I love street food. So once in a while, I’ll pick up my bowl and go buy food outside. Not because I don’t like cooking. I actually enjoy cooking but sometimes, I would want to taste another person’s food, especially buka or street food, not from fancy restaurants or fast food joints.
For those familiar with the old model market at Yaba, this happened before the market was remodelled and everything is now fancy.
There used to be one lady called Kemi who sold rice. I mean cooked rice o and rich fried stew streaming with all kinds of meat.
She was quite popular back in the day, just as popular as Bank Olemo rice. You know Nigerians used to buy Bank Olemo rice and take it abroad? Yeah, Kemi’s rice was also that tasty.
Anyway, this Kemi had a back story. Rumour had it that she did juju to get customers. You see if you haven’t eaten Kemi’s rice, you have not eaten rice o.
Do you know back then, there would be a huge crowd lined up in front of Kemi the rice seller. This Kemi girl would not be older than…say maybe 30 or max 35 years old. Rumour had it back then that she had a three-storey building from selling rice. I tended to believe the story because this babe was selling rice as if no other person was doing any kind of business.
She always had this huge, massive basin of rice at one side. Another massive basin of fried stew with orisirisi meat…filled to the brim, I mean a cauldron and she would be all sold by noon. As in, not one grain of rice will remain in her basin.
The funny part is, Kemi had a rival food seller, seated right next to her as in the lady would also be seated, under a shed o. Not even a proper canteen. You just queue, buy your food and go. There’s no sitting arrangement. So many times whether rain or sweltering heat o, you’ll find long lines of hungry customers in front of Kemi and her rival has no customer.
You know, they said Kemi was doing juju. You know, you hear these kinds of stories and you will go, hummm and promise yourself never to line behind Kemi’s basin of rice because you see, the rival woman’s rice and stew tastes exactly like Kemi’s own. This information came from those who dared.
By daring, I mean, those who ignore Kemi and her long queue and go straight to the other lady and buy her rice.
Many times, I’ll have made a strong determination not to buy from Kemi because not only would the queue be long, but the other lady sold the same tasting rice and stew. A few times, after Kemi sold off all her basins of rice, she would take her rival’s rice and sell it as well…and those who have tasted the food said there’s no difference between hers and Kemi’s.
As for me…omo, I always fell for Kemi’s juju o. I would just find myself queued behind the last person.
Let me also add that Kemi’s rice was always expensive. This was before rice turned to gold in Nigeria. Kemi would scoop two spoons and charge you an eye for it. The other lady, I’ve seen a few who dared to buy from her, she would heap your bowl for a good price.
Anyway, there was Kemi, making money off those of us who wouldn’t dare buy from her rival.
So on this day, I went to buy rice with my niece. A precocious 6-year-old at that time.
Like I said, I enjoy offal, you know. I like goat or cow blokos. I don’t know what you call it, you know the private part of cows or goats or ram…the balls, those huge things dangling between their legs.
My niece was a pupil in the school I taught and because I lived near the school, she often stayed with me after school. Her mum would pick her up after work.
So there I was, at the end of the queue with my niece, the first words out of her mouth should have given me a warning. I did not learn o.
You know, these children have loud voices. And we were in the market; there were other traders, meat sellers, fruit sellers, the whole mix. My niece raised her voice above the din. Her shrill voice felt as if she had a microphone dug into her throat.
“Aunti mi, sebi you told my mummy that he will not eat Kemi’s rice, you want to eat her juju?”
I froze.
I should have covered her mouth and left the queue. Before I could ask her to keep quiet, a few busybodies had turned to look at us. and ask what I was still doing on the queue if I thought Kemi did juju. I tried to laugh and act like I didn’t care.
The little loudmouth was persistent in her ask, “Auntie mi, you want to eat juju food, ehn, auntie mi….”
I got myself together and covered her mouth with my hand.
“Becky, shut your tiny mouth before I woze you!”
She kept quiet but missed the threat in my voice…soon she was bouncing up and down as the queue moved along.
I heard a few people yabbing me already, “What are you doing here eating juju food?”
“Ehen, juju food is sweet that’s why you’re here…”
Some even cursed me, “You call it juju, did they by force you?”
Looking back, all of them had heard the rumour, they were beating themselves up like me for staying in a queue that supported the juju rumour.
Anyway, we got to the head of the queue.
Come and see another embarrassing moment.
My little loudmouth pipped, “Auntie mi, you love to eat gende, that’s gende in the pot…aunty Kemi, give my aunty her gende o….”
The little she-devil was hopping and pointing at a large round blubber, that could be shaki or even ponmo that was bathed in rich red pepper and oozing oil.
Everyone burst into laughter.
What is gende you ask?
Gende is the street word for blokos…goat’s balls, scrotum and all the down package of cattle.
Humm. Come and see as everyone, even the Kemi selling good, everyone busted out laughing at me.
The meat sellers offered to sell me cow penis, and other men around asked if I wanted their balls as well.
I was so ashamed, I could have killed my niece that day.
Even Kemi said she had sold the gende in her pot but would reserve big balls for me the following day…that episode cured me of eating Kemi’s food.
My little motormouth could not be silenced. She began telling Kemi in that pipping over loud voice, “Auntie mi likes tozo, too, do you have tozo, I prefer chicken. Do you have chicken?”
The men began to say, though I looked innocent, I was a man-eater. A few of them mocked by holding their trousers and saying, “If they didn’t move away from me, I would eat their ball, live!”
Idiots, it is not their fault.
If I had to go to the market, I avoided the area where Kemi sold food.
As for my little motormouth, that was the last time I took her out with me. Of course, I twisted her ears hard that day for the embarrassment she caused me.