a picture showing moyo okedijis granddaughter

My granddaughter fine sha!

ByMoyo Okediji

My granddaughter fine sha!

Those of you who don’t have granddaughters, Olodumare will pese o.

But your granddaughter still won’t be as fine as mine o: just so you know. Kẹ́lẹ́gbẹ́ mẹgbẹ́.

She already eats amala and okra like a professional at seven months.

When we visit Nigeria after the Koro, she will take a tour of all the major Amala joints in Ibadan, starting from Inanstrate at Mokola.

She loves pepper, plenty of it. Perfect Yoruba baby in the diaspora.

If you don’t have enough pepper in the okra, she will manage the amala, but from her eyes, you would tell that she rates your cuisine skill only one star out of five.

But she doesn’t eat beef rara. She spits it out. Haram!

She eats fish only.

Which reminds me: guys please stop eating beef.

Have you not seen the videos of cows dying by mysterious means–and often not so mysteriously—all over Yorubaland and southeast Nigeria?

They say the butchers are selling these haramu cattle meat—they just go and collect the carcasses lying in the bushes and move them straight to the market, and sell them to unsuspecting beef addicts.

Best emulate my granddaughter and hate beef.

Fish is great for your health.

And fish is not haramu.

Fish does lots of anfani to your body.

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ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY 1981 (Part Thirty)

ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY 1981 (Part Thirty)

ByMoyo Okediji

“My he—he—he=aler at the psychi-psychi-atric hos—hos—hos–pital made me sw-sw-sw-ear never to have a con—con—con—con—con-fron-front-tation again with Miiiiiiiiisster Ru—ru-rufus,” Obaseki was whispering to me, from under the table. “Says he-he-he will bring me back back in.”

“It’s okay, Obaseki,” I said. “You come out and sit here at the table. I will go and see what’s happening.”

“Don’t, don’t, don’t leave me, Mo-Mo-Moyo,” Obaseki pleaded. “Please- plea-se-stay-stay-stay-don’t—don’t go….”

“It’s alright, Obaseki,” I assured him. “Whatever the matter is, we will get to the very bottom of it today. This is really ridiculous!”

Sold!

Sold!

ByMoyo Okediji

I’m pleased to inform my friends that this historic painting which I completed in 1992 is now going to a home that will care for it, love it and protect it from damage and misfortunes. As the single parent of this painting, I feel a sense of loss that she is leaving me.

THE RAFTER’S BURDEN—the English translation of Oladejo Okediji’s AJA LO LERU

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ByMoyo Okediji

THE RAFTER’S BURDEN—the English translation of Oladejo Okediji’s AJA LO LERU is out

Three days before his transition, my father, the Yoruba writer Oladejo Okediji, had only one worry: “Akanbi,” he told me, “make sure you work with Sola Owonibi to get Aja Lo Leru translated and published.”

I was suspicious. “We are already working on it,” I said. “You are worried we won’t do a good job?” It was another hint he gave me about his impending departure during that last call. And I did not miss it.

“I’m just saying,” Baba said with a dismissive laugh. “I would love to read a good translation of the novel.”

ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Thirty-One)

ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Thirty-One)

ByMoyo Okediji

ENGLISHMAN IN BENIN CITY, 1981 (Part Thirty-One)

Gina did not look glad or relaxed. I could read it in her posture, without even getting close to her.

Rufus said, “Moyo, Gina is back!”

Steve hardly allowed the bus to stop properly before jumping down to run and hug her.

“Is that her?” Adolo asked Felicia rather softly.

“Yes,” Felicia responded. “That’s her.”

I got down slowly, and took my time locking up the door. Then I went to Gina. She looked down and didn’t meet my eyes. I thought, “She must be mad because she didn’t see us at her father’s funeral.”

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