is my cousin, his great great grandfather and my great grandfather are like this! *clasps hands tight* Very close. Their farms were neighbors and during World War II, they used to microwave yam and the occasional unfortunate bush rat for lunch. He has the only selfie that the two old farmers took around 1945 with their iPad. It is a small world.
As we sat in my backyard, a deer was crossing my yard instead of using the ‘Deer Crossing” lane. Oloshi bush meat. Victor and I wrestled the deer down and we did point and kill with it right there on my barbecue grill. Pius is strange, he speaks French and he has ONLY been to France for two weeks! So he thinks he is a French man! He called the dead deer “venison”, he wanted his venison “fillet” “medium rare” because he likes to soak his baguette in the venison’s juices. “Medium rare” means the meat was merely introduced to the fire and the deer is still begging for mercy. But we did not know what “baguette” meant; EC helpfully explained that it was Agege bread made in France! We went out and bought baguette and many bottles of Bordeaux, um dear ajepako peasant, that is French red wine! Well, what do you know, that night was memorable. We feasted on deer sorry venison, many loaves of baguette and one dozen bottles of Bordeaux.
By the way, I love my steaks medium rare. If my steak is not pink in the middle, oozing blood, I am not eating it, mba o. When I first came to America in 1982, I immediately saw that life in America for me was going to be one of endless suffering. Jesus, be a fence! Since I am allergic to suffering, I immediately hunted for the richest oyinbo couple I could find, flung myself before them and wailed, “e gba mi o!” They happily adopted me, and took to feeding me lots of nice things I could not afford. Life was good. Well, this one day, they texted me on the iPhone they’d bought for me for coming first in graduate school class, yes. “Come home son, we are making steaks for dinner!” I found out to my horror that this simply meant they would introduce each side of the meat to the fire for like three minutes and offer the sucker to me. In Africa it is taboo to eat meat that is not inside soup! Well, when they gave me mine to eat, I said a silent prayer to the gods of Africa to protect me from these reckless oyinbo people, closed my eyes and bit into the raw meat. To my great and pleasant surprise, it tasted like heaven and I am not a Christian. Do not knock anything until you have tried it, biko.
After Pius Adesanmi et al left, I put the leftover deer meat in transparent Ziploc bags. I like to see what is in a container because I don’t like surprises. This is how I finally decided to invite my neighbors to a dinner at our house. They were always inviting us to their house and I figured we should reciprocate. Well, they wanted some butter to go with their dinner rolls, and I proudly brought out our tub of butter. Well, I opened it and, Jesus is Lawd! it was not butter but two frozen chicken feet sticking out of ML’s signature egusi soup. I can still hear my neighbors’ screams to this day. They have not been back to our house. Actually, they sold their house. They did not tell us they were leaving. Why are oyinbo people like this?