So, I realized that I write about my mama a lot. You see, I’m her only baby girl and we are more like best friends. Yes, that’s how we roll. She is the sister I never had. We gist, laugh, cook, sing and so on together. There are still a million and one untold stories about my mother. Okay, okay this is getting mushy; I’d do this some other time.
Today’s post is about Dad. My dad! People say we look alike. That we have the same cheeks, the same dark under eye circles, that we have similar gaits bla bla bla. I don’t know whether to believe them because I hear these same people saying I look like my mama. You know how omniscient some people can be. He he!
Okay, to the business of the day. Over the years I’ve come to notice a few similarities between dad and I as regards our eating mannerisms. One of them is the fact that we both are soup lovers. We love having soups on our noodles, beans, eggs etc. When we eat swallow foods like Amala or Pounded yam, the soup in our plates practically drowns the swallow. We would so eat and lick it up that one would think our plates have been washed. There’s nothing like left over soups in our world. I guess this is why we love to eat fish and chicken heads too. You see, that’s where the soup goes to hide and erm, we do justice to it.
Another glaring one is our love for bones whether meat or fish. Mum often calls us dogs because of it. My dad and I are literally bone crackers. You’d be surprised that hours after eating, we still have a piece of bone dancing in our mouths. I think it has to do with us wanting the sweet taste of soup to linger. At this juncture, I have to talk about Baba Sala, one of our favourites.
Baba Sala is a nickname my dad gave to cow leg meat also known as bokoto. When I was little, I used to be afraid of the bone because it looked like a small alien. I never understood why dad loved it so much. He would spend hours frolicking with it till he got tired. As I grew older and began to eat choice meats, I got to understand. There are several tiny openings in the bone that traps soup in the soup pot. The joy of sucking those holes as the juice oozes out cannot be described. It’s like a child sucking his mother’s breast, lost in a world of his and not giving a damn about what people think.
I remember one funny incident some years back. Dad has one or two artificial teeth which he often removes before eating. On this fateful day, he was eating crab and he got so carried away that he forgot about his teeth on the plate. The next thing we knew, everything had been thrown away into the bin. He has been extra careful ever since.
One more similarity that baffles me is the way we express our feelings after a hearty meal. A grateful belch, is accompanied by a slight tap of the tummy then we exclaim, “Hoo-ha!”
Genes are indeed powerful. No?