I was nine years old, sitting stiffly at
school uniform, and across from me
from work at the university registry,
Poison perfume and saying she wan
who told her that I was skipping lun
houseboy, Fide. Perhaps it was my l
school in the morning and came ho
mouth told me that I had no choice b
the table. I made the sign of the cro
lump of garri. I lightly molded it with
swallowed. My throat itched. I dislike
Nigerian food,whethermadefrom c
or stirred or pounded in a mortar u
, said I was eating. Finally, I finished a
well-brought-up Igbo children were
stepped outside the carpeted dining
floor of the passage when my stom
andsouprushedup my throat.
“ Go upstairs andrinseyourmouth,
When I came down, Fide was cleani
was sorry he had to and I was too dis
that I never ate garri before school, t
was looking to wrap my garri in a pie
expected her to scold me. But she m
kill you,” and then told me to get a F
Years later, she asked me, “ Wha