Love Served from Jemima’s Kitchen of Life Mum reflects with pride: “Let’s be honest — if you know Jemima, whom I affectionately call ‘Amonor,’ meaning ‘People’s Mother,’ you’ve probably eaten her food. And not just once or twice. Because Jemima doesn’t just cook. She feeds. She fusses. She freezes. She packs takeaways with love. Her kitchen is her kingdom, and her love language? Definitely jollof, kontomire, and a perfectly spiced light soup. From feeding a whole HR department on a Friday afternoon to cooking and packing meals for her daughter every single school day for years, Jemima has made “Have you eaten?” her signature greeting. At 50, Jemima has stirred, served, and sprinkled love into the lives of many. You don’t just visit Jemima — you leave with a full belly and a heart that feels a little warmer. And that’s what we’re celebrating — a woman whose pots have never run dry and whose love feeds far beyond the table. As her mum lovingly recalls: “From the very beginning, your love language has been food.” As a toddler in the kitchen, you were my quiet shadow. You didn’t ask many questions — you simply watched, absorbing everything like a little sponge. I honestly don’t even know when or how you learned it all, but somehow, you did — and today, you cook even better than I do. I still remember when you were about eight years old and I had to travel to Lomé. What was meant to be a quick trip stretched on for a few days, and I came back home anxious, but you had handled the house like a little woman—cooked, cleaned, fed your brother and the other children. I just laughed and said, “This is Jem’s Restaurant!” That spirit of service has never left you. You still cook with the same love and excellence. Your father’s freezer is always stocked because of you. You send him light soup, kontomire, okro stew, garden egg stew—everything, neatly portioned and labelled. You make sure he has fruits and snacks too. You’ve never once said, “He has a wife.” No. You honour him in this quiet, consistent way—and it humbles me. And you do the same for me. Every time I visit, I go home with bags full of food. You don’t let me leave empty-handed. You just say, “Follow me,” and next thing I know, you're packing and packing. You don’t do it for show—you do it from your heart. I’ve seen you remain generous, even in your lowest seasons. Whether it was after that plane crash or during your cancer treatment, you never stopped giving. You never let your pain turn you inward. You have grace, Jemima. The kind that cannot be taught. I am so proud of the woman you’ve become. You love deeply, you serve quietly, and you always, always feed those around you—with your hands, your heart, and your presence. May God bless you with long life, good health, and joy. May you live to enjoy the full harvest of all the love and labour you have poured into others. And may your pot never run dry. Happy 50th, my precious daughter. I love you deeply. 34 The Birthday Journal
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