Connectedness. The thing that fascinates me the most in life. If I had to narrow down the things I find fascinating. This would be one of them. Connectedness – of people, places and things. Brazil. Nigeria. Connected. By slavery and freedom. In culture and cuisine. Like Carnivals. Connected, with thick tropical rainforests and love for football. Connected in...
In season, in season, garden eggs are in season. Truth be told they’ve been in season for a month or so now. Wheel-barrowed boys and men push these out-of-hand eggs around the city. Parking at office gates, awaiting the gong of closing time for sales to peak. Or outside school gates, though I doubt this...
Peppered. Freshly made. Leftovers. Freshly warmed. Who cares? On a toothpick. Or by hand. Standing up. Sitting down. By the dozen. Or half-dozen, belying your generosity. Not showing your greed. A half-dozen, at the very least. But one by one. One after the other. Hard flesh, rubbery flesh, crunch. Juicy tentacles. With rice. Delicious, freshly-boiled...
Tales by Oritsegbemi Emmanuel Jakpa With the spliced rhythm of tribal Africa, with the pulse, and raw hide cloak of riddles, with the drizzling monsoon on lemon grass, with the serene river songs of the canaries, with the dim light of the oil lamps, I reflect on the times when under the tropical moon fierce...
As told by me. And in alphabetical order. And yes, 11 days in a country makes me an expert, on eating at least, if nothing else. I’ve done my best to share the correct pronunciations. Where available, I’ve included photographs – enjoy!
The Hague, July 2011 Imagine this: Its Monday morning in the official headquarters and I’m in the ‘war room’, surrounded by uber-tech computer screens, sitting around a large wood-panelled table. My entire body finds solace in a soft, black leather swivel chair and I sink in, armed for another work week. Chit and chatter fill...
At eight years old, I was full of ambition. I had my mind made up and nothing, absolutely nothing was going to take my dream away. My dream of….
Manchester, 1990: Unfortunately, this B&B doesn’t offer a Continental breakfast. When I try a cracker with jam, I almost spit it out because it tastes so foul. When I look up from my plate, I see everyone in the breakfast room is staring at me. An old man at the table beside me coughs. ‘You...