The Day My Writing Showed Up With Pots of Food

Monday Morning – In My Living Room:

Hands still clasped within hers, I tentatively opened my eyes as she gushed gratitude to God in prayers and peeked out at her through slanted lids

Tears trickled down one side of her eyes and it felt surreal. I stared at her as she prayed, palms grasping mine and blinked back my own tears

“Who is this woman in my sitting room crying to God gratefully for sparing my life?”

Who is this female whose bowls of casserole dishes sat on my kitchen Island?

Meet Ejime The Twin

I recalled the day I met her at church. She was standing with my girl – Ahua the Ghanaian – who introduced us. My babe is skilled in bringing people together like that

She would go ” Do you know Amara or Amara, do you know Lágbájá?”

And that is how she keeps enriching my circle within the church.

My people-watching hobby most likely contributes a lot too. Afterall I am the one who gravitates towards you and gets myself involved in your conversations

Maybe I have lived long enough to know that many humans are inept at ice-breaking. Especially in the diaspora where the name of the game is “when you are uncertain, keep to yourself”

So I pointedly play this game of engaging strangers to watch their reactions. It counterfires sometimes though since water always seeks its own level.

Yet for each time I watch that happen….when the adventurous storyteller in me steps out of my introverted head and strut up to a stranger, I marvel at how easily she does it.

So that Sunday morning as I stood by the corridor to catch up with Ahua, this tall and stately babe strides past us and greeted my friend.

I cannot recall if she ignored me or sent a terse hello my way. But I pitched in with an ice-breaker by admiring her àdírẹ́ outfit – a tieNdye fabric produced in Western Nigeria

The introductions happened anyway. When I heard her name, I asked a question only a Nigerian would have known;

” Is your twin a he or she and are they here too?”

” How do you know she is a twin?” A bewildered Ahua enquired

” Her name – Ejime”. I smiled

” She lives in Nigeria. She just left after our photoshoot”

Turns out they had recently celebrated their 50th birthday. Her twin traveled into England so they could celebrate with a photoshoot.

Did I tell you Nigerians can be crazy about dressing up for photoshoots?

Out comes her phone as she showed us the photos.

“Oh, just 50?” I murmured mischievously

“What do you mean just 50?

Taken aback, she glowered at me, affronted at such a Unnigerian statement.

You know that look that says how dare you and how old are you anyway?

Also, ageism is a very big deal in our culture

She looked over at Fifi who turned 50 last December, for support. That one merely smiled at the unfolding drama with a ‘welcome to Amara 101’ grin

“50 is not ‘just’, that is half of a century”. She blustered

” Well, it’s not like Shirley who is 83 and still thinks she is 30″ I amended pointing towards Shirley, the very fit Octogenarian who spends her day in church goofing around with all ages.

“Besides, we live in a country where 70 and 80 year olds still run around the street unaided” I clarified

“Oh, I see what you mean when you put it like that” she simmered. Well, didn’t they say context is king?

“Don’t mind Amara. She is a health freak. She goes to the gym and all that” Ahua volunteered

“In my former life” I amended ” I am trying to get back into the flow again”

“What former life? You are more active than most healthier and younger people I know” Ahua rebuffed

“Yeah, but that is a wellbeing lifestyle for my mental health not…..I demurred as an animated Ejime cut in…..

“Ah, I want to keep fit and register at a gym but I haven’t gotten round to it. What gym do you go to?”

My eyes rolled around my head as I mused…there goes one of them again

“The one at the University” I remarked and it is not about the gym, you can get a lot done without a gym membership if you are interested

Turns out she lectures at the uni. I mention to her that she could leverage the staff rate and also get her Under-16 a free access

We chatted some more then as the doors opened for Service, we swapped numbers. I promised to chat her up on the gym stuff and I did. We maybe chatted a few times afterwards in church eventually.

The Article That Built A Bridge

Then, a fortnight back my son had an accident. And I wrote about it.

And received this message from her.

I responded. She called ñ. Promised to come visit us days later. Then just before she hung up, she asked if it is okay to cook for us and took our orders.

Food is our primary love language as Africans.

My boy ordered jollof rice while I ordered Beans. She asked about specifics and promised to come see him by Monday night.

Monday morning, her message comes in.

“Plans have changed due to conflicting schedules at work. Would I mind her coming over earlier instead?

“That is okay”. I texted her back. With a dawning but grudging acceptance that our food may not come with her eventually

Designer Jollof Rice

Then she showed up. And because she was asking about parking, I went out to guide her.

” Please come and help me carry this bag”

I stared speechlessly as she unloaded orange-coloured Le Crueset casseroles from the car

” Ejime! I wasn’t expecting any food since your itinerary changed”.

” Well, I began cooking early this morning”

Inside the house, I ogled at the array of Jollof rice. Beans. Vegetable soup. Basted Turkey in stew. Banana bread.

Yes, Banana Bread – my favourite! And we didn’t even discuss it beforehand

We ordered Jollof Rice and Beans. Yet, here was extra.

“I hope you enjoy the banana bread. I merely baked it at the last minute as I didn’t know what else to bring”

Teary-eyed, I hugged her.

“I love banana bread. The one I purchased last week from a friend only finished yesterday. I have been thinking of going to get banana to make some. You brought more than we asked for”

” It’s nothing”. She smiled apologetically as she unpacked the fresh plantains – I couldn’t fry them due to time so I brought them along

I stood there stunned, realising my gift had been louder than my confidence.

Now, let me tell you something about Nigerian culinary. It’s middle name is called a labour of love. Probably most African food

The effort and time that goes into preparing our food is so much so that you begin before the hunger pangs hit, and by the time you are done cooking, your intestines have satiated themselves by gorging on its own lining.

Which means you are no longer hungry by the time the food is ready.

Yes, that is how long it takes to prepare our meals.

Then for a stranger who only recently met me to spend time alone preparing all that food. And top it off with a banana bread truly overwhelmed me

After turning the dishes into bowls. I repacked hers then we sat in the lounge and got to knowing ourselves.

That encounter didn’t just warm my heart; it
felt like God Himself saying, “You see? When you show up, people respond.”

The Friendship My writing birthed

She began unraveling when I shared my cancer journey. I laughed at her emotions. Then discovered she had lost loved ones to cancer and also has some survivors

“Amara, you have no idea how favoured you are. God brought you out to save your life. Looking at you in church, one wouldn’t know your journey at all”. She tried to contain her emotions

“Well, isn’t that the idea? We all dress up our injuries when we step outside so we don’t look like our dramas”

“And I asked you what I would bring for you and you mentioned only beans. If you told me I would have cooked for you”. She reprimanded

“You already brought more than we ordered. I actually wanted soup but since I didn’t know you yet, I couldn’t be asking for everything. Yet you made the soup and extra”

Ejime was so overwhelmed but also running out of time for her next appointment.

She pulled me in for a prayer and as she thanked God on my behalf, her voice cracked. That was when I opened my eyes to watch

How someone who was a total stranger in church is now sitting in my home on a Monday morning, crying over me in love.

I mean, before that day with Ahua I have seen her. She was one of those who had no cluster. Comes into church with her child, then disappears after service. No standing around for small talks.

For each time I see her walk into church, she reminds me of me – aloof. Alone in her own circle. In a multicultural church that was predominantly African, I have not seen her engage with anyone

Letting Your Light shine

Amidst all my weaknesses, being an overthinker is the one I would gladly swap right now for impulsivity.

If you toss introvertism and the quest to guard your privacy into the mix, then you will understand how stifling it gets for the creative writer in me

Also very frustrating for one whose primary mode of articulation is writing

As much as I love writing, each article I put out feels unnecessary. There is always this debate within me…..you are writing for yourself anyway so why do they have to see it?

Yet, I push it out there. And like it happened with Ejima, over the years, strangers have connected with me based on something I put out there.

As I write this, I recall the lady who came to my house in Lagos bearing a bespoke yellow genuine leather handbag. And that bag was one of the memorabilia I brought along when I relocated

I cannot recall her name. She sent me a DM and booked the visit to my house. When she arrived, she told how much I have influenced her family. That I encouraged her to become visible on social media and thanks to following me, her overweight mother finally embraced working out and shed some weight.

You know what, I think that story should come in a separate post.

What am I saying basically? Do not be like me. Stop overthinking it. Put yourself out there. Choose what parts of your life to share because the thing is when you cast your bread upon the waters, you never know where it would spread to.

And like Ejime, the ripples will bring them back somehow to you.

It would be days later that I thought this encounter was worth writing about. Who knows who might need it?

Again, I hesitated because I didn’t have pictures. The images of those cast iron casseroles with the foods in them as they sat on my kitchen counter would have carried more weight

But that didn’t happen because I had no idea a post would come out of that interaction.

I hope this rambling makes some sense to you.

If you want to see the article about my son that attracted her, click. here https://amarannaji.substack.com/p/the-day-my-sons-strength-broke-my?utm_source=share&utm_medium=android&r=74itfv