Chronicles of an Oluyole JJC (1)

Pepper Soup

The sun had just woken up from sleep that morning and hunger was already playing Ludo in my stomach. After taking an appetizer – to quench the fiery darts of the hunger pangs –the next thing was to prepare a meal for the day.
My trouble began when I and my friend decided to make stew –we are good cooks like that! So, we marched onto the street, scouting for pepper and tomato with other things needed for the soup.

“E ka le, ma! E fu mi ni ata rodo,” my friend said to the round as football woman in her mid-50s. “E lo ? ?” she asked us.

The sheer size of the pepper made us think twice before replying her “e yo kon.”

As we took the paper and tomato wrapped in black cellophane, we thought of keeping some pepper aside since “e too much!”

We straightway got to the blending machine, but couldn’t hold back the surprise –it was splashed all over my face like the rainbow on the sky.

“O boy, which one be this again? I no understand oooo!” my friend said to me.  A woman was blending her tomatoes and pepper. Let me not say she came to blend pepper.

There were about three tomato seeds in her white bucket –the rest were six inches long reddened pepper.

“Na pepper soup she wan cook?” my friend asked after seeing the woman bring out another wrap of pepper from her black polythene bag.

I was just mopping like “a pregnant fish” in the words of my former lecturer. “Shey this woman go eat this food with this pepper?” I murmured.

“Shey, ata yi o poju sha? My friend asked the lady who does the grinding as it got to our turn and we asked.

“Ah! Ko tie to oo” the dark skinned lady replied with her mouth agape looking at us like “what is doing this one sef?”

When we got home and began making the stew, the spiciness of the stew, made my  nostrils pay the price –hot steam was gushing out of it.  My eyes were as reddish as the pepper and I was already seeing the stars.

As I shoveled the first spoon of rice into my mouth, my tongue burned fiercer than Sodom and Gomorah Atomic bombs began to explode in my mouth. I was seeing hazes; my eyes pumping water like a tap.

Since then, I “Ben Johnson” whenever I see pepper on the roadside, market, grocery stores.

I was forming #peppergang after spending a year in Ekiti, I was. I never knew that Ekiti pepper was still in primary school compared to Ibadan’s with a PhD.

You don’t need money to get high in Ibadan. Just buy pepper and you’d be competing with the most high; become his highness!

NB:Part II comes up same time tomorrow. Watch out!

Image Credit: Encomium.org

Emmanuel Egobiambu

A creative writer, editor and public affairs analyst skilled in research.

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